Worst Of Mine

Words: 638
Pages: 3

The forests outside of Shawnee were home to some of the best bucks in Oklahoma according to Buckhorn Bill at the Hunter's Palace where DS and his father had stopped in for doe-in-estrus piss and bleat calls. DS's father, Richard Strait, Sr., remembered fondly these killing escapades from his own childhood when the male bonding simply couldn't have been better. This, however, wouldn’t be the same for DS, a scrawny, clumsy kid who suffered the belt of the old man and the youthful belligerence of the students in his fifth grade class in silence. "Best memories of my life, hunting with my father. You'll see, Son. You’ll see," his voice roared, even during such potentially tender moments. Worst of mine. Worst of mine. Worst of mine. DS's father …show more content…
You’re all set up. Just take your knife and start at the base of his neck. Just the skin. Don’t spoil the meat." DS recalled again the kill moment and froze. His buck knife fell to the ground. His father, that gargantuan man with an easily ignited temper, picked it up and came at DS, the knife's curved edge just inches from his neck. "I... I..." DS felt the upward flow. "Don't you get all sissy on me again boy! Take the fucking knife and just cut, damn it!!" DS remained still in the chill of hatred and death. His father shoved the blade closer. A bit of blood trickled down DS's neck. The impossibility of his son ever being able to contribute to venison filets made DS's father furious. The telling vein that cursed his forehead bulged like a worm in heat. "I... don't..." "Some son," he dismissed in disgust. "Some pussy son," he taunted emphasizing "pussy" then lunged his meaty body, shoving the slight, quivering boy aside. DS toppled against a rusty nail scraping his forehead. His heavy black framed glasses flew to the ground. DS's father proceeded to cut through the soft hide past the membrane that was watery and thin until the red meat was