Righteous Anger

   "To be fair, sir, it was not intentional," Mort spoke.
   "Yet, my dog is dead and I feel some sort of repayment is in order," the hunter glared. 
   Mort, uneasy, shifting his body in confusion, tried to speak clearly, "I do not know how to apologize for the dog's death... I reason you feel words help not at all." The hunter's eyes were furious, Mort could see. He wondered where the sadness was, why it was not where it ought be. Thinking of what to say, Mort's thought was interrupted.
   "You reason correctly, b*****d! You killed my dog! You gotta pay!"
   Mort noted he knew neither this man's name nor the name of this dog. The hunter looked a little bit intimidating. Mort knew that rage can overcome some people especially when they have lost something beloved, but on that thought his mind changed somewhere and he did not believe this man had lost anything beloved. He sensed this man felt a right, and a privilege, to be angry, and that that right felt like power to him; he sensed this man was high, in a way, on his chance to instill fear and be a powerful presence. Suddenly, he did not feel as much remorse and guilt as before, but he felt bothered for sure. This man seemed to change shape as Mort thought on--he became more repulsive. All the realizations surging through Mort caused him to move into his own anger and to garner his own fury and rage. Of all the people he had met in his life this man was becoming the worst, right now, at this moment. Sure, Mort had shot this man's dog. It was a hunting accident! He had never... he had been so sure the dog was a deer and the foliage had been thick and he... he made a painful mistake. He had no intent to harm a fellow hunter or his dog and he was very sorry to be the cause. This owner, though, this owner before him; he was not deserving of Mort's apologies, Mort thought. This man was upset about something entirely apart from the dead dog, upset over a type of intimate invasion onto his territory and this invasion granted him his right to power. He was upset because he himself was not the one to kill his dog, but someone else was. He didn't care about the dog, he only considered the loss of a possession and the lawful retribution to which he was entitled. It was as if someone had stolen from him and he was now allowed to watch them lose their hand or hands. Mort began to feel fire.
   "Well! Boy are you stupid?! Look at me you stupid f****r!" the hunter hollered.
   Mort was fire.
   "What are you going to do to make this right? Huh, Boy!?"
   Mort did something then that he could never have predicted he'd do in his life. He raised his rifle, aimed momentarily--while he witnessed the expression on this man's face change--and sought his heart. After he fired Mort slowly blinked his eyes shut and put the butt of his rifle down on the toe of his boot, holding it steady with his hand. He felt warmth leave the shotgun shaft and it cooled his rage. He envisioned the dead man and he felt himself calming. Slow and delibrate, he took off his hat and bowed his head and he started to sniff; his eyes still shut, began to give tears. His body slumped and his rifle fell and on his knees he sobbed. He cried his sadness until he began to tire, and, exhausted, he slipped into sleep. When he awoke, he felt rested. Dirt was on his face and it stuck in patches to where his tears had smeared. His hands gripped the earth and he smelled the soil. The wind was audible and he noted the setting sun. He lived in these woods, he was aware of the moon phases and being aware he knew that if he didn't get home soon, the untimely new moon might have him lost all night. He got up and gathered himself and his things, and he walked.

Author's Note

I wrote this as a letter to a lover initially--I had drank a screwdriver and was beginning on a second--I had been wanting to connect with her so I sipped and watched the cursor blink at the "compose letter screen" and I looked left, out the window, and saw my friend's mother's dog(was at a friend's house) just staring at me--wanting something--and suddenly this situation with the hunter and his dog came to me.

Reviews

[laughingwolf]

what yin sez, and well done...

i think you should decide if it's a rife or a shotgun, though... they are not the same, as you know

[yinseriv]

This a very good story. The internal dialogue and actions held a grip on my attention. One small structure suggestion? Allow me the break of the paragraph to let my mind digest where you are taking me. The story will hold me without the artifical speed of one paragraph reading. Good work. Thank you.