Odd Beginnings


Christian stared into the trees.  His position in his deer stand didn’t give him a commanding view, but it gave him a view.  A view that would terrify most people.  Not him.  For him, it was the normal view of the third Saturday of the month, a day spent with his father.

His father sat in a different stand, about thirty feet away.  While Christian fidgeted, wishing for something to entertain him, his father was still, barely breathing.

His father was a man that appreciated nature.  A man that liked being one with the woods and the solitude of country life.  The son had fallen far from the tree, so to speak.  Christian was a boy who liked arcades, loud music, and indoor lighting.  He’d done his best for the boy, but the boy just wasn’t willing to meet him along the path.

Christian had a Discman going.  The music that filled his ears was harsh, loud, and violent.  The band was called Green Day.  It was new punk and Christian couldn’t get enough of it.  He knew his father didn’t approve, but Christian really didn’t care.  Even at thirteen, he knew his father was an animal.  A waste of carbon that would be best suited for fertilizer.

If people knew why they were sitting on these stupid platforms at six in the morning on a Saturday, they would have been shocked, appalled, outraged.  They would have demanded Samuel Hunter’s head on a platter or burned at the stake.  But no one knew.  Montana wasn’t called Big Sky Country without reason.  His father’s land holdings amounted to about four hundred acres.

Movement caught Christian’s attention.  A doe and fawn ran out of the trees, into a clearing.  The wait continued.  A little before noon, he unpacked a sandwich and a Sunny Delight.  A piss-poor lunch for a day that wasn’t going much better.

He threw the sandwich bag down to the ground below him and belched loudly.  He wanted to be playing Sega.  He wanted to be watching Saved By The Bell.  He did not want to be waiting on his father.  He didn’t even want to be with his father, but his mother kept making him come on the appointed weekends.  Some bull about custody agreements.  If only she knew what his father made him do when he visited, she might think differently.

Movement again.  His father moved too.  He gestured towards the nude figure of the young woman that had just entered the clearing.  Christian frowned and picked up the hunting rifle.  He took aim, catching the woman in his scope.  His finger twitched along the trigger.  He’d never participated in the killing, just watched his father.  He wasn’t going to start now.

Without thinking, Christian swung the gun up and fired.  The bullet caught his father between his eyes.  Samuel Hunter fell, his body snapping branches as it plummeted towards the earth.  The woman screamed.  Christian pulled off his headphones and climbed down from the tree stand.

The woman, still screaming, stood motionless as Christian approached her.  He handed her his jacket and a bag of Doritos.  Then he began the trek back to his father’s house to call the police.  He was sure they would be interested in the Father/Son bonding activities.

 

©Hadena James 2015

This is a work of fiction.  Any names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination and are purely fictitious.  Any resemblances to any persons, living or dead, are completely coincidental.

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