Category: Editions

May Al-Thani

Through apt word choice and vivid imagery, a simple scene is brought to life. The strength of this piece is evident in its engaging pace: the reader is led to tense, thrill, and delight alongside the protagonist as her experience unfolds.

Bloodlust

BAM! I heard the muffled sound of the rifle through my headphones, feeling the recoil of the gun on my shoulder and a mix of ecstasy and pain with what had just passed.

This was the farthest my family and I had camped out on a hunting trip in Spain. From 2010 to 2013 my family used to go on hunting trips every spring break. Most of the time, I would tag along with my brothers, watching them and racing after the fallen birds, raising them up with a Cheshire cat-like grin on my face as warm bird blood oozed down my arm. Today was an odd sunny day. Usually, you could feel the cold biting at your skin. Opposing that, you could feel the warmth seep through the layers of clothing, and not a cloud in sight. The rattling of the autumn leaves and the sound of nature was calming my excitement and worry about hunting for the first time. After all, I was the only one who hadn’t shot down a bird yet: even my mom, who is pregnant, has. My dad gave me a small hunting rifle so that it wouldn’t hurt my shoulder as much. As we were standing behind my sister, she was taking a shot at a small pheasant. I saw its lifeless body sail down as Bandit, our Saluki hunting dog, ran after it to bring back to us. I tentatively peered around when suddenly I felt a strong arm pull me up.
“Baba! You scared me!” I giggled.
“C’mon, I got the right rifle for you,” he said, pulling me along with him.
I walked towards my father, who was crouched down, and he adjusted muffling headphones onto my head. It felt like having two soft pillows pressed against your ears. Even though I had the headphones on, I could still hear the ever so prominent beat of my heart speeding up as the seconds ticked by. I felt my father’s chest against mine, and his slow, steady breathing as he helped me hold the rifle. He helped me put the barrel against the makeshift haystack. I steadied my shaky hands against the rough texture of the stock, the handle of the firearm. Should I do this? After all, my brother shot his first bird when he was 7, and I’m only a year older than him…
“Nova?” I heard my father’s voice jutting into my train of thought. I glanced behind me, staring right into my father’s eyes, who was looking at me warily. I gave him a small nod, affirming that I’m all right. I rested my sweaty finger on the trigger, taking aim and awaiting a flock to fly past. It felt like hours, when only five minutes later, my father was telling me how a flock of partridge birds was nearing. I steadied the rifle, looking through the scope and taking my aim. Slowly, my fingers tugged on the trigger, coaxing out a bullet when – BAM! 
I heard the muffled sound of the rifle through my headphones, feeling the recoil of the gun on my shoulder. The bloody fat partridge was at my feet with Bandit’s slobber all over it. He looks up at me, panting, waiting for me to shower him with affection for retrieving my first kill. I picked it up with its still clutched talons, looking back at my family as a small smile tugged at my face.
I did it.