The Hunter

A short excerpt from The Hunter …

If you really think about it, a tree is worth more than a human life. They provide us with clean air, shelter and food, materials for books and paperwork and building. What does a human provide? Apart from war and destruction, and delusions of grandeur? What good is it to love thy neighbor, or do unto others what you would have done unto you, when we only apply it to the human race? As if there were nothing else in the world! Where’s the humility? The awareness we were reportedly gifted with?

Unaware of itself, apparently.

The promiscuous world leaders, audaciously discussing social order, human life, environmental issues, like they actually know what they are talking about. The Hunter snorted, derisively. What a great joke! Just look at them: one leader of a former superpower – before the term even coined – leaving his children in the pub, addicted to Pokémon; the other whoring around with girls, dripping in the wealth of his plundered country; a mafia boss in the highest ranks; a puppet, controlled by the banksters and his administration’s lust for oil; the dictators; the greed; the abhorrent closed mindedness and raping and covering up; the mixed interweb of lies and deceit. These. In charge of world matters! The Hunter snorted again, almost choking this time, and having to stop to take a sip of water. With their boy toy weapons, plush lifestyles and empty partners, decorated and pretty, waiting on the sidelines for their Louis Vuitton coffers to be filled.

The Hunter stood and leaned, breathing heavily against a tree, his backpack quivering in time with his exhalation, Hound at his side. The radio was playing fuzzily in the background. It was that bloody song, again. Empty lyrics against equally empty beats, packaged and churned out. The star’s only requisites being open to manipulation and training; to look and breathe and be the pop industry’s consumerist mantra. The expected rewards? Nerves, hope, mind blowing, intergalactical success, conceit, fucking, punching, self-doubt, deceit, decrepitude.

There was so much music, so much soul stirring music in the world, and the stations all bar a few, spieled out this crap hour after hour, day after day, broken only by the banal banter and conceited nonsense that didn’t mean a thing. A poor reflection of an even poorer, dirt ridden society, he thought. Thank god for the forest, the purity of the fresh leaves, the hushed silence, the ants marching through the dirt, showing up the humans with their busy endeavors, organized, and so it seemed from the Hunter’s perspective, peaceful. No riots going on here in this orderly procession, he noted. Each with his own function. Fulfilling his destiny and at one with the body. Not like the humans. Which will just as quickly stamp on your face and steal your backpack, as call an ambulance in your time of need. Multiplying, festering in their filth, looting to fill their lives with meaningless clutter, polluting their home, not giving a damn. How had it come to this? How had so many managed to so completely switch off from the world and nature, and brand all that tried to re-connect with it a tree-hugging fucking hippy? How did they learn to forget and not question, and blindly walk along the virtual high street, clicking the purchase sign, without even thinking about what they are doing? How is it, that miracles are forgotten, looked down upon? There is no peace anymore. The influx of information swilling around the virtual highway, driving along stories, irrelevant of their truth. A real headline culture. A real twitter madness. Silly birds squawking away, flapping their wings and not paying attention to the electric wire hovering above their eye line.

The rest will be online when it’s completed.

Image Credit: Thomas Beetz Photography

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