The Hunted

The doe is made of silver. Leveling his rifle at her fawn made of gold, the hunter’s hands shake just one good shot away from fortune.

His aim is spoiled as a stag of iron strides between him and his target.

Eyes fixed, it charges.

One good shot does nothing.

Copyright © by Jason H. Abbott, All Rights Reserved.

Discover more of my Aethereal Musings.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Blog at

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: