Chapter 21
Taking it all out on the world

Part Two


 

 

           

            When I was young, my father tried to teach me how to hunt, I was about thirteen or fourteen, and was eager to hunt the prey, as it was to flee from our arrows. My father wasted a lot of time dictating old stories from his forefathers, and I was not interested in their mediocre lives, or half gained petty riches, I envisioned more, and I think I got it this day. I’m surprised my memory even goes back this far, to such an innocent time, there were no wars, no buildings; there were hardly any people for that matter, caves, huts, yurts, teepees, wigwams, whatever you want to call them, over the years, we lived in them.

 

            At dawn the next morning, we set for an entire day of ritualistic game hunting, simply for the sport. We lied in a tall field of grass beside each other a few yards from a shady canopy of overlapping trees in the distance where a large Impala grazed. My father whispered to me to strike with my weapon. I had another idea. I unsheathed my old stone carved knife from its deer leather casing, and tip toed quietly around the field and into the shadowy brush. The large animal didn’t notice me, I climbed into the trees, and jumped from branch to branch until I was over it, I lunged downward at it, with my blade ready. I scared it, and it bucked and nearly threw me off, until I sank that old knife deep into it's left eye. I mustered what strength I could, and twisted my body around in such a way that when I fell to the ground I broke the Impalas neck with a sharp loud clean snap that startled a flock of birds from their perches. I cut of the animals head with the knife in a slow sawing motion, and then raised it to show it to my father. He stood up in the field and sank his head, his eyes never met mine. He then turned and left.

 

            I still to this day feel shame, but then it subsides when the realization of what that meant. It was the day I left him and the rest of the family, and then journeyed on my own, for the rest of days. Some things disappeared, some things changed a bit, and some things remained as they had always been, like me. I never could stay in the same place too long, with the same tribe, or live in a city too long, or else people would drive me out.

 

I worked for a mortician once, and he taught me things I thought not possible. He was a strange man, and had strange beliefs, the dark people, as he called them, had brought wonderful mysticism with them and now he wished to pass it on to me. His name was Noire, much like he was, dark and filled with blackness. He taught me how to use my undying energy, and he siphoned it through himself to extend his own life, and to experiment with other darker things, even bringing the dead back to life. My present journey started there, in his dark basement.