creative writting

Leeches hut

In the cool air distant barking emerges from the walls of black berry and native, you can feel the needle like thorns tearing your skin as you trudge through it. You hear the barking getting closer and closer the more you crash through it, finally it breaks through to thick native bush you can start hearing the pig grunting you hand grows firmly around the gun, you can feel heavy thudding in your chest finally you close in the last 100 meters to the bail up the pungent aroma of boar fulls your nose.only 40 meters away you glimpse the pale white dagger like tusks of the boar its eyes are bulging like a fish out of water, the dogs are hesitant to get closer and keep a tight bail. A slip up from the dogs and a 80 kg pig will be trampling and goaring them , you wait for a clear view of the pig and you know it’s time to make a move you tell the dogs to get out of the way so you can get a clear clean shot on the beast, a thin layer of sweat forms around the stock of the gun you draw it up to your shoulder and cock it, you put the sight on its shoulder and squeeze, after the noise of an ear cracking shot disappears into the surrounding gullys. a steamy hole oozes with sweet red liquid, it seeps out of the pigs shoulder he drops to the cold damp leaf litter, the dogs barrel over and start holding him, your footsteps are heavy in the mushy ground as you make haste to the pig you draw your knife and sink the old tattered blade into the pigs chest it’s a clean stick, a thick waterfall of blood bubbles out, you take your time looking over the dogs. They were lucky to get out scott free,the bond you have with these dogs are unbreakable.  you pay your respects to the old warrior of the bush as you laid him to rest, now the real work starts, slithering you knife up its belly a cloud of vapor leaks into air you delv your hands into the gut cavity to clean everything out, you make your way up and done through the murky remains of liquidated heart and lungs. Tying the hooks together and dragging him to a prehistoric like totara stump were you rest him on and ranggle him onto your back, you start taking your first steps through the smoggy bush the weight of the mangy old boar sends shocks through your legs as you clamber through the fern and supple jack, the supple jacks acts as an anchor it weaves its way around your body and pulls tight. But you keep pushing and trudging on, until you reach a big open clearing a barrier of mist kisses the top of the bronze grass, you stop and catch your breath for a minute you look down at the blood soaked screen of the GPS you’ve only covered 300 meters, it’s another 3-4k back to the cosy hut, the thought of a warm fire hot meal and a cold woody to refresh your senses play in your head this is the inspiration you need to keep you pushing on.