I received my Mother's Day gift early, and it may well be the best Mother's Day gift ever.
A compound bow, half of the resolution I made over a year ago. A bow and a motorcycle are the two corporal things I discerned, after the great paring away, that would complete the essential me.
What does the mongrel need with a bow?
The mongrel needs to eat something of substance, the likes of which she never gets these days. One can't be raised on the dark savoriness of the wild and then achieve satiation with the flesh of the captive-bred-born-and-slaughtered.
The mongrel needs to eat flesh that has never known a pen. Free-range chickens are not the answer, nor will buying another's kill negate the need.
Muscles must now memorize, acute alertness must be honed, stealth and invisibility must become first nature.
I begin now, with the past 12 years burned behind me. From those ashes I rise a new being. In time you won't even remember that girl glutted with the gross acceptance of bondage latent in her tasteless repasts.
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