Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta freedom. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando las entradas con la etiqueta freedom. Mostrar todas las entradas

sábado, 3 de octubre de 2015

Your so-called "freedom"

   I don’t get it. I simply don’t get why people transform into humans with traces of swine characteristics once they move out of their homes, far away from the eyes and supervision of their family. It’s beyond me why people, many times, simply choose not to learn anything and decide to do things as they please, as if that had ever worked. Maybe I am obsessed with order and with everything being spotless and clean but I’d rather be obsessed that way than not caring about anything, not even your own hygiene. If these people don’t even know how to clean their own room, how are they taking care of their own bodies every day, if they are that is? It disgusts me a bit to even think about it because to me being clean is not a trace of character but a basic human instinct that you should know to survive.

 Apparently, it is not as I thought. I have lived with my parents for a long time and that has formed a certain image in my head of how people usually live. I have gone to other houses, of course, but always of people I’m related to or friends who also live with their parents, so it’s not really a clear picture. I have even dated people that live alone but I have to be honest and say I never pay attention to details in those moments so, maybe they were clean and maybe they were not. That certainly something to think about because if I decided to date someone permanently, I would certainly decide such a thing based on the amount of order and cleanliness he has with himself and everything he owns.

Is that an exaggeration? I don’t think so. I mean, it’s not the worst thing to prefer dating someone that is clean and knows how to behave like a human being. I have to confess I hate people that eat and live all their plates in the sink. And they pile up and the smell keeps getting worse and its like they’re waiting for someone else do clean them for them and it’s simply pathetic. I just don’t like that because I think it shows what kind of person you are and that’s certainly not the kind of person I would like to be involved with. Is it insane that I’m the opposite kind of person? The kind of person that cleans his mess just seconds after creating it and the kind of person that gets sick if they happen to find lots of hairs from strangers when cleaning the floors? Is that so bad?

 I don’t think so, of course, but people will always exist that happen to love living in a certain degree of anarchy because it makes them feels free. I have no idea why freedom is always related to a mess, to chaos, because freedom is not chaos but respect. Or that’s what I think. When you are free, you can do what you want, that’s true. But the only way to properly use freedom is if you combine it with respect and use it wisely instead of taking advantage of it as if you were a child, as if everything that has the capacity to worry you doesn’t exist any more. Freedom is not dirt. I refuse to even think about it like that.

 However, people still think that living alone, the “big liberation”, is al about doing whatever you want to do without any excuses. So waking up late, showering becomes optional, eating whatever you want whenever you want it, having no responsibilities or respect for anything beyond your own body and not even thinking about any consequence because that is just not cool. All of that is implanted in our minds when education at home has been all but good or even remotely decent. People whose parents have explained things to them have a tendency to be better socially simply because they know why doing certain things is socially unacceptable or should simply be avoided.

 But let’s say all of that is ok, all of that is perfect if you leave by yourself. You can be a pig if you want, when you leave alone. But the truth is that when most people leave their homes, they leave it to live with others. No one has the money to live really alone until they have a proper job and so on. And seeing many students depend on their parents to live away from home, the obvious answer is to live with roommates. And that’s when everything we have been talking about comes back and acquires importance. Because when you share a space with others, it’s not all about you. You share a living room, a kitchen, a bathroom and maybe other common areas. True, your room is your own but that’s it.

 So most people have filthy rooms and live like pigs when being students but they try to behave like decent human beings outside of it. Right? Well, wrong. Because many people, all of those we have been talking about, they simply think that the world and the people in it that are their same age are just as filthy as them. So the plates and pans start to pile up, and so does the laundry and everything begins to become as filthy as if they were living alone. Why? Because freedom means chaos for them and not respect. They have no respect for themselves or for others, so they do thinks as they think everyone in their situation does.

 Of course, in order to have a nice life living with roommates, people simply do not say a word. Maybe they like living like that or maybe they simply do not want to quarrel with anyone about anything. I personally do not know which one of those solutions is the worst. Not saying anything and submitting yourself to the lives of others is beyond me, it’s something I simply cannot understand. Especially when you have a stake your own health because, at the end of the day, that’s what we are talking about. It’s about our life and having a nice space to share with other people and not simply about living and going forward like a mule. If we do that, we might reach a point when there are no more roads to keep walking on.

 All of this, some might think, is an exaggeration. And maybe it is, maybe we won’t die if we clean our bodies in a filthy shower or if we use the greasy pans that who knows how many others have used in the past. Maybe those are not lethal things and we can survive a small mess. But what that would entail would be a world where everything is a mess because people have stopped caring about the fact that we always live in community, we rarely live truly alone and there is no correct way to ignore that. What if bus drivers stopped doing their routes as they are supposed to? Would that be tolerable? What if airlines only had flights whenever they wanted or felt like it? I bet many people wouldn’t be exactly happy about it or the world would be a lazy ball of filthy and disgusting people.

 To my knowledge, we haven’t reached that stage and I personally hope we never do. Because this world is ours, for every single one of us and we cannot live thinking it’s all about us because it isn’t. Each person in this world is not important and that a truth we are never told or reminded enough. Each one of us, in our own, is simply not important enough. But as a group, as communities and as a species, we are important because of the simplicity of numbers and the importance those numbers have when affecting other numbers like the amount of trees, of drinkable water, of animals in the world and so on. When we live together, we share and respect others as we consider them equals; we gain more than we lose. And that’s the best for our growth as human beings.

 It is because we learn that by helping others we are actually helping ourselves. Those dishes that are left in the kitchen for hours or days, if we clean them just after we’re finished, we are letting someone else use them and that person would likely do the same so at dinner there will be clean plates to eat properly. If you clean the bathroom after you use it, people will eventually notice and, no matter if it is because of guilt or because they have learned, they will begin to clean everything too and the chances to have an infection or something nasty get into you will be as low as they can be. Of course, that’s the optimal way of living.


 So why not living like we care about others and ourselves? Why not living alone as if we were still living with our families? The world doesn’t just get different because our personal situation changes. The world does not care about a single organism but about the group, the communities. So let’s live, let’s enjoy ourselves and let’s do that by respecting others and letting them know how much we care about them and about the world as such. You will forgive my rant, my incessant way of pushing these truths down everyone’s throat but I do believe in the importance of respect, because it brings and order to our lives than lives for far longer that any of us would ever live. Because respect is freedom.

domingo, 19 de julio de 2015

Performers

   The moment was very surreal. She was a very big star, a very well known woman, and she was offering him something she shouldn’t. He knew that drugs were typical in this business but he never thought he would see them so soon. Mia offered him two pills: one was bigger and yellow and the other was white and smaller. She told him that both were great and made anyone feel great, more free and without guilt. She also offered him a bottle of wine to drink them with but he refused it, thinking it wasn’t the best idea to mix those pills with alcohols. He had seen some TV shows were people mixing drugs and other things ended up dead or insane. As Mia consumed her share, he stared at the pills thinking what should he do with them.

 He could tell Mia he was going to take them and just throw them to the ground. The place was dark anyway and with all the people moving around and dancing, they would get stepped on fast and the evidence would disappear. But that wasn’t realistic as Mia wanted to see as he consumed them. So he was against the wall, literally, in this opportunity. He asked her to wait because he was a little bit nervous and she just nodded. They then danced and talked to everyone that Mia knew and had fun just like that. He kept the pills in his shirt’s chest pocket. He could feel them there but only when he was thinking about Mia remembering him that he had to take them. He was expecting her to forget all about it and for the night to have a speedy end before anything could happen.

 The truth was that drugs made him very nervous. Even people smoking pot made him think about how strange it was to just smoke or drink or have something distort your view of reality because the one you have is too boring or too hard. Peter, who still had the pills on his chest pocket, had met a guy in college that often did drugs and then he gradually transformed into this idiotic beast that never new anything. Only the other junkies joined him between classes and he rarely even went to class, except for those no one ever missed. He was not an awful guy, it was actually easy to see he could have been a very handsome fellow but drugs had made him into this puppet with no real life in him.

 Mia then got closer to Peter. He was scared she would ask him to drink the pills again but she just started dancing in front of him. Then, they danced together and it was just as if she had been drinking a lot, only that she said things that she would have never said when drinking. She talked about colors and shapes and how she felt the music. She never said, not once, that she loved Peter or that she loved something, which would have been typical of a drunken person. It was weird to see her like that and Peter wondered how did she do it, with so much work around her. He also wondered why did she do it: Mia had everything anyone could want. It made everything stranger to Peter

 When the night ended, it was him that had to carry her to her car and then drive her home. Peter didn’t mind, as Mia had been so good to him for the last few months. He was just a beginner, having no experience in professional acting. And Mia just helped him get a better role and to be prepared for it. Mia was actually a very experienced and nuanced actress, knowing every single thing a professional performer should know. She was famous, having done many movies and having won several awards. She was not someone that had just arrived to the party; she was really a great professional. Nevertheless, she ran out of friends at the end of the night and it was Peter who took her home.

 He left her in bed and her car in the garage of her awesome apartment in a very exclusive area of town. Peter did not live close but he stayed for some minutes, looking at the city from the balcony. That view was magnificent and he wondered if he would ever get to have something like that. Then he heard Mia complaining. He ran to her and she asked him for water, which he brought with haste. She thanked him for being there but she asked him to go and sleep as the week was going to be very complicated for them. He agreed and left, taking a taxi to his home where he barely had any sleep. The following morning, it was Sunday so he met his parents in his sister’s house. There he played with his new nephew, which helped him relax and just enjoy life.

 His mother asked him if he was feeling ok because he looked like a zombie but he told her it was just that he had not been able to sleep. His sister then teased him that Mia was making him stay up until late, something he didn’t even gave an answer to. He didn’t want his family to think Mia was a problematic brat but he also didn’t want them to think it was him who was misbehaving in some manner.  The rest of that day, Peter just played with his nephew and the dog, throwing the Frisbee and also doing a small play with all his nephew’s toys were the dog was the savior and the princess in distress was Peter’s mother. They all laughed and applauded.

 Back home, Peter knew that acting was his thing. There was nothing else that made him feel alive and just good about himself. He had dealt with a lot of issues growing up and performing had been the answer to all of it. He had been the happiest guy in the world when he had landed his first role and meeting Mia had been a struck of luck that he still couldn’t believe. But now, after a while, he was wondering if she wasn’t more of a problem than anything else. What if she passed on her complicated life to him, what if that type of life was the one to have if Peter wanted to be known and successful? He didn’t know if he could handle the pressure. But at least that night, he slept a bit more.

  As Mia had predicted, the week was harsh on them. Shooting had begun and the director was a very demanding man. On the first day, he asked Mia to do the same scene at least fifteen times. Peter had seen how professional she was, as she just did what it was needed of her and never complained at all. She was very polite and tried to work with her director, never been too pushy. Besides, Mia was great. Her scenes were just something to look at, always so layered and real. She was the real deal and it was great that, during the brakes, she would ask Peter to come with her and just chat about anything. She gave him advice and also discusses what she hadn’t like about her scenes, although she never criticized the screenwriter or the director.

 Nevertheless, Mia did look tired. Beneath her make up, it was easy to see that she had large marks under her eyes and that her skin seemed a bit dry. But then she would come to the set and just blow everyone’s mind. When it was Peter’s turn to act, she was always there, cheering him on. He was obviously not as good as her but by the end of the week he was able to surprise himself with a very angry performance, in which he had to throw a glass full of whisky to a fireplace. The scene was dangerous for obvious reasons but it was the only one the director never asked to repeat. He said everything had been so well done, that he’s rather not spoil it all by shooting another scene.

Mia congratulated Peter and they had a glass of wine to celebrate. Work went on in various locations around town for several weeks. By the end of the third month, the director announced they had finished the movie. Everyone celebrated and Peter got to thank the director and ask him for his autograph. He also asked Mia for her and she did something even better: she asked an assistant to take a picture of them and she sent it framed with her autograph to Peter’s home. Sadly, she had to leave town to do a musical in some other town so it was sad to see her go but Peter knew that she would shine anywhere she went. They promised to keep contact and they hoped to do something more together, in the future.

 Finally able to have some rest, Peter got home and enjoyed himself remembering so many things he had learned and so many people he had met. He had been so fortunate and hoped for things to be even better as he got involved with more and more roles. When he was acting, he felt so alive and real, so representative of everyone but mainly of himself. He tried to make every character his, even if they didn’t really had anything in common. It was just the best thing to do. Months passed and he went with his family to se the movie. He hadn’t been able to go to the premiere, due to another job, but he decided to take his family to see it. As he put on some clothes, he put chose the same shirt he had wore to the club that night and realized the pills were there.


 He was again attracted to the whole idea behind them but decided to thrown them to the garbage bin as he had already found his drug and it was a far better one.

jueves, 25 de junio de 2015

Crazy shit

   Everything had been put into place, every single document had been acquired, and every single detail had been on point. Nevertheless, the consulate had decided not to give Richard the visa to go and work in Canada. He never heard a reason why he had been denied the visa, only that he could challenge the decision with the Canadian justice system but that could take, at least, three months, time that he didn’t have. When he notified the company that had offered him the job, which was the reason for his trip, they didn’t really say anything. Days later, they said they couldn’t guarantee the job to be there in three months so they “advised” not to go ahead with the challenging of the consulate’s decision. They backed up from their proposal, after so much praise and kindness, and eventually choose someone less of a problem.

 For Richard, that was it. He hadn’t had a job in his life. This was going to be his first shot at anything and in a foreign country! But for some reason, it didn’t happen. At first he was just shocked and disappointed, mainly because he had spent so much time and money in order to get the damn visa. But the days passed, and he started to feel worse. He lost his appetite and wouldn’t come out of his room, not for dinner, not for showering, not for anything. Slowly, Richard had descended to a depressive spiral of which he did not know and didn’t even want to get out. He kept thinking about the reasons why this hadn’t worked and blaming himself was the only way to make it all have any sense.

 Days passed until one-day Richard’s father had to topple the door, only to find him lying in the ground, barely breathing. He had cut himself several times on his arm and was bleeding profusely. They called the paramedics and the staff at the hospital was able to stabilize him, not before he had lost even more blood. He was week for several days in which many of his relatives, the kind that are never there but come flying back just to see what has happened, visited him as he was still in an induced sleep. When he finally woke up, he became violent, demanding to take everyone out in the act or he would repeat what he had done before.

 His parents only cried and cried and did not much else. As he had woken up already, he was given painkillers and some others medications to keep him calm but they did not seem to work a lot. He would refuse any food or anyone coming in being falsely nice. He didn’t really want to live anymore and he didn’t want people to be fake near him, it bothered Richard a lot when all they had were kind words that they didn’t mean or lies to calm him down. He stayed in the hospital for several weeks until it was decided he would be better off in a psychiatric facility, where they could try to cope with his behavior. Their parents cried again and did nothing else and he wasn’t surprised.

 The day he got transferred to the sanatorium, they didn’t even try to say goodbye or to be there. They just disappeared leaving only nurses and unknown people behind. Maybe it was for the best because any familiar face made Richard unstable and prone to violence. His cell, or room as they liked to call it, in the sanatorium was small and with just a tiny window to look towards the garden. The view was nice because there were lots of flowers and birds would come in the morning. At least that had improved from the hospital, were his window faced a wall. Even his room at home face a fucking wall, so it was difficult not to like this room better, even if it meant taking lots of drugs and just looking out the window a couple of hours a day.

 It was only after a week that he realized that, since he had been taken to the hospital, he had never spoken to any friend or anything like it. Which goes to show you how people are. Some run to see the train wreck happen and others just avoid it completely, even denying the whole thing. Anyway, it was best that way. He made a couple of friends in the sanatorium: a kid who had tried to jump off a bridge because his mom had punished him for being gay (he showed Richard his scarred back one day) and a girl who suffered of some weight related problem. She was very skinny and would always look like a ghost gliding all over the ward. There were a lot of other people in his area but they were all pretty harmless. But sometimes they could hear people from the other ward, the most dangerous one, yell or howl or do some kind of noise that would make everyone nervous.

 People there, on the other side, were really crazy. Richard thought he was crazy but he had realized those other patients were just above that. They were people who had killed others or who were just absent from reality. It was a pity though because no one really deserved to be there permanently. Although Richard had settled fast and liked to be around his new friends, he knew that living there permanently would not be as fun or enjoyable. During lunchtime, every single person would have a story about one of the patients of the neighboring ward. It was kind of a tradition to sit down and just tell stories about those others that were there with them. It was easier than talking about personal issues.

 Some said there was this lady who had killed all of her children (the number varied depending on who told the story). They talked also about a guy who used to be a butcher and had gutted a client because he had paid only in coins. There was the serial killer of pregnant women and the men that had just gone insane in an elevator, killing at least ten people with just a pen. The stories were gruesome and more often than not the guards would come and break the meetings off in order no to let the patients get too excited over a bloody story. But the gathering was a tradition and they only interrupted when too many were involved.

 Besides that, Richard got to have sex with the gay kid, who also happened to be obsessed with sex. Richard didn’t identify himself as gay but it had been so long since he had done anything with anyone that he didn’t really care. Apparently others did care because he was sent to the infirmary to get tested for HIV. Luckily, the gay guy wasn’t positive so nothing happened, but Richard refused to have sex with him again. Although for him oral sex wasn’t real sex but whatever. The guards, again, didn’t really seem to mind if patients visited other patients in their rooms. They only intervened if violence was imminent, whether it was against themselves, others patients or even the security staff.

 The funniest thing was when this rather big girl decided to jump on one of the guards because she had heard him called her “fat”. Everyone laughed and cheered on for the girl but the result was that games and entertainment were cancelled that night after dinner, so everyone had to be behind bars in their bunks, looking at the moon like Richard or howling at it like the prisoners in the other ward. When something like that happened. Richard felt strangely alive. Somehow, those crazy fuckers made him feel alive, more than anything or anyone had made him feel before. Yes, they were insane and dangerous but he felt close to them and he could have conversations with them, even with the gay guy when they were not… You know. It was great to feel like he belonged somewhere, even if it was in such a place.

 Then, after some months, his family came for him and it was the worst day in a long time. It was crazy to think he wanted to stay there but he felt he couldn’t be himself again if he just left them all there. He decided to get the email addresses of every single one of them and he gave them his so they could chat anytime and just be there for one another. It was a sentimental moment, a real one, and then he left. As the car left the premises, he realized that his life wasn’t over at 27. He had no idea of what to do with his life, that was certain. And he now had something to explain in every single job interview or even in dates.

 But he thought of it as something fun. Maybe he would end up being a failed human being. But he wouldn’t be the first or the last. The honest thought he had as he entered his room was that he didn’t want any of the shit that people had always wanted for him. He didn’t want the usual silly love or shitloads of money or paying job or any of that bullshit. He just wanted to feel needed, to feel that someone cared and to experience life as everyone should. He wanted to feel the world around him and just live to experience it all and not to submit himself to slave labor.


 So he just started writing. He wrote everything that had happened to him in recent times. Every single story, every single kinky moment in the sanatorium’s bathroom, every crazy thought, every suicidal decision. He wanted to sum it all up and just do something with it someday. But that day hasn’t come yet. Someday, though.

viernes, 19 de junio de 2015

The hunter

   The arrow passed just a few centimeters away from the rabbit’s head. It wasn’t the day to die for him. But a wild turkey and a pheasant had not been so lucky. They hanged on one side of Karl’s waist, dangling around as he marched through the woods looking for more game. But he didn’t find anything else to bring back to his shack so he stopped wandering around and went straight back to his place. It was a small cottage in the woods, just a few steps away from the lake. He had built it there so no floods could reach it but close enough to the water to get his everyday ration to cook and bathe.

 As he entered the house, he left the dead animals in a rough wood table. He took off his clothes fast and, with the sun setting in the distance; he came out naked of his house and walked to the lake. He didn’t even hesitate to jump into the cold water. He plunged deep and then resurfaced, scrubbing his skin with his hands. There was no soap and soap would contaminate the lake anyway so he just scrubbed hard, sometimes with a scourer but he only used that some times a week. He submerged many times, looking at the distance, to the sun, which was now glowing orange. As he cleaned his beard and every hair he had on his body, he thought about that decision he had taken a long time ago, the decision that had changed his life by putting him there instead of in the city, in a job with a family and so on.

 He didn’t regret he hadn’t decided to stay with his family or just make a family of his own. It haunted him but he was sure he didn’t wanted to be one of those family men. He didn’t have what it takes to be one and he didn’t wanted to be one. He had always wanted to be free, as free as any human could be and this was the way he had found to be true to his desires. His family had not thoroughly understood but now that didn’t really matter. It had been three years now since he had decided to live in the forest and he knew it had been one of the best decisions he had taken in his life. Here, among animals and plants and fresh water, there was nothing that bothered him or made him feel like there was something wrong. Everything here felt fair and well done, because it was.

 He had always hated the competition, the killing that people submitted themselves to in the “real” world. People used to use those words together to describe to him were their lives happened, as if hid daily life wasn’t real, just a figment of his imagination. Hunting was more real than any bank job he could think off. Swimming naked in a beautiful lake was more real than worrying every day if someone was going to hurt you or your loved ones in any given moment. His world was very real and he had chosen it because he couldn’t take what the world was anymore. It had been a done deal the day he was attacked on the street, mugged and stabbed. He had become disenchanted with the world so he decided to leave it for good and there was not a single day in which he regretted that.

 In any case, it wasn’t as if he never talked or chatted with another human anymore. Many people came to the forest, in spring or summer, and the park rangers had designated him as an official guide. He got paid a small salary but that wasn’t the important thing, it was the fact that he got to share his experiences and knowledge with visitors which was the best part of the job. He would take them hiking or trekking for hours, compensating them with beautiful vistas, information about every plant and animal living in the park and would usually end up with a small “party” by the shore of the lake. Those who wanted could swim but they would all celebrate with a local meal.

 He came out of the water and waited to dry off for a half hour by the shore. As the water dripped away, he threw small stones to the water, trying to make them skip. But he had never managed to do I correctly. Time passed so he walked up his cabin, showered by the orange light of sunset. Inside the house he cleaned up his feet and put on some warm clothes to feel some heat after his swim in the cold water. He decided to eat first and then skin his animals to be put away with salt to be preserved. He had no electric device, except a portable stove, so it was best to consume everything before it went bad. He would eat the pheasant in the morning and the turkey could last a little longer if he treated it well. He ate some vegetables he had cooked earlier and it was then when he heard the sound. He wasn’t sure he had heard it but there it was again.

 The hunter walked up to the window and stayed there. It was already dark outside and he had turned on a gas lamp he had but he decided to turn it off and wait for the sound to come back again. There it was… It was like a moan or a scream that was silenced. He was worried as there was no one else for the next ten kilometers. Maybe he was imagining things, maybe it was an animal or maybe some people had just decided to come into the park and get busy. It wouldn’t be the first time. He decided to stop worrying and walked away from the window but then there was a scream, a piercing sound that broke the silence of the woods in two.

 The scream came from deep in the woods, in the opposite direction of the lake. He didn’t know very well, but he though the scream was from a male. He decided to take his bow and arrow, a rope and his best boots. That person could be trapped between rocks, in the formations that existed in the park in that direction. Or maybe some animal had attacked him and he needed assistance before bleeding to death. There were a few wolfs and they could be very violent, as well as black bears who roamed around the forest for food. Once he was ready, the hunter came out of the cabin and started marching rather fast in the direction he had heard the scream.

 He walked and walked but he didn’t seem to get anywhere. He didn’t usually come out so late at night and his senses were not as accurate in the dark than in the light. But he was sure where he was going and pressed on, worried for the person that had yelled earlier. After some twenty minutes, he finally arrived to a rocky formation and he noticed, with his solar flashlight, that the rocks were tainted with what appeared to be blood. He turned off his light and decided to be still and hear. There were no screams, only crickets and other animals making sounds. But then, he heard panting and someone else, breathing heavily. He ran towards the sound and, without thinking, jumped right onto one of the persons there.

 Apparently he had done correctly, because the voice that had screamed earlier was begin for him to help him. Somehow, his voice felt strange, as if it had changed in less than an hour. But the hunter was a strong man and he was able to submit the man he was fighting with ease. Once he turned on the flashlight again, he gave it to the victim, who happened to be a young man, covered in blood. He was trembling but was able to hold steady long enough for the hunter to use the rope to tie the hands of the other guy, an older man who had his nose broken and seemed to be in a fit of rage. He wasn’t fighting anymore but his eyes were filled with hatred, filled with blood and pure rage. The hunter made him stand up and he told the young man to follow him, so they could call the rangers who would then call the police of whoever had to be in charge of this.

 It wasn’t long before they stepped into the hunter’s house. The tie man was sat in the hunter’s bed and the boy sat in one of the big chair by the only table. The hunter looked for the walkie-talkie he rarely used during this time of year and started talking into it, to no response. As he waited, he asked the young guy to tell him what had happened but the guy refused at the other one seemed to be preparing for another assault. When one of the rangers finally answered, he couldn’t hear a word because the kid had jumped from his chair, with a knife the hunter had not seen, and stabbed the man in the chest. The man screamed and the hunter realized it was him who had screamed earlier.

 He attempted to grab the young guy from behind but now he flung his knife towards him, cutting the surface of his chest. He took advantage of this to turn around and finish off the man in the bed, who bled out just there, looking at the kid with horror. The hunter avoided the kid’s next attack and just punched him hard in the head. The kid was groggy for a minute, time the hunter used to grab his bow and arrow. He told the kid the rangers would come soon, as they never received communications from here and they would be worried to know if there was something wrong. He suggested him to surrender and let him tie his hands.


 But the kid launched himself at him and he just let go of the arrow that pierced his chest deep. He fell to the ground, where the hunter grabbed him and tried to understand what he was saying. Because as he spitted blood, he tried to say something but it wasn’t clear. Then the hunter lowered his head and he understood a couple of words: “got revenge”. Then he died and the hunter never knew what those words meant.