Fairy Tale for a Hunter S.

He walked with a bass line in the natural rhythm of his feet. With a deliberate step he entered into the mud where his foot imprinted on the foundation of the forest. The recollection of a similar footstep he had once taken in this place inspired Gordon to look across the Alpine Valley for the familiar. On top of the highest peak he scanned in the depths of the forest as far as his eyes could now take him. His antlers perked when the cadence of rain began playing a methodical tap. It was a light rain that hinted a faster pace. The valley’s river dimpled and gained speed. Although time was catching up with Gordon he remained steady and humped down the valley-legs in tandem and head bobbing. Rain pushed Gordon down the slope as if he was the mud of an imprinted foot washing away. Was there not a tree here that held a bird nest of young sparrows Gordon thought? Fooling himself and blaming his vanished senses he tried to rub the top of his head against a tree no longer there. Gordon lifted and felt a something of sorrow. His eyes crinkled and began to blink as the rain started to pick up. He ripped off some chew for the sake of filling an empty mouth. For the time being it was the only sense of truth he had within.

Gordon passed a family of fox that lived in dens surrounded by heavy brush. The brush rustled as the fox dug their ways back into the den. Unacquainted with these animals Gordon bowed the ground to his head. He kicked up the dead leaves that stuck to the bottoms of his wet feet. The sun was getting low which chilled the breath to the resolve of a color. Gordon had a nice coat for the end of winter, which kept him warm enough.

When he stood earlier at the top of the valley he saw the bottom of this forest as a place of refuge and comfort. It had been a place he visited so many times before. The riverbank stored dividends Gordon issued in dreams, practices, art and more. So Gordon roamed in the riverbed. He splashed in the water and stumbled his way over rocks. Spent some time eating from the riverside grasses, roots, bark and vegetation. It was the end of winter and Gordon had to eat whatever came his way even though these substances were foreign to his usual diet. After an hour of meandering around the river Gordon had grown more comfortable. He found a tree where an old owl that knew Gordon’s father lived. Gordon, who was so happy to find this connection, excitedly asked the owl to tell him a story of the gaffer. The owl chirped an interesting story of how Gordon’s father once escaped the clutches of a bear right around this river in Alpine Valley. The bear was 15 ft. high on his hind legs. Paws that could wrap around tree trunks. And orange eyes that by legend made it so that the bear only saw shades of the sun. Thunder was his name. Gordon looked at the owl- fixated upon every detail.

“Does he still live?”

“Not he but three cubs called the teddy bears” the owl said.

Gordon peered over his left shoulder. The dark valley only shimmered from the reflection of the moon off of the river. The nocturnal owl smiled at Gordon as he flew off for a munch. Gordon stammered and felt something run across his hind leg. A snake? The ivy rustled and before Gordon knew it his legs had been tangled all throughout the ivy. He started to chew the finger-like vines that seemed to attach themselves to his ankles. He had only been standing but a moment in that place Gordon thought? Getting pent-up he recklessly sprung his way out and stumbled into a spider web that glued to his face. Now in fear he jumped into the river to wash himself clean of the sticky web. A cold amplitude froze Gordon’s state into the limited scope one refers to as being childlike. But in clear audible range a roar reverberated at the back of Gordon’s neck. Where had the river gone- an absent flow? “Who’s there!”

He jerked his head around to see…nothing. CrAaCk…A branch snapped. “Where’d that come from?”

“Did I say that?”

Gordon’s joints tweaked. He lifted up his leg and tried to gain sure footing. (Another roar). The hazy fog left from the rain made for little visibility. “Who’s There!” Gordon’s echo stirred bats out of there hang outs. He ran in the only direction he could see in. The night illuminated with colors of fear. Tree trunks burned like hot embers scorching Gordon’s side whenever he ran into one. He strode lightly trying to stay atop the wet floor of quicksand that came a step closer to burying his hooves with every hesitant move. The neon green ivy grabbed at his legs entangling them, causing his knees to buckle and hit one another after jerks of escape. Thorns injected themselves into Gordon’s bottom legs. There were screeches from bats dodging Gordon’s antlers as he ran against the current of evil. He had total disregard of anything outside one foot of him. Sporadically the only thought he had within himself was an echo whispering hints of insanity.

Gordon ran trying to reach the light of elevated heights. He thought that if he could trace back his steps to the place he started, the place that held imprints of truth, and where he could scan across the valley in picture perfect form that he would be o.k.. But the stars lit fog particles to dust and the only sense Gordon was making looked like a synthetic hope. And he could no longer tell what was true. Was it the memories of his youth, what was happening, or just the idea that there is a truth? He kept coming back to the same questions around and around. This was all a digital blasphemy. In Gordon’s betrayal of his surroundings he found refuge in the only place where nothing existed. He crashed in the darkness of a cave. He started to settle down for a moment and close his eyes. The feeling in his legs came to and he could start to feel a warmth come across his chest once again. Time had escaped Gordon and he realized that the break of dawn crept into the cave and it was time to move on.

Slowly arising with the ache his body shared with this day Gordon exited the radiant cave opening. In and out just like that, he looked over to his right…then to the left…his eyes were still dilated from the nonconforming light. A blurred red and black flannel scoping HIM like an eye. This was a bad trip he thought.