6: The Good-Farmer-In-A-Past-Life

Sonny goes out and hunts a person for his parents to eat.

                “Wake up, wimp,” said a man, hovering over something.

                A boy—lying flat on the hoary, snow-covered ground, with blue and purple blood spattered on his mouth and the ground surrounding him—opened his eyes.

                “What’s with you and cheap shots, dad?” asked the boy.

                “You were being wry and it wasn’t funny,” said the man. “Funny thing is, you actually bleed, and it’s from your mouth.”

 

                Sonny rubbed his eyes. He came into full perception of the setting.

 

                “Yeah, I noticed,” said Sonny. “It really surprised me.”

                “Yeah well. . . In any case, you’re ready,” said Arthur.

                “How can you tell?” asked Sonny, sitting up. Arthur plopped down, sitting next to him.

                “Well, I just can—it’s like a sense, if you will, or a hunch.”

                “Good enough of a hunch to leave me alone and let me fend for myself?”

                “Well, not wholly. The fight was only part one of your final practice,” said Arthur. “For part two, you’re going to be tested out on the field.”

 

                Sonny didn’t say anything at first.

                He ogled nowhere, which meant he was thinking deeply.

 

                “Okay,” he said, after a few seconds.

                “What you’re going to do is go out and hunt for our lunch,” said Arthur. “Go out into the wild, without us, and bring us back a meal.”

                “What if I can’t do it?”

                “You can, don’t worry. I’ve already validated that you have the knack for doing this. One matter at hand, however, is the fact that it might take a while, so we might not get to eat until sundown.”

                “I’ll try as hard as I can to kill someone hastily.”

                “No, you needn’t fret. Victoria and I can handle no food for a while. All you need to do is worry about yourself; take your time, okay?”

                Victoria nodded in accord with what Arthur said.

 

                Sonny looked to Yuna, which was situated adjacent to him.

 

                “I’m ready, then.”

 

*             *             *

 

                “I’m not ready.”

                Sonny was lying on the ground, muscles strained.

                He took a deep breath and shot, shaking off any tire. He spat and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his ukata.

                “Maybe I’m being overly cautious,” he said looking down at Yuna, which was clutched exceedingly tight in his hand. “Just that noise scared the hell out of me. . . I guess I’ll cool it a little.”

 

                His grip vaguely loosened. He then sheathed Luna and sighed.

 

                “It’s already sundown, Yuna,” he said. “What if I can’t do this?”

 

                In its own little way, Yuna reassured Sonny and he went off, his prints imbedding themselves in the pure white fluff.

 

                Sonny, while walking, scouting for young people like him, thought about a throng of things; much like someone with worries, vexing over the fact that they can’t state ‘bring me that future’ without shuddering.

                It formed a line of sorts.

                He thought about the wellbeing of his parents, the obscurity of what he’d have to be put through, and his own wellbeing.

                Such was normal for someone in his circumstances. He was alone.

                He wondered if others had to do the same thing as he.

                He longed to be back with his parents.

                He looked in front of him and, indeed, there was a man standing, looking him down, grinning like a damn clown.

               

                “Oh s**t,” said Sonny, imagining the look on his mom’s face had she heard him just then.

 

                “Wot you doin’ all by yourself, ittle boi?” said the man with a stupid behind the times British accent. He carried with him a scythe.

                God must have noticed this man’s talent with farming in a past life.

 

                “N-nothing,” stammered Sonny.

 

                The man raised his hand, and felled his blade.

                The sound following was not a slice or tear of skin, but actually a thud that resembled the clash of blunt metal on wood.

 

                Sonny, who had covered himself at the sight of the man’s scythe swooping down, now stood and started to laugh.

                The scythe had meant to cut into Sonny’s side, but had only actually met Sonny’s side with a light tap.

 

                “What the hell?” grilled the man who was most likely good at farming in a past life. “My Jessica didn’t cut you!”

 

                “Well, my skin’s tough,” said Sonny with a smartass tone.

                Sonny unsheathed Yuna and raised her, while the man hacked at Sonny’s side a few more times.

                It, of course did nothing.

 

                Smiling, Sonny brought the wrath of Yuna upon this good-farmer-in-a-past-life in full and chopped his head off.

 

                Sonny laughed as blood splatter forced itself, in streaks, across Sonny’s face.

                He kicked the farmer-man down and stood on top of him.

 

                “I killed a man!” he said elatedly. “Now, I’m hungry.”

 

*             *             *

 

                In a matter of minutes, Sonny arrived at his encampment. His parents were surprised to see him so excited. He threw the body at Arthur, who took it with pride and began to inspect it.

Author's Note

I changed the title of this from "The Act Of Losing Your Hunting Virginity" to "The Good-Farmer-In-A-Past-Life" because, upon finishing it, I found it to be funnier if the chapter title were to have some relation to the person Sonny hunted, in light of the fact that I mentioned condescendingly that he might have been a good farmer.