Boone
Fuck, that feels good.
My hands are around her waist, and hers are on my chest. She’s smiling at me, and her tits bounce up and down in sync with her movement. Like an untamed mare, she rides me.
Try as I might to control or tame her, I can’t. She throws her head back, and her hair spills all over her back.
She’s milking my cock with the walls of her tight pussy, and I’m in seventh heaven.
“I love you, Boone,” she says.
Yes.
I want to shout because of joy.
Gone are my questions, fears, and reservations.
Why have I waited this long to fuck her? I should have sought her out much sooner.
I let go of her waist and reach for her tits, those delicious delicacies. Just as I’m about to grab, caress, and massage them, her hair catches fire.
Holy shit.
How did that happen?
Frantically, I look around for something I can use to quash the flames, but there’s nothing that can do this nearby.
Horrified, I watch the flames lick her face, back, and abdomen. Soon, her whole body is burning.
With one last desperate attempt, I reach for her, but all I’m left with is a pile of ashes.
Something makes me sit upright. I breathe hard. I look around, trying to figure out where I am.
I’m in my cabin.
My eyes roam around.
It was a dream, a fucking dream. I wipe my brow and take slow deep breaths.
Where did this fucking awful dream come from? I try to calm my mind and think back to the night before.
She came to talk to me. There’d been talk about her nightmares. Margot relates that someone had been in her room moments before she passed out.
Perhaps her story prompted my nightmare.
Whatever the reason, it was fucking frightening. There’s no chance of sleeping now.
I sigh. In my current state, I’m no fucking use to anyone. I may as well get up and do something.
That’s why I grab my essential gear and head for the outdoors. The only thing to do right now is hunt.
I didn’t catch that deer yesterday, and I think its scent is still around here somewhere. On the way, I grab my bow and arrows.
A clear morning like this calls for a good, old-fashioned hunt with a reliable weapon.
Before I take off, I test the string on my bow. It feels good.
My quiver sits on my back and contains six arrows. That’s about five more than I need, but heck, I may as well leave them where they are.
It doesn’t take long for me to pick up the trail. The doe is not too far away. My nostrils flare a little as I take some deep breaths to get my bearing.
If I kill this creature, I’ll have good meat for several months. I make sure that I use every last bit of the animal I kill, from the skin to their eyes.
Carefully, I make my way along the path at the back of my hut. If I stick to the left, I should come upon the unsuspecting animal and shoot him with my arrow.
I round a corner in the path and keep my eyes peeled up ahead. Then I see it. Like yesterday, its head is buried in some grass.
Slowly, carefully, and very quietly, I take my bow and nook an arrow. As I draw back, I keep my eyes on the target.
Shooting an animal in the wild is the same as target shooting. You pick a spot on which you focus your aim, then you shoot.
I always aim for the heart. I don’t like to see animals suffer unnecessarily. One shot, and it’ll be a good, clean kill.
Just as I’m about to release the arrow, a high-pitched scream pierces the silence of the night. It’s a strange kind of sound, and it’s enough to make the deer take a few startled steps forward.
Darn.
My eyes search the horizon. An eagle must have sounded the warning.
So close and yet so far. I adjust my position to take my shot.
My right eye is closed as I draw back and take aim.
Out of nowhere, a rabbit jumps into sight. Its appearance makes the deer look around and sniff, then it makes a run for it.
Fuck.
That’s already two strikes. I’m not normally plagued by this much bad luck. Is it bad luck, or is the universe trying to tell me something?
Nonetheless, I decide to preserve and follow the trail. With my bow lowered and the arrow back in the quiver, I keep walking.
Random thoughts pop up as I take every step. There’s one, though, that won’t go away.
By the time I see the deer again, I’m not sure if I want to kill it.
Even though my heart’s not in it anymore, I nook the arrow a third time. This time, I draw back quicker.
But before I can release my lethal arrow, the deer makes a getaway a third time.
It was probably for the best that the animal had gotten away. I mean, how would I explain to my daughter Amelia that I killed a deer?
Pictures of Bambi invade my thoughts. I shake my head. Life really takes a strange turn when you become a parent.
Before today and before Amelia, I never had second thoughts on killing an animal.
But suddenly, I have to think of someone else. How would Amelia take the news of me bringing home a dead animal that is plastered all over television as Bambi? Not well would be my guess.
By the time I get back to the cabin, I feel hungry. There’s still no sign of my guests, but I figure they won’t be in bed much longer.
I start cooking breakfast.
Not quite sure what they like to eat, I choose to cook bacon and eggs.
Amelia may not like eating bacon and eggs, I think.
I am standing in front of my pantry and pondering the eating habits of a four-year-old.
Nonetheless, I opt for honey toast and some fruits. I arrange the fruits to form a smiley face: banana slices for the eyes; apple slices for the nose and ears; and berries for the smile.
Just as I’m looking at my masterpiece, my mobile rings.
I glance at it before I answer.
“What do you want?”
“I’m fine. Thanks, Boone. How are you?”
“You didn’t call to exchange pleasantries, so let’s skip the small talk,” I growl into the phone and put my prepared breakfast on the table.
“How did you know that? Of course I called to find out how you’re doing.”
I don’t reply immediately. My father never does anything without a reason. There’s a reason he called this morning, a reason that I don’t know yet.
“I know you. We haven’t spoken in ages, because I know you. What do you want?”
I can hear father’s sharp intake of air.
But when he speaks again, he sounds as calm as before.
“I hear Margot is staying with you.”
At his words, the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. A shiver runs down my spine.
“What are you getting at?”
“Nothing, son. Just that it must be nice for you to have her back.” There’s a short, dry cough. “I mean, you know, after all that’s happened.”
Because I’m not sure what he wants and I’ve got things to do, I want this conversation to end.
“You should make the most of your time together, while you have it.”
“What does that mean?” I bark.
“Nothing. Only that life is unpredictable, don’t you agree? You’ll never know how much time you have left with something or someone.”
“Look, unless there’s something specific you want to talk about, I have to go.”
“No, nothing specific. Give my regards to Margot, and like I said, enjoy the time you have together.”
I hang up without saying another word. To say our relationship is fraught is an understatement.
“Sorry,” a soft voice behind me startles me.
With the phone in my right hand, I turn around.
Both Amelia and Margot are standing in the doorway to the kitchen. They look like angels. Margot’s hair is messed up, and she’s not wearing any make-up.
Yet she looks ravenously beautiful.
My throat feels dry, and I swallow.
“’Morning,” I mumble and feel like a bumbling teenager on his first date.
“Morning, Boone!” Amelia is jumping up and down and tugging on her mother’s hands.
Her laughter is music to my ears and food for my soul.
I push the sense of dread I felt when I was talking to my father and focus on the here and now.
What did the old man say? ‘Enjoy your time with her?’ I fucking intend to.
“Good morning, my beautiful queen and princess.” I take a little bow and earn more laughter from Amelia. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Margot bows—a sign that she has taken the role of queen.
“Thank you, good sir.”
“Please be so kind as to honor me with your presence at my breakfast table.”
Amelia bounces past her mother and sits down, looking expectantly at us.
“Breakfast is served.” I bow again and point toward the table.
Margot laughs and joins her daughter at the table.
With a smile, I join them, making a mental note to figure out later what my father’s phone call was about.