Outdoor writing contest runner-up: A game of life and death

Taking a deep breath, I lifted the bow to my cheek, and with a steady hand, I let it fly.

I set my sights on him long ago. I knew the closer I got, the more he would know. So each day, I would crawl as close as I could get before he saw my predatorial eyes, and each and everyday I would return alone. He could hear everything: each step I took, each breath I made, each knock of the arrow, and he would fly before I could even try.

A few times I chased him. His speed was too immense for me to catch. He flew under logs and over hills like it was second nature. He would not get caught, would not slip, would not fall. I would become slower, waiting until he was out of sight to stop my chase. I knew the day I caught him, our game would be over.

Each day we both insisted on playing. I would see him stride into the small field letting himself be exposed, and each day I would take the bait. I would grab my bow and head out just in time to miss him. Each day, he taunted me in an unfair game of cat and mouse. And each day the hunger would set in just a bit deeper, making it just that much more unbearable. I knew one of us would have to fall to our small game.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” I breathed solemnly, knowing our game had come to an end. With each breath he took, I could feel it. He lay in front of me, his eyes like black holes looking up at me, capturing me. He knew I had won, he knew long ago.

With a final breath, he left me a solemn winner in a game of life and death.