The Hunt

By Nadia Mubgar-Spencer 8T

The sharp thorns of the rose stalk sunk deep into the palms of my hands as I gripped it, inhaling the flower’s sweet aroma. Still twirling the stalk between my bony fingers, I picked at the thorns with my long, sharp nails. I looked up at the deep navy sky as the wind ruffled my coiled, soot black hair and it billowed behind me. Nostalgia and euphoria flooded my senses.

The night was still and silent and only the eerie rustling of the bushes could be heard. I stared up at the moon as it oozed silver light over me and backlit the trees surrounding me. It returned my gaze with its intimidating yet ethereal aura. Announcing their presence with a screech-like caw, a murder of crows flew overhead and weaved through the sky. I snapped back into focus, suddenly aware of the sharp pain in my hands where the thorns had penetrated my skin and drawn blood. It reminded me somewhat of what I imagined it would feel like to have a vampire bite you. I took a moment to watch the blood trickle down my hand, drop to the floor and sink into the soil. Having admired it long enough, I wiped my hands on my clothing; yet another white blouse ruined by blood. At least this time it was my own. As I watched it seep into my clothing and gradually fade from a crimson red to a maroon brown, I was reminded of how tedious it would be to wash out. I sucked the air through my teeth and exhaled deeply for a moment before I was interrupted by the startling sound of a hunting horn. It echoed around me silencing all other background noises. Year after year, that sound would instil paralysing fear into anyone who had the displeasure of hearing it.

The main attraction of the evening was now in motion.

It was time to run.