This is wonderful work, Meerkat. It had me in a very tense state of mind throughout. I can't wait to read more of your stories.
Best,
AJ
As the forest began to slip into twilight, the troubling thoughts that had been hunting me finally found their mark. These woods were dangerous, I was fully aware. Yet here I lay, half-hidden in the snow and underbrush, perhaps brave, certainly foolish, and comforted only by the presence of my rifle.
I stretched my aching muscles, stiff from the long, motionless hours of the afternoon. Not so much as a rabbit had appeared all day. Most creatures, I imagined, were huddled deep in their burrows, frozen in dull torpor until winter passed. Though I felt the same chilling fatigue, I dared not close my eyes. Even a brief rest would surely become a permanent one.
There were stories of men who had met this peaceful death, entombed in frost until spring washed them from their graves. Their fate, I swore, would not be mine.
I squinted at the horizon through snow-stung eyes. The light was fading, and with it went any legality my actions had. I didn’t care. Laws were for those who killed for sport, who covered their floors in furs and hung heads upon the wall. They sought mere trophies.
I hunted to live.
A sudden snap echoed through the woods, interrupting my thoughts. Startled, I jolted upright. My heartbeat quickened at the familiar sound—a trap being sprung.
I hurriedly stood, tilting my head toward the noise. The clash of sharp steel soon faded into a ragged, primal cry. I numbly clutched my gun, my ears pulsing with wind and blood. Snow crunched and broke rhythmically under my heavy steps. There was no veteran resignation to my march; death’s anthem imposed on me a tortured urgency.
An icy blast struck me as I reached the top of a hill. I pulled my thin coat tighter around my ribs. In this brief action, my enemies, Hunger and Cold, offered a sinister reminder. They were inescapable, manifest in the frigid flesh and jutting bone that held my very being together. I gritted my teeth. Nature, in her chaotic indifference, cannot take into account the strength of human will.
A new fire kindled within me, I resumed my trek through the forest. The animal howls had ceased, but I knew where my quarry waited. I prided myself on an intimate knowledge with the land. The passage of years had acquainted me with its constancies as well as its secrets, and no mask of frost and darkness could turn my sylvan friend a stranger.
My intended path led me down into the valley where my trap was set. A faint amber glow was all that remained of daylight, and the snow became more dense and deep. I strained harder to clear the way, warmed from the exertion yet quickly growing weary. The place was near; I needed only to persevere a while longer.
As I travelled further down the slope, I had a sudden realization—whatever prey I found below I would have to devour raw. There was no hope of lighting a fire in this fierce wind, and starvation was clawing impatiently at my insides. Once, such a distasteful thought would have sickened me, but time and hardship had worn revulsion down to a grim acceptance. I had withstood, and would surely endure, harsher tests in nature’s gauntlet.
Amidst the dark and distant figures of trees, I spied the glint of moonlight off metal. My steps hastened in anticipation. Snow flew fierce and sharp across my face as I struggled against the wind, half-blinded by the stinging frost. With one hand clenched around my rifle and the other outstretched to feel the way, I began to close the distance between myself and my goal.
In time, the branching, overlapping shadows melted back into their roots. I had reached the edge of a clearing, and the ground before me lay blank and bare save for a vibrant blur at the border of my vision. I blinked to clear my sight and looked up expectantly.
Crimson stained the violent scene, pooling into the ruts and hollows a frenzied creature had scratched in a panic. Two gleaming jaws, fused in place by a thick chain, were wedged with a grisly, grayish mass.
A shock ran through me. I stepped back in horror, not at what I witnessed but at what was absent. Splintered bone protruded into nothingness, strips of glistening flesh and fibrous muscle quivered in the open air, and the visceral incompleteness of the bloodied lump in the trap instilled in me a deep dread.
My prey had made a desperate escape, leaving only its mangled leg behind.
I was struck with a dizzying dismay. My best chance for survival had fled, and my hands, no longer warmed by motion, began to be infected with a creeping numbness. I anxiously scanned the gore-flecked snow, daring to hope a set of tracks still remained. My eyes lighted on a shallow impression, so faint as to be nearly invisible. In a moment, it vanished beneath the snowfall.
I lunged across the clearing, hunched and bristling like a wolf. Another print appeared before me, and more followed it until their outlines faded into the distance.
I passed the fourth mark, this one deep and beaded with red. My pace altered instinctively. Crouched low, with eyes narrowed and muscles tensed, I pursued with a predatory hunger. The trees grew denser and more twisted, and I was forced to weave among them. Still, ever so slightly, the tracks became clearer.
I inhaled sharply. The wind tightened my lungs like a vise, restricting each breath to a shallow gasp.
Evening had since pulled its shroud over the forest. Shadows intermingled with the inky sky, and I strained to see the path ahead. A disturbing apprehension weighed on me as I travelled further—a vague doubt as to my direction. I had accounted for winter’s tricks, not my own misfortune.
The prints came to a fragmented halt, and my heart thundered as I was suddenly awash in moonlight. The ground shifted beneath me. Unconsciously, I stepped forward to steady myself.
The earth gave way. I plunged downward, weightless for an instant as air rushed against my face. My body met the snowbank below with a muted thump, sending up plumes of frost at the impact.
I lay there motionless, praying for the ringing in my skull to subside. One arm was twisted under me, and I tried in vain to straighten it. With intense effort, I lifted up my head. Agony crackled through my gaunt frame. This, at least, was some small comfort—I was not paralyzed.
Above me, the low cliff from which I had fallen loomed dimly. I shakily attempted to stand, but a wave of sickness forced me to my knees. I retched soundlessly onto the ice, my stomach empty of all but acid and bile.
In a few minutes, my composure returned. I climbed to the top of the snowbank like a dead man from a grave, groaning at the ache in my muscles. I looked ahead.
Before me was a sight that nearly made me laugh—sanguine streaks, bright and beckoning, covering a brief distance until they vanished into a cave. I scarcely felt myself stir before my fingers were gripping rock and I was peering into the hollow depths. Time loses its way in the darkness, and I could not fathom whether minutes or years had passed since I first rose to hunt.
The place must have been the den of a mountain lion, for the distinctive odor still hung in the air. It was abandoned, I assured myself. There was no cause for fear.
Not for me, at least. My gaze locked on a huddled mass of fur near a wall of the cave. I crept toward it with a hush. As I approached, it shuddered and twitched, kicking its stump leg weakly. My rifle was gone, lost and likely broken in the fall, but its absence instilled in me a curious peace. We were so close, this creature and I.
I had no time to ruminate on the cruel justice of ending one life to sustain another. Half-shut eyes, glazed in pain, met my own. I crouched down beside the animal in silence.
“Please,” it gasped, and I stared grimly.
*
I passed the night in dreamless, soundless sleep. When dawn arrived, I emerged from the cave to begin my long journey home.
Sunlight bled from the horizon, flowing amidst the barren trees, illuminating my stained hands and face as it cast a shadow over my solitary trail of footprints. I breathed deeply, soothed and sated by the yield of the hunt.
Somber yet untroubled, I returned to the tranquil woods.
This is wonderful work, Meerkat. It had me in a very tense state of mind throughout. I can't wait to read more of your stories.
Best,
AJ
Hey there! Here to review per request 
Ah, I love this. It's written so well, and makes me question why on earth I've not read anything else of yours before. Oh, and your writing reminds me so much of my boyfriend's, like, no joke. It's insane how similar your writing styles are. Your descriptions are wonderful, both the beautiful (i.e. the scenery) and the not so beautiful (the severed leg). For such a simple piece, you had me captivated from start to finish, and I didn't find my attention wavering at all. You have no idea how impressed you should be by that, considering I have the attention span of a deformed goldfish. I noticed a few reviews had mentioned you perhaps being too descriptive, but eh, I don't personally agree. For the kind of plot you've got here, it's necessary. Otherwise it would just be this guy going on a hunt without much more to it. The creature our narrator kills at the end is a human, right? Or do I just have a disturbed mind?
Now in regards to critiques, there's only really one main thing that bothered me throughout this. While I like diving straight into things, I feel like we as readers need to know more, particularly if I was right in saying that his prey is human. I mean, that's some desperate stuff. Is this a apocalyptic world? Or is this guy simply stranded in the middle of nowhere? Or what? As this is a short story as opposed to a novel, getting to know our narrator isn't super vital, but it's nice to feel like we know him to some extent. What are his motives? Does he have a family to feed? Is he simply focused on keeping himself alive? How long has he been living like this? All of this will ultimately explain why this guy would go to such lengths to survive. I suppose what I'm saying is that I'd love for you to delve into him more, and to explore this world he lives in.
On a similar note, I think it's fair to say that whatever world he does live in, it's one where resources are strained. As such, where would he get a rifle? And bullets to keep it functional? Also, assuming this is a position he can't get out of, at least certainly not with ease, I feel like he should be more bothered about his lack of weapon. He may have survived today, but surely he needs to survive tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and the next. Isn't that going to be immensely difficult now that he doesn't have a weapon? This all comes back to the background of your story again, really. Don't get me wrong; I don't need to know everything and everyone, but this does feel a little empty in that sense at the current state of this story. It doesn't have a backbone, y'know? The situation is interesting and fascinating, but we can't really understand it.
The only other thing I can conjure up a critique for is your narrator's emotions. We don't see them a hell of a lot. We see him struggling for hunger and such, but with more reactive emotions we don't get a lot. I get the feeling that you want him to be quite closed off, perhaps numbed from the things he's seen and done. Nonetheless, a bit of something more would be beneficial, I think. For example, when he falls off the cliff. He's clearly in pain, but has this scared him? Does it make him lose any motivation? As it stands, it sort of has the feeling of well look at that, I just fell off the cliff, as opposed to holy crap, that was close, how long can I keep surviving like this? e.t.c. Explore inside his head more, you know? I think this dude could be a seriously interesting character, so I'd love to see into his mind more.
Critiques aside, I really can't emphasise how great of a read this was for me. I don't read many shorts anymore, and this has made me want to. I did have to be extra fussy with my critiques as, like I said, this was such a pleasure to read. As such, please do take what I say with a pinch of salt. Hopefully I've been able to help you in some shape or form, and be sure to let me know if you've got any comments or questions regarding what I've said here
Keep writing,
xoxo Skind
Annie here for a review!
First off, I love the imgaery you used in the beginning, especially the line, "entombed in frost until spring washed them from their graves." Great use of imagery!
One minor grammar error is where you wrote, " The animal howls had ceased," but it should be written as, " The animal's howls had ceased."
One problem though is while you have amazing descriptions, I feel like you are over describing. While sometimes vivid descriptions help to set the mood of a story, too much description can make it drag on, so maybe cut back on them just a little.
The only other issue has to do with the over descriptiveness and the first person point of view. When writing in first person, you are writing as if you were the person you are writing about. So when you write, you have to put yourself in their shoes and think the way they think, write the way they might think something rather than how you would think it.
Aside from those two things this story was very good and I loved the vocabulary you used. Awesome job, and keep writing!
This review might seem a little bit critical so read past the first paragraph at your caution. But first I'll say that I do really like your writing style -- tenses aside, this whole piece seemed very professional. It seemed like something I'd pick up and read in an actual library, if that makes sense. You have a wondrous sense of imagery that makes it not at all hard to envision when and what is happening. I thought your pacing was excellent -- starting out rather slow, then picking up speed until the big climax, which was the man falling off a cliff.
This seems to be a very description-heavy piece of writing, in that there isn't much in the way of anything but the main character describing the scene. He describes the scene, hears a noise, goes into the forest, goes on a cliff, falls then goes to sleep. There isn't a whole lot of action or much in the name of character-work, which is fine if you want it that way. It's more up to you being a personal thing, but I would've liked to know who this guy was, why he was hunting in the depths of winter.
As the forest began to slip into twilight, the troubling thoughts that had been hunting me finally found their mark. These woods were dangerous, I was fully aware. Yet here I lay, half-hidden in the snow and underbrush, perhaps brave, certainly foolish, and comforted only by the presence of my rifle.
I stretched my aching muscles, stiff from the long, motionless hours of the afternoon. Not so much as a rabbit had appeared all day. Most creatures, I imagined, were huddled deep in their burrows, frozen in dull torpor until winter passed. Though I felt the same chilling fatigue, I dared not close my eyes. Even a brief rest would surely become a permanent one.
There were stories of men who had met this peaceful death, entombed in frost until spring washed them from their graves. Their fate, I swore, would not be mine.
An icy blast struck me as I reached the top of a hill.
In this brief action, my enemies, Hunger and Cold, offered a sinister reminder.
A new fire kindled within me
Amidst the dark and distant figures of trees, I spied the glint of moonlight off metal.
The prints came to a fragmented halt, and my heart thundered as I was suddenly awash in moonlight. The ground shifted beneath me. Unconsciously, I stepped forward to steady myself.
The earth gave way. I plunged downward, weightless for an instant as air rushed against my face. My body met the snowbank below with a muted thump, sending up plumes of frost at the impact.
I had no time to ruminate on the cruel justice of ending one life to sustain another. Half-shut eyes, glazed in pain, met my own. I crouched down beside the animal in silence.
“Please,” it gasped, and I stared grimly.
Sunlight bled from the horizon, flowing amidst the barren trees, illuminating my stained hands and face as it cast a shadow over my solitary trail of footprints. I breathed deeply, soothed and sated by the yield of the hunt.
Hello! I'm Kam and I'll try and give you an awesome review for this awesome short story!
I'll start first with Nitpicks like spelling or grammar or flow, and then I'll move on to the things I like most and end it with what could possibly be improved!
Nit Pick: I
Okay, so I looked it over a couple times before running it through Microsoft word and there were only two things that were out of place, and neither important enough to be fixed really.
1)My heartbeat quickened at the familiar sound—a trap being sprung.
Microsoft word said I was a fragment, but I like the way it is structured. If you really want to 'fix it' I would just replace the dash with "of a" so it become "..at the familiar sound of a trap being sprung."
2)"...distance until they vanished into a cave.I scarcely felt myself stir..."
You forgot a space between the period and I. Not huge, I didn't notice my first way through.
~
Part II
I love this story. I love everything about it, but I mostly love the gore and the horror. This isn't the goriest thing I've seen, and I've definitely written much gruesome stuff, but I love the aspect of horror. The main character knows it is there, we know it is there, but at this point it is sort of like a secondary feeling to the story. It is definitely horror, the cold environment, the bloody hunt for food, the idea of eating raw meat simply to survive; it is all a very horrible scene that you've painted like Van Gogh painted the starry night, which was expertly.
I feel like you could describe the desperation of hunger a little better, maybe compare it to the way that poor animal(Or person? I think it was a person. The animal[Person] talked and it has just occurred to me this person could be a cannibal like...whoa. WHOA.) literally gnawed its own leg off. Oh my gosh, that had be smiling like a dummy because I loooove those horror aspects when they are painted just right, which you certainly did!
~
Part III
What could you do better? Nothing really. You could describe the hunger a bit better, because he found a cave meaning he could probably cook it but he ate it raw anyway. I don't know, that part isn't really important.
I love the idea of this being continued in another part, like they are struggling in another winter and they are literally skin and bones and dying...or they have a kid and then they die and... I don't know, a lot of possibilities that don't necessarily have to be pursued because you've done a simply amazing job here!
Okay. I hope that lived up to this amazing piece of work. I'm going to stop before I ramble on about how I saw the glittery stump of flesh with how AWESOMELY you described it like...gosh. Shivers.
Keep writing! You're quite good
DISCLAIMER: I am an editor at a publishing company. My critique and notes come from what is expected in the publishing world. If you are offended by my constructive criticism, please remember that I am only trying to help you reach your goals as a writer. Thank you.
All notes are in brackets ().
I will only do this in the first paragraph to show you:
“As (past) the forest began (past) to slip into twilight, the troubling thoughts that had been hunting me finally found their mark (present). These woods were (past) dangerous, [and] I was (past) fully aware. Yet here I lay (present), half-hidden in the snow and underbrush, perhaps brave, certainly foolish, and comforted (past) only by the presence of my rifle (present). (Are you using present or past tense? Make sure you are consistent with which one you use.)
You are a strong writer. Your use of sentence structure and punctuation is really well applied. The story was easy to follow but still very intriguing.
My only real critique is your use of past and present tense. Make sure you only use one of the other. Using both will confuse the reader and make the story harder to follow. Go through the story again and look for these tenses.
http://learnenglish.britishcouncil.org/ ... sent-tense
This link is really helpful for determining what is past and present.
I look forward to reading more from you.
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