I have no idea where this came from. Its been unfinished for years...
Orion
Part I: Vive le vent…[The Wind is Alive]
Chapter 1
A blaring Judge Judy commercial came on as he was preparing to go out for the night, exhorting justice as the litigants dramatically threw their hands up at each other in dismissal. Don't believe what you see on TV he thought as he traversed the living room, picked the remote up from the sofa and hit the power button. With one last sweeping glance over the now dim room, he opened the door exited and locked the door behind himself.
It was late September and it had become much colder late at night. He didn't have a jacket and really didn't seem to care. More so, he was pleased to watch his breath alter into the thin whitish wisps in front of him.
It was quiet. In fact, he had chosen this complex because it was quiet. Inhabited only of the late middle-aged and retired, the landlord had cast a suspicious eye over him when he had asked to rent a room. The night was clear, crisp, and there was not a sound of human existence as far as his ears could pick up. A smile played a shadow on his face as he maintained his slow, silent pace.
In the silent night, the moon and the Argus-eyed stars kept no vigil. Orion the Hunter trekked on the land unhindered, inattentively searching.
Chapter 2
He was away from the complex and walking down the narrow, deserted road. He had long since pushed his hand down into his black leather pants. He fingered something in his right pocket and locked up at the queer sallow light in the sky that seemed to emerge for varied clouds. At least he had bothered to put a t-shirt under his sweater. A strong wind blew, going right though the sweater like mesh, and sending a cold shill down his spine as the wind ran an icy hand down his chest. His hands went to what was in his pocket and he smiled again. It felt good.
Chapter 3
In front of him, a deer halted in its tracks. Slowly, with painful care he drew closer to the creature that seemed frozen in time. Close enough to be in arm's length then he stopped. It seemed as if minutes passed before the deer smelled something that told it to run. Every muscle in its body arched in preparation of bounding across the street. Poised to leap, a hand shot out around the deer's throat. He reached into his pocket, removed something, and unlatched it. Hands were replaced with a blade. The hot, dark blood gushed turbulently onto his hand, down his sleeves, maddeningly. He kept his left hand over the rich feeling while his right hand darted everywhere else, slashing as it went along. He was elated. He didn't want the feeling to end. He could feel the muscles still bucking weakly in defense, desperately trying to carryout a request that had been sent too late. He was in ecstasy, so he continued his danse macabre. Arteries and veins expelled their contents violently onto his dark gray sweater, seeping though to his t-shirt, which in turn, clung to his bare flesh.
The deer, long since dead and near empty from lack of blood, slipped from his grasp and landed on its side with a wet thud. To say that it was a mangled mess would be an understatement. To say that it had been mauled would be hypocrisy. The animal was practically falling about, as if it had been through a meat grinder. It wouldn't be good if it was found, so he dragged it by its legs into a deep ditch, alternating between the front legs and back ones, being that all of its legs looked like they would fall off. The once warm blood that had embraced him now hung frozen and heavy like death. He shivered and turned his face from the corpse to the eerie sky in a trance.
Chapter 4
He unlocked the door and walked in. His eyes spanned the room wearily. Everything lay quietly as he left it. He shut the door, locked, and bolted it. He pulled off his sweater and threw it into the trash, the t-shirt following it. He pulled the pants off and made a movement to throw them away but changed his mind. Although he had several liked it, he especially like this particular pair. He threw the pants beside the trashcan along with his underwear and socks. He turned the thermostat up. The cold sticky skin had been shed and he was feeling warmer. He yawned as he walked into the living room, stopping abruptly in the middle of the floor. From the corner of his eye, he could catch the darker opening that was the entrance to his bedroom. He considered a taking a shower. He looked down at himself. Dried blood marked his hands and down his wrist and forearm. Splattered blood etched across his chest and spilled down between his legs and thighs. He considered putting on some clothes, but decided against it, he liked not having anything on. He traced the bloods final descent down his chest, between his legs, and down his legs and shivered. He smirked as he thought a shower or clothes wouldn't due at all. The warm air circulating the room lapped up and down at him. He sunk to the floor and stretched out to sleep.
Before his vision gave way completely to sleep, he could see, through the slats of the Venetian blind, the spectre round of a moon.
© Caroline Alicia Harris