Hunter ©
A mini story by Martha Cecilia Rivera.
He was coming. Majestic. His slow movement meant no weakness, it was rather a force proclamation. His curved antlers were imposing as if to evoke a species that was becoming extinct. For a minute, it made me wonder whether this one was the last male of his species with reproductive capacity throughout the entire planet. I quickly dismissed such an idea. I had already started hunting him and I felt I’d not be able to stop. I filled with anxiety when he approached. I corrected the position of my wrist for a steady hand and rectified the peephole angle. Precise, expert, my finger reached the trigger. I shot and the antelope fell. My accuracy had improved.