Monday, December 18, 2006

Nanowrimo #11

The Man began his day with a cup of coffee and started a kettle of water for the Lady’s tea. He walked out into the yard in front of the shack to greet the sun as it woke the earth. He finished his coffee and walked over to the Lady, who was already in the garden preparing the day’s food, pecked her on the cheek, and walked down the road that he always walked down into the woods in search of the day’s meat. He passed the sled, which was already rusting from disuse, a gun, which he had damned months ago and tossed away, and a pile of various other belongings that neither he nor the Lady had any need for. The Man took only a rather large stick to bring back any carcasses, if it was necessary and plodded away down the trail.

Before he realized it, the afternoon was turning into evening and he had two squirrel carcasses and a half of a mouse tied to the stick, which he held with his right hand propped up on his shoulder, like a Norman Rockwell picturesque hobos. He reckoned that he must have eaten some of the mouse for lunch, but he couldn’t remember it. He also realized that he was almost home, and that made him quite relieved, and he looked forward to sitting in the little kitchen with the Lady, enjoying the night air and the sound of the crickets. As he bounded the last few yards towards the house he congratulated himself on such a productive day. As he set the stick on the porch, leaned up against the wall of the house, he noticed there, on the drying rack, another mouse, one that he had not himself caught. He set the food on the rack to dry and went into the house.

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