Not Today

The coffee is nearly at its end, fluttering against the sides of a copper cup embedded with the initials of ‘Faulkner’ and crossed swords pointing down. Our Young Lady packs this cup with her on all the weekend country-scape ventures. Expended into the woods, along old gravel roads, mostly forgotten by modern life; the sights remain untampered as it leads up into the mountain side, where she resides perched on a crag. Becoming tanked on coffee, she places the cup on a generational Serape blanket, and fervours the wind rustling against tree branches stretching in tangles at close proximity.

Contending to glowing times of her past, the sound of birds, and still, the whistle of the wind against the rocks and trees, further brings tranquillity of ‘a lonesome peace’. Not far below, in the meadow she overhears crackling of grove, and so she scopes attentively the ridge, just enough to witness a medium sized bear frolic among the grass. Bound like a super hero, he zigs-and zags, tearing blemishes into the ground on each pivot. As if stopping at a sense that she is converging him, he turns his head ever so slightly—and----he falls---with a shudder of a shotgun blast that echoes beyond the forest lands. Her eyes lay frozen absorbing the frame of a wonderful, black bear now cradled by mother nature, as the grass softly blankets him under the chin. Just as quickly two local men holler in self-appraisal as they stoically come out of the underbrush. One man carries a Remington Shotgun, whilst the other grins clasping a 24 box of beer. She’s seen these men all before in countless draggle experiences, or from the mouths of many town folk over lunch talks. Raising her arm, she yells in a lungful roar, causing both men to retreat back into the forest covering their faces.

Cloaking up her belongings into the blanket, she rips down the rocky ridge after these two delinquents. Her running shoes crush against the gravel road, and then cut along the hidden animal trails. Losing sight of them, she can hear the breaking of branches, and the odd wriggle in their voices. Suddenly a purge of buck shot emits. She ducks beside a Cedar tree, and drops the goods. Hollow foots steps dissipate as she cautiously b-lines it through the rough timber, and down an embankment to the parking lot. Without hesitation, she amply turns on the vehicle, and now storms down the deserted gravel road.

It comes to dawn on her that no other vehicles where in the parking lot, maybe they are already long gone. She accelerates, and surges her way through the winding roads, till their classically rusty blue Volkswagen Rabbit is around a bend. The driver procures her in his side-mirror and mouths F---U--

With a quick over-correction of the wheel, his V.W. jolts against the pavement, and loses traction. Both members cringe as they cleanly veer off the road hitting a mature Cedar Tree.

She keeps on driving, giving “no fucks” for the local imbeciles.

By Justin Robinson

From: Canada

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