Ritam Nag, IX D (2019 – 20)

Gasping for breath, he tripped over the roots of an old beech and fell on his knees. Face scrunched up in agony, he forced his bleeding legs to push himself up and start running again. It had been minus fifteen degrees in the morning, not counting the wind chill factor. Despite that, cold beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Stumbling upon a pool of Prussian blue water, Harrison compelled himself to drink the ferociously cold liquid until his throat burned and he gagged.

From the sounds of footsteps, he could tell that his pursuer was not making much of an effort to catch up. Almost as though he knew what Harrison was thinking…

He had to get back to camp and tell the others it hadn’t been a disease killing off the wolves in Yellowstone. The fifty-six carcasses they had found were the work of a cold blooded poacher, his mind set on his quarry.

From the distance he could hear the man’s arrogant, drawling voice,” My, my, what a terrible hurry you seem to be in. I pity you, really. Making such an effort to, how do you put it, ‘save wildlife’? Soon, your precious little wildlife sanctuaries will be no more than a memory, your little animals stuffed puppets in the mansions of real men.” He laughed, a sound devoid of any mirth, sharper than diamond knives and colder than the winds of a snowstorm.

Harrison breasted another ridge and staggered downhill, blindly whipping past branches and falling snow.

He had tried to go out in search of the source of the wolf deaths, and instead had fallen victim to this monster which called itself a man.

No, he could not die today. He would not!

But his legs were slowing down, his eyes fluttering, threatening to give in to blackness. He crumpled to the snow covered ground, his blood staining the white land crimson.

“Well, you did try your best. Although your best wasn’t good enough, was it? No, I’m afraid not. Don’t worry, I’ll put an end to your suffering once and for all. Though I cannot promise it shall be quick!”

The hunter raised his rifle. For the first time, Harrison got a clear view of his face. It was as though he were looking at death itself, in all its tyranny and savage pleasure.

The man’s eyes widened. He was lifted up and thrown into the air like a ragdoll. His rifle flew out of his hands. Eight hundred pounds of grizzly bear stood in his place. It scooped up the gun, twisted it and snapped it with casual, frightening strength. It loomed over the man, who, unarmed, looked like a street thug who had just been pulled into a police car. The bear lowered its head, and silenced the hunter with one swipe of its huge claws. The hunter had become the hunted.

Harrison shut his eyes and gave in to unconsciousness.

When he awoke the next day, he felt as though no morning had ever been brighter.