The Hunters
He heard the Hunters crashing through the bushes behind him. Just a few more steps. He dove beneath a bush. Safe. The Hunters would never find him here.
The Hunters ran through a pile of leaves next to his bush, their boots crunching the dry leaves loudly.
He let his thoughts slip back to his wife and children at home, how he may never be able to come back to them, bringing the food they needed to survive. What if they starved? It would be his fault if they died. Unwittingly, he let out a long, mournful cry.
The Hunters heard.
They saw his rustlings in the bush. He ran out of the bush, hoping to outrun them again. Then, a sound like the heavens cracking open rang out. Pain shot through his body, and he dropped heavily on the leaf-covered ground. Seconds later, he breathed his last breath and lay still on the stained-scarlet leaves.
***
The Smiths sat at the table, eating Thanksgiving dinner. Ma's best china, Granny's crystal, Auntie Betty Lou's best tablecloth: the works.
"Ellie Mae, pass some of that thar dressin'. It sure is good!" said Bobby Joe.
"Yep, but it ain't as good as yer turkey, Bobby," replied Ellie Mae.
"Yes, ma'am, no store-bought turkey for us! Yer pappy and me, we got us up early yesterday morning to shoot us that bird. Sure gave us a good chase, too!"
- Bridget
