A Stray Strawberry

Ron Koppelberger

A Stray Strawberry

An antique possession, hunters delighting in the welcomed myth of unrestrained temptations. A bartered bewilderment in dovetail yesterdays and sated thirsty dawns, in the reflection of a polished metal trigger. They rumbled and grumbled in belching declarations of fraternity and in vision of unfurled freedom. They had placed the net in the center of the beasts run. Clandestined, entwined with a rush of wild strawberries and briar scrub the trap availed the promise of a grand trophy.
Glistening marshland bog wavered in waves of mist and ethereal smoke around them. Khaki shorn boot laced encampments of scandal and bloodlust followed the tides the hunters swam in. They hid unshackled and in clever contempt for the beast and it’s wild domain. They embraced the crush of primitive power and hoarded anger, anger that drove them to make an example of the hunt. “An arrow in the heart of the beast!” one of them whispered. Devised by measures of desolate glee they waited in blind hatred for their prey. “Absconder!” another one whispered. “Strength!” one of them muttered.
In sure order the beast obliged the hunt and an age of seconds and still hours halted as the beast tore the first one’s head off with razor sharp claws and gnashing teeth. “Strength!” he had muttered. The second one screamed and flailed as the beast eviscerated him in a flash of knifelike fangs. “Absconder!” he had whispered. The third one stood his ground shaking and waving a sharp blade. The beast contemplated this moment and disappeared after gulping up a few stray strawberries. The third had whispered the word, “Harmony.” in rebuke and fear, the arrow forgotten and the beast placated.