The Final Hunt

As the skiff silently drifted through the sea of rolling fog, Clem Yijun kept a watchful eye on his target in the distance: A lone mynock flapping aimlessly, probably looking for its flock. Clem removed his hands from the controls and picked up the harpoon rifle resting against the stern. As the skiff slowed towards the creature, Clem had a moment to think about his life. Now at 65 years of age, he was an experienced hunter. He could still remember the day his father brought him out beyond the bustle of the city into the wilderness of the open air. His father had showed him how to lift the rifle sight up to his eye line and track the airborne animals . Clem’s father was gone now and the skiff was his to commandeer. The technique for hunting Mynocks on Randon had not changed very much over the generations. Clem had cut the engines before the parasite could become aware of his presence. As the Mynock converged across the path of the skiff, Clem exhaled and then cut his breath short, pulling the trigger with force. The harpoon sailed through the air and landed a clean hit in the centre of the creature. Just then, the sun rose above the fog and illuminated the man’s wrinkled face once more. Clem knew he had seen more sunrises than he was going to see.

Spoiler

Inspiration + Pics

Inspiration: Chinese cormorant fishing

 

Additional Pics: Coming soon