Let the Hunt Begin

Simon lays in the ditch he’d dug in the dust, patiently waiting. His eyes are constantly on the move, watching, anticipating, looking for any sign of a possible prey.

His tribe is hungry!

Hours pass and he gives thanks to the shade of the tree he lays under. The sun is high in the sky and the temperature is searing. Without this tree his bare back would be blistered and burned, his bare legs painfully red and the bare souls of his feet screaming in agony.

Saved by the shade of a sycamore tree.

A flash of a heatwave lights up to his left. The only cause of this is movement of some living being. He watches closely, refusing to blink.

His tribe is hungry!

He tolerates the heat, the blistering temperature; he tolerates the hardness of his dugout; he tolerates the boredom of lying still for hours; all because his tribe is hungry.

A flurry of dust rises slowly, again to his left. Something is on the move.

He slowly raises his bow, pulls back the string and notches an arrow. In slow motion he swivels to the left, lining up on the position where he has now seen two signs of a living creature and he waits.

Minutes tick by — excruciatingly slow.

There! A third sign. A large foot appears from within the dust cloud.

Before his brain has time to engage, his arrow is flying.

Thwack!

It’s a hit. He sprints from the ditch in a race against time, worried the hit wasn’t an instant kill and he loses his prey.

His tribe is hungry!

Faster he runs until he spies his kill, and kill it is. It lays motionless upon the red dirt. A large Racehorse Goanna has met its match. Dinner will be served this night and he will be a hero of his tribe.

He stands over his kill, adjusts his loincloth and pushes out his chest in pride. His perseverance has paid off. With that he picks up the large goanna and flings it across his back. The blood oozes down his bare back soothing his previous sunburn.

Simon heads home. A trek of over two kilometres under the blistering sun, bare feet complaining of the hard, hot ground.

He rounds the hill to see the final stretch into camp and smiles at the central fire burning, waiting patiently, for his kill. Without a word, he walks up to the coals and slings the goanna upon the heat, relishing the sizzle.

An hour later, one of his tribe pulls the goanna off the coals and lays it to cool on a large rock, which serves as a table for the camp. Tribe members line up, their mouths salivating at the smell and their bellies growl in anticipation of the food to come. Their first meal of the day.

Silence falls across the camp. A sign of a satisfactory meal and happy bellies.

Once the goanna has been picked clean, Simon removes the carcass and wanders off into the dark to bury the remains. At the time of the burial, he gives honour to the animal for sustaining the life of his tribe.

On returning to the camp, Simon announces it is time to return to the real world once more.

After this announcement, Simon turns and walks behind the hill that surrounds the camp. There he finds his BMW i5 patiently awaiting his return. He quickly strips off his loincloth, wipes a towel over his naked body to remove the sweat, dust and goanna blood, before donning his black suit, white shirt and black patented leather shoes. After dressing he climbs behind the wheel of his BMW and heads home to his family, who are patiently waiting Daddy’s return for the family’s weekly movie marathon night, enjoyed by all, unaware of Daddy’s need to hunt.

Boys will be boys!

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Originally published on Medium