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K age crouched beneath the dense coppice of trees, his knee pads sinking into the cool earth.

An unnerving silence surrounded him and clung to his nerves like a cloak, heavy with layers of caution, and wet with the sweat of a million petrified spectral apparitions.

The morning sun had only shown one glowing, soft yellow finger from beyond the veil of sheer darkness, whispering softly to clustered, murky clouds.

An owl hooted in the distance, perched upon a tall, wiry tree.

Kage fixated on his target. He looked through the scope of his rifle, paying attention to what was both seen and unseen.

Drivels of sweat poured down his face—a warm, tickling sensation followed before the droplets seeped into his eyebrows, mustache and beard.

The acrid flavor of cold coffee repeated across his tongue as he swallowed his disappointment in life itself.

The shifting of shaky shadows and blackening of trees forced him to perch higher from his kneeled position to get an accurate assessment.

The slight swing in the foliage offered sparse illumination among hints of green and brown.

And now, he was more certain than ever. Shiny, slick eyes shimmered in the distance, frantically adjusting to the ebb of the night and penetrating brush.

A spark of light reached his iris. Doe. A deer… Drop of mornin’ sun…

BANG!!! BANG BANG!!!

An animalistic groan emitted high and wide from the source, followed by a thud. He stayed put, and when he heard another snap, he shot again.

BANG! BANG!

…And again.

Thud.

Silence.

He waited, his face now a hot, sweaty mess, and his muscles taut with pulsating adrenaline, the blood coursing through his veins like hot lava.

He patiently lingered until his intuition told him it was time to rise and show himself.

Standing slowly to his full height of six foot seven, he took steady steps to collect the white-tailed deer.

After a short three minute trek, successfully navigating past the multiple squirrel traps on his property, he reached the bounty. Two.

He scooped them up onto his shoulders. The warmth of their heavy frames turned into dead weight against his twisting and turning back.

He moved much slower as he neared his house, the weight of both deer growing heavier with each step.

With his rifle in one hand, and his other keeping the prey steady, he managed.

As soon as he arrived at the front door, he placed his gun against the porch, pressed his thumb on the sensor, and at the chime and click, entered the house.

He locked the door behind him, then took a deep breath. His newly built home still smelled strongly of crisp cedar and cypress lumber, leather and moss. The odors stung his nostrils, blending with the sweet, nauseating bouquet of freshly shed blood.

Heading to the back of his home, he entered a room created specifically for his hunting, fishing, and work supplies.

It was a cool, darkish room, with only one small window, tall walls, and lots of shelves.

In the middle was a large metal sloped table, like one may see in a butcher shop.

At the end of it were stacks of large buckets used to collect the innards, haul water, or wash the concrete floor.

He let one deer slip off his shoulder onto the table, followed by the other on top of it. Reaching for the overhead light, he tugged the chain, and the electricity buzzed and hummed for a few moments.

The preys’ eyes were glassy and troubled.

Satisfied with his handwork, he turned on his mp3 player that sat on a work bench in the corner with bits of white paint dappled along it.

‘ COLTER WALL– IMAGINARY APPALACHIA – The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie’ banged from the speaker.

He grabbed a pair of black latex gloves from a box of fifty, slipped them onto his large, tattooed hands, then put on a black, floor length butcher smock.

Grabbing some meat-cutting shears and an axe that hung from the rafter, he got to skinning his meat, humming to the music, his hand steady and his eye precise.

Peace settled over him. He placed their hides into bags and worked diligently, until each one was sectioned into approximately twenty-one pieces, including their heads.

A bit over an hour had come and gone, but it felt like a mere five minutes.

He turned towards the window and winked at the sun, then opened it wide to allow a bit more ventilation.

The buckets were now filled to the brim with tissue, membranes, blood and bone.

He turned on two industrial sized fans, letting them oscillate.

The all too familiar coppery aroma of death filled his lungs.

He caught his reflection in a metal paper towel dispenser as he moved about.

His face was speckled with runny red splotches, and his hair that he’d tucked behind his ear, was partially dyed dark pink.

He grinned at himself, proud as he was. Painted in pleasure.

Turning back to his prey, he began the necessary clean up. He grabbed the hose and filled some clean buckets with soapy water, so hot it steamed and fogged up glass and mirrors in the room within seconds. Bleach—two bottles’ worth.

Yellow sponges became dark red and heavy as bricks. When he was finished, his muscles were sore and the place was sparkling clean. The Heavy Horses’ ‘Pale Rider’ tantalized his ears as he wrapped up his chores. Now it was time to bag up the prey and sell it while it was still fresh.

He grabbed two thick plastic bags used to haul big construction loads, placed them inside Styrofoam coolers, filled them half-way with ice, and one by one, placed the pieces of meat into each one, nice and compact.

He topped them off with more ice, and secured them shut.

Soon he was upstairs, in the shower. He lathered his body three times, first with the Lava bar of soap, then finishing with Dove Men’s Care, ‘Fresh,’ soap.

He was particularly funny about his hair and beard.

All debris, dirt, blood and mess needed to be cleaned away.

He was a messy man when it came to work—but no other time during the day.

Not the least bit squeamish, he could stomach most hunts, but the aftermath needed to be wiped away.

As if it had never happened. No need to sully up perfectly good spaces.

Just a bit of elbow grease was all that was required.

Crushed bones and brain matter left behind were inexcusable. Always lick the plate clean.

He heard his phone ringing, but didn’t bother reaching for it.

When he was finished, he stepped out of the shower onto a soft, plush rug, then checked himself in the bathroom mirror.

Snatching a nearby towel, he ran it over his tattooed arms, hairy chest and long legs, then took care of his back.

Naked and cold, he made his way into his massive bedroom, which was decorated sparsely with a couple of well-made nightstands he’d crafted himself, an unassuming king-sized bed covered in white sheets, and a television mounted to the log wall.

As he got dressed in boxer briefs and white wife beater, he watched Orvil, a large moose that lived on his property, saunter by.

He never bothered Orvil, and Orvil never bothered him.

In fact, he’d feed the beast sometimes, especially during the colder months when food was scarce.

He never went after the moose’s family, either.

The two had an understanding. In fact, he mainly kept his domestic hunting to prey that was either a threat, or abundant in population.

Kage took a deep inhale. His heart rate had finally slowed, and all was right with the world. This was peace. Solitude.

Though many felt differently about him. Some said he was a recluse.

That wasn’t true at all. He enjoyed going out into the world of the living; he simply didn’t wish to live there .

He was often called anti-social. There may have been a thread of truth to that.

The jury was still out. Maybe it was his preferred audience that was the problem?

He enjoyed company just fine, such as precious time that he spent with a falcon he named Rook that lived on his land, and the elusive lynx cat who skulked around, that he’d affectionately named, Persia.

Persia had had at least two kitten litters over the past year.

When he’d hear the babies crying, he’d lay out food for Persia and watch her grab it and drag it away to her den through the cameras.

Persia was a bit skittish, but they had an understanding, too.

He respected nature, and nature respected him.

Kage owned three acres of land in that glorious wilderness.

He woke up every morning to the sounds of birds chirping, water brooks singing, the river flowing, and the sounds of life. Besides, he didn’t want for anything.

When he wanted food, he hunted, fished, drove to the farmer’s market, or went to the grocery store.

When he wanted more money, he took on a builder’s job.

He had his own company and team, consistent, content customers, and could choose the hours he so desired.

He was educated and accredited, with glowing online ratings of his work and employees, and well-trained in construction, carpentry, plumbing and electric work.

A real blue collar renaissance handyman.

He had more requests for work than he could shake a stick at.

When he wanted intimacy, all he had to do was go to a local watering hole, or any place single women migrated to, and walk in the gotdamn door.

Somebody’s daughter was coming home with him, and that was that.