Reflection in Cruelty

I had two options: either stealthily approach and strike it with the spear, hoping to kill it or at least stop it from fleeing, or throw the spear from here and rely entirely on my aim.

I had been training my accuracy for a few days but was still doubtful I could hit it. However, crossing the stream would be hard without being spotted and scaring it away.

Time kept ticking.

Several seconds had already elapsed since it began to drink, and I was still unable to reach the best course of action. Afraid it would vanish if I hesitated any longer, I decided to try my best at throwing the spear at the rodent.

With no time to spare, I slipped the spear from my back and slid to the right, risking entering its field of vision but giving me a better chance of landing my throw.

Gripping the weapon, I drew back and hurled it with all my strength. It sliced through the air in a high-pitched swoosh.

The creature had no time to react. By the time it noticed the projectile rapidly approaching, it was too late. Miraculously, the spear pierced its front-right leg, going through it and into the ground, preventing it from escaping.

I dashed in its direction, jumping over the creek as the creature let out loud, breathless squeals. I gripped my weapon again and pinned the animal down with all my strength, pressing it beneath my knee and left arm as it thrashed.

I aimed the spear at its head. Its eyes widened in fear. Its desperation sent a shiver down my spine. My arm wavered under the immense pressure, the spear’s tip trembling. I swallowed hard.

It felt all too familiar. I had been in its place before.

I knew all too well the fear of death latching onto this pitiful creature. We were both one and the same.

Resentment twisted my expression, and hypocrisy took the reins. I plunged the spear through its skull, killing the creature on the spot. Blood welled from the wound, its iron scent thick in the air, clenching my stomach.

I stayed still for a minute or two, eyeing the carcass of the poor creature.

As I pulled the spear out and lifted its lifeless body to wash it, a cold dampness clung to my hand, making me gag.

I rinsed its limp body, its life swept by the current. Once its head was cleared out, I laid the corpse on the stony riverbank and set to skinning it.

I stretched its limbs and grabbed the head of my spear. I carefully cut along the belly, just below its fur, until the base of its tail.

Wanting to use the fur as a makeshift blanket, I made extra cuts along the inside of each leg towards the middle and sliced around the feet, tail, and head.

The hide clung stubbornly to the flesh. My hands soon carried the smell and stain of blood.

It sickened me. I was robbing this creature of its life, defiling existence itself.

A painful chuckle slipped out, followed by a strained grin. The world around me bled red. The smell of death stuck to me. My left arm looked completely black, shrouded in a heavy, suffocating dark mist.

“Is this really the second chance I wanted? Why am I here?” I muttered in a low tone. “I don’t even deserve it.”

By the time I managed to remove the creature’s fur, my arms were completely sore and my fingers cramped. My chest heaved slightly under my short breaths.

I washed the pelt in the brook, using my spear to scrape the underside, leaving no apparent tears.

Despite its rough, uneven edges and overall ugliness, it seemed to work well enough for a blanket.

I picked up the carcass and crossed the stream to search for a place to settle for the night. The creature’s blood, already cooling, trickled down my hand as I gripped its back legs.

After walking for minutes in silence, listening to the rustling leaves and whistling wind, I found a tree with dense foliage and an overhanging ridge on the side of a small hill. It was enough to offer shelter for the night.

I left my backpack, weapon, and the animal’s remains there and began gathering leaves to place over the ground where I would sleep.

Grabbing the carcass by its hind legs and picking up my spear, I scanned the surrounding darker trees for a thicker branch from which I could hang the corpse.

After circling the area a few times, I found one a bit farther from camp than I would have liked, but it was the best option.

I cut a slit above the ankle joint of each hind leg, creating a small loop between the bone and the tendon I could hang the creature from. It was faster than making cordage.

My hands trembled.

My head spun. My colour gradually faded. After a painful swallow, I gripped the flesh around its belly and began cutting the creature open.

A bright red river followed the razor as it made its way down. Despite the shallow cut, a foul scent filled the air.

Leaning my spear against the tree, I swiftly covered my nose with my shirt and breathed through my lips, opening the carcass’s belly wider.

Blood flowed out, staining my shoes and the bottom of my sweatpants. The weight inside shifted, and I forced myself not to look too closely.

Nausea crept up my throat. The warmness and wetness stuck to my hands. Unable to ignore the smell any longer, I was forced to walk away briefly. But the fresh gale soon carried the putrid stench along with it.

The scene resembled a macabre dissection site. I ignored the gut wrench in my chest and forced myself to finish, finally clearing out what remained inside.

I had never seen anything so raw. Its gruesome nature and cold-blooded grotesquery made me grit my teeth against a gag. I couldn’t even imagine doing this again.

Pushing the thought aside, I returned to the camp to start a fire and set the pelt to dry next to it, waiting for the blood to drain.

After several minutes, I went to fetch the carcass, the smell still heavy in the air, and began cutting it into pieces.

The spear barely sliced through the meat, struggling with the tendons. Each cut dragged, the effort echoing in my ears. My hands were tainted in wet red.

I skewered some of the chopped meat onto sticks and set them over the shouting flames, fluttering like desperate hands reaching upwards. I watched as the fat dripped down, sizzling as it met the fire and vanishing into thin air.

I hoped this would cook it evenly enough to avoid sickness.

The initially gamey flesh turned tender as it browned, and a nostalgic smell of cooked meat filled the air. I ate a small piece and waited, observing for any negative reaction.

I returned to the stream to wash my hands and spear while I waited, my mind still haunted by what had just happened, then came back to camp and began wrapping some of the meat in leaves to store.

However, despite being wrapped, I knew fully well that the meat would spoil quickly. I would need to eat all the leftovers tomorrow.

The sun was starting to set, and nearly two hours had passed with no signs of discomfort. Since it seemed safe enough to eat, I decided to reheat a few chunks of meat.

The first bites were tougher and rather hard to swallow, almost as if the meat was getting stuck in my throat. But the discomfort gradually faded.

I felt fuller than usual. Still, it was more of a rare feast. Berries were much easier to come by, but it felt good to have something more nutritious for a change.

When I finished eating, I took out my notebook and wrote about the rodent, sketching it roughly, and with little else to do, I decided to train with the spear while the sun was still out.

My shot had been pure luck. I had completely missed where I was targeting. The training I was doing previously wasn’t nearly enough.

Leaving the spear to rest next to the campfire, I sat down on the leaves and closed my eyes. Feeling too full to go back to the creek and meditate, I stayed there, breathing calmly and listening to the relaxing cracks of the fire.

This safe space had become part of my life for the past two weeks, keeping my mind from spiralling out of control.

Then, a sharp, unrecognisable scream tore through the forest, shattering my peace.

I snapped my eyes open and stood up, turning in the sound’s direction. The cries rang out again, distant yet strangely human. I hadn’t heard anything of the kind since arriving, and my curiosity grew stronger.

I grabbed my spear and made my way towards the sound. It repeated, louder than before. I was getting closer, but I still couldn’t make out what was being said.

I advanced through gentle slopes and mildly slanted patches of forest, distancing myself from the brook. Not wanting to lose track of my campsite, I kept glancing back to check for the campfire’s dimming light.

“Harai! Darai! Taguri, er larime! Fankor!” a hoarse, feminine voice shouted shakily.

As I approached, I could hear it more clearly. It sounded like words in a different language, but I was unable to decipher them. Whatever was letting out these cries seemed to have been shouting for longer than I thought.

Closing in, I began to shiver. Cold sweat trickled down my back, and my hands felt especially slick. I wasn’t fully confident in my decision to search for the origin of those sounds.

As I rounded the last turn, a human figure came into view.

[See the Showcase Section for the protagonist’s Notebook page from this chapter]