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Hunter
It was dark when he came, picking his way across the flat stones to the big rock by the depression where the water comes. He had come looking for water the day before, the footprints brought him back.When dawn came, turning the flat, black stones back to brown and shooting yellow and red off the big rock he was standing in the rock's shadow. The woomera, spear notched into it, extended the length of one arm, the other hand supported the spear at the center, one foot forward, one foot back, unblinking, barely breathing, part of the landscape. The sun rose rapidly above the rock to halo his head, then torso, then on down. By noon he was hallucinating in the heat, dust willies chased each other across the flat stones, the sun inched in unseen movement, everything else was as it had always been. It was late afternoon before it came, cautious, wanting the water. His wandering mind snapped to certitude, his muscles unlocked and smoothly followed a lifetimes training, flowing his body forward into the throw. A sharp crack, the improvised Mulga spear snapped at the center. The boomerang followed as a reflex. the time it took to draw and throw made it a useless gesture. The flightless bird fled, feet pattering on the flat stones. He hurled invective at the blue infinity, which absorbed it soundlessly, urinated in the sand beside the rock, which absorbed it silently and set off for the place where the acacia grow, North East across the deserted land that silently absorbed him.
Last edited by Olly Buckle : 08-19-2007 at 12:38 PM.
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