Skins (flash fiction mini collection) Read online

 

  Praise for Jess C Scott

  “[Please] keep up the good work . . . the world can certainly use some more authentic, original work like yours, rather than the same old re-packaged mass-market pulp.”

  — TGirl Revelations / Bibrary.com, October 2010

  ***

  “Ever since I came across Jess C Scott’s teenage blog novel, EyeLeash, I’ve known that some very talented writers will emerge from the epublishing revolution.”

  — Joseph Grinton / October 2011

  SKINS

   

  www.jesscscott.com

   

  Copyright © 2011 by Jess C Scott

  Cover art © by Steve-h @

  https://www.flickr.com/people/sbh/

   

  All rights reserved.

  First Edition: October 2011

    

  Summary: A 5000-word mini collection for animal lovers by author/artist/non-conformist, Jess C Scott. She will work at developing more stories with the subject of “animal rights” in mind.

  Note: “Savion” also appears in Jess C Scott’s Porcelain.

  # # # # #

  Author’s Note:

   

  I was recently inspired to write a short story on animal rights, due to a particularly grotesque photo of crocodile-skinned chairs in the November 2011 USA edition of Harper’s Bazaar (the photo is included in the last story, “Skins”).

  Killing animals to make a fashion statement = a sickening + cold-blooded vanity.

  -- Jess C Scott / jessINK

   

  Table of Contents

   

  + SHORT STORIES / FLASH FICTION +

  Note: Most of the pieces here are vignettes (i.e. short “word sketches”). “Savion” and “Skins” are short stories.

   

  Savion

  The Stream

  The Umbrella

  Black-Naped Oriole

  Unicorn Haiku

  Cat Karma

  The Edge

  Hachiko

  Father Bear & Baby Bear

  Skins

  + NOTE: PETA +

  + [AUTHOR Q&A] +

   

   

  FLASH FICTION

   

  Savion

  This story is for animal lovers.

  * * * * *

  The red deer stopped uphill on the forest path.

  A robin flittered onto a birch tree in front. The stag raised his head, twitched both ears, then stamped his left hoof twice into the sodden, earthen track.

  Savion always did that when he was running out of patience. He needed to tune in to the environment better, and he didn’t have a moment to lose. It started with the hare he saw that morning. It was almost full-grown, and looked like any other that Savion had come upon—except that it had an injury. There had been a nasty gash on its hind foot, from getting tangled in a scrap of barbed wire. And it was hunting season.

  He had seen a hunt once, with the beagles and basset hounds out on full pursuit. It had been a crisp foggy September morning. He had seen the huntsmen coming in their vans and cars, gathering the beagles around them. It was terrible. The calls of the hunting horn were like a resounding death knell over the land. All the animals knew it, but the hares especially so. Savion had never seen them darting bounding and dodging as swiftly as they did then. Keeping up with this hare hadn’t been easy. It must be mayhem being chased by packs trained to find the scent line on all sides. The hare wouldn’t know what happened, if the dogs did get to it and decided to snuff it.

  Savion knew it was dangerous to come. What if a huntsman spotted him? What if he ended up being shot at, skinned, gutted, brought home to be roasted on a spit over a fireplace? Set on a table and served as dinner? He knew how roasted venison smelt like—he shuddered just thinking about it. But he couldn’t just stay where he was and let this hunt go on either, in a place that he knew well and spent a lot of his time at. He didn’t really know how he could help, or what he would have to do if he needed to escape and save his life—but he was young, strong, and could gallop at top speed. He would rely on that.

  Where are you, Savion thought.

  He moved along the forest trail. There was the slightest rustle in the bushes ahead of him. Savion waited. He wanted to be sure that danger wasn’t about to get him. From what he’d seen, he didn’t trust humans very much. He didn’t want to fall into a trap. He brought his head down and scanned the leaves and undergrowth.

  Focus…focus…

  He looked harder. And he saw it!—he could just about make out the hare hiding in the shadows. Savion saw her round gleaming eyes first, then the long ears, folded and flattened against the back of her neck. She was tensed up and cowering into the ground. Her fur coat was matted with dirt mud and bits of dry grass. Fear filled her wide eyes to the outer rim.

  “Hello,” Savion spoke in a soft tone. It would have sounded like a subdued, ordinary and not-too-polite grunt, only to a human.

  The hare was still breathing fast from the rapid running, but Savion could see her losing a little of the terror in her eyes, with him at least.

  The smell of blood reached him. He remembered the wound on the hare’s hind foot.

  “Are you…all right?”

  The hare still had not taken her gaze off Savion, not even once. She gave a short nod of her head, as if any more movement would cause the hounds and hunters to spring up from all round.

  It was quiet; the air was so still. There was a distant firing of a gunshot. The deer and hare couldn’t tell whether or not the shot had met its target. They didn’t want to know.

  Savion was starting to worry.

  “Can you move?”

  He didn’t know what to ask, or what else he could do.

  The hare twitched her nose and whiskers.

  “A little,” she said in a shy voice.

  Savion could not help but feel a sudden pang then, of a cold cruel sadness. It seemed to him as if he’d thought he could have changed the world with his presence.

  He remembered a friend of his, a black stallion that lived on a farm on one of the fields open to the hunt. The steed had guffawed and asked him what on earth he thought he could do for the hares during hunting season. “I don’t know,” Savion had answered. He just found the idea of being hunted horrifying. He made sure to steer from his usual location when it was time for deer hunting. The hunters had not come around the year before though. Could things be changing? Perhaps. It was never the time to give all hope up.

  He thought about why he was there…

  He had wanted to do all he could today. But he wondered again why he had come. He had spent the last two hours following this hare, and what of it now? What of the remaining days and hares throughout the hunt?

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  The hare looked down the forest trail, to the dry withered field beyond which she had crossed, dragging sore foot and all.

  “I’d ask you to just stay here,” she said. A shiver ran through her, once. “But they’re coming.”

  Savion brought his head to the direction—he hadn’t been on the alert again. They were indeed coming. He hadn’t been paying attention as he was thinking through his reasons for being there. He had an idea.

  “Up ahead,” he said to the hare, “is a stream. Go through it, the hounds will lose your scent.”

  He hoped that she would be able to make the distance. It wasn’t very far ahead. He was backing up, hoping he wouldn’t be seen. Not yet. He had a hunch that what he wanted to do would work.

  “I’ll go down there, now. You make your way to the stream and I will meet you there,
later.”

  “Don’t…” the hare said. “Please…” But her instinct was getting her ready to leave her spot.

  Savion reared his head up with pride. He could feel the weight of the antlers on his head. They gave him a regality he hadn’t known as a fawn. He had to go now; it would be any time before the dogs picked out the hare’s scent in the forest.

  Savion headed down the forest path, back where he had come from. He’d distract the hounds. He gained more sureness and his heartbeat quickened with each step. The hare took off, oblivious to the shooting pain in her leg. She was getting away while she still could.

  The red deer knew what to do. He didn’t panic. He plodded noisily and heavily along the path, to get the attention of the basset hounds that had been out and about for quite a long time. They noticed him right away. In fact, as he got closer to them, he could see the sad, tired look that flooded their own brown eyes. Savion wondered if the look was there from the time they were young pups. There were seven of them. They looked up at Savion, keeping a few feet away from him as he towered above them.

  He was counting on being an impressive sight for the huntsman.

  The hunter had a gun in his hands, and he brought it down as he saw Savion approach. He was young too. He was broad-shouldered, and stood straight and tall. His freckled, reddish face and sandy brown hair gave him a friendly disposition. He looked warm and comfortably dressed in a dark green tweed coat, boots, and black cap.

  Savion wanted to go just near enough, while keeping his distance so that the huntsman couldn’t touch him. It was rare to have a wild red stag come up close, with neither side mistrusting every move and breath of the other’s. The man couldn’t do anything anyway, apart from send a bullet into him, but Savion doubted that the huntsman would do that. Savion only had to rear up and send his front hooves smashing into the man’s chest or spine. He had no plans on doing that either. He would only bring trouble for all the other deer in the area.

  He managed to get his way with the hounds too.

  “Greetings,” he’d said to them, with a formal bow of his head. They had taken an immediate liking to him, and ambled along the ground next to him, docile. With them, Savion paced round the huntsman, stopping to explore the grass and dried out pieces of shrubbery on the field from time to time.

  I hope she made it, I hope she made it, Savion thought of the hare.

  The huntsman placed a hand on his hip, the one that wasn’t holding the gun. He squinted in the daylight, even in the shade provided by the flap of his cap, to gaze at the red beauty. He looked around in the distance—searching for the elusive hare perhaps, or for any other deer that could be around. From the way he remained still and the way he was looking on him, Savion knew it was the man’s first time being so near a wild stag before. He wondered how it must feel like for the hunter. The first time Savion had witnessed a human was during the first hare hunting season. It had been a stocky man with a grey moustache and a barrel for a paunch.  He had heard the man chortle when the hounds ripped apart the first hare they had drawn. After that, he didn’t go near people as much as he could help it, apart from children and women when they were alone. They tended to be gentler.

  The young hunter decided to sit down—a good sign. A breeze was stirring the air and the little bits of vegetation in the field. He took his cap off, still looking at the red deer. Two of the dogs went up to the man; he stroked them behind the ears as they circled round him. The man had a calm air about him. He hadn’t frowned or furrowed his brows apart from squinting in the sun. The expression on the mans’ face never changed, but Savion could feel the man forgetting about the hunt for a moment, forgetting why he was out there at midday in the open field. Savion was even considering keeping this up a little more than he intended. He wouldn’t have minded staying, if he were sure he wouldn’t be harmed or gained control of.

  He sensed something then. Another pack was approaching. He knew from the way the basset hounds started to walk down the field, circling back to the huntsman still, but something else had piqued their interest. He could hear the sounds of the new pack coming too. It was time to go.

  Savion wanted to leave the hunter with a sense of wonderment, the awe which took hold of a person deep within. He’d done it a few times and seen its effect. This time would be no exception. Savion humbly went up to the huntsman, and slowly lowered his chin upon the man’s shoulder. He was careful not to get his antlers in the way. It did something to people; it melted away all sense of detachment and mindless superiority. Savion’s duty was done.

  Savion turned and broke off in full speed towards and into the forest again, his red coat a glistening blaze in the background.

  There was a distant rumbling roll of thunder then. If it rained, the hunt would have to come to a halt. It was bad for chasing game and following scent lines.

   

  *

   

  The look in the hare’s eyes when he got to the stream was all Savion needed.

   

  He’d see what he could do the next day.

   

  *

   

  The young hunter didn’t go out to hunt the following morning.

  # # # # #

  The Stream

  Running water captures the senses.

  The first thing I heard was a clear stream’s song, skimming over rocks and pebbles for a furlong.

  I went to the stream and lowered my palm onto the surface.

  I watched the water flow over my hand. It was cooling, shocking; synergy channeled through my veins.

  I caught a fracted glimpse of my reflection, which showed me all there was.

  I lost track of how long I was standing there.

  My mind became still. My spirit was calm.

  I caught the scent of a new day.

  And the dew of dawn upon my tongue.

  ~ written on 7th June 2006 [this one’s more environmental than animal-focused, but on the same theme about respecting nature I guess :)]

  The Umbrella

  Note: Written sometime in 2006, on a tiny piece of paper measuring 2cm x 4cm | written in 2 minutes | 100 words

  This is the story of an old, tattered umbrella that got thrown away:

  Its black waterproof fabric has completely faded to a colorless shade, and it drifts from a canal to the sea in between the high and low tides.

  It is a pathetic sight. Its canopy flutters weakly in the moving air as and when the wind decides to blow.

  The birds don’t seem to mind though. The umbrella is a little scoop of a playground for their young fledglings to prance and patter safely about in.

  So the old umbrella didn’t have so bad an end at all.

  =====

  ~ Short story behind the short story:

  I thought I lost the piece of paper forever, but my awesome hairstylist was sweeping the floor and noticed the paper on the floor (apparently it had dropped out of my bag/notebook). He and his staff read the thing, and they kept it for me and gave it back to me on my next visit.

  Black-Naped Oriole

  Black-Naped Oriole | Wikipedia

  # # # # #

  This was written when I turned 15.

   

  I was living in a high-rise building in Singapore at the time (on the 10th floor). Bird-watching was one of my favourite activities (still is).

   

  Black-Naped Oriole

   

  I haven’t seen you for ages

  What happened to ya?

  Where’ve you been?

  You used to light up my life

  Brighten up my day

  And nourish up my soul

  So ever since you left

  I’ve been in a deep black hole

  Seeing how screwed up the world is

  Seeing how messed up everyone is

  And how people can run so fast

  When they need help from me quick

  And how people can run so fast


  When you need help from them quick

  But it’s all just an illusion

  I don’t really need help

  I’m just contented being by myself

  So now it’s just you and me again

  And we can have our own little space

  Where no one can intrude

  And I will just enjoy your company.

  ~ 29th October 2001

    

  # # # # #

   

  Unicorn Haiku

   

  Unicorn Haiku

  the unicorn drinks

  when hounds come near—in a flash

  she’s gone—water’s still

  ~ originally published @ Mirror Dance.

   

  # # # # #

   

  Cat Karma

  A 55-word vignette I might further develop in future.

  * * *

  “I’m always dreaming of my cat.”

  “What about?”

  “Don’t know—but she’s always there!”

  The owner patted her sleeping feline, unaware the calico cat was listening to the conversation.

  I protect your soul at night from the dark shadows’ dangers and secrets, the cat remarked. You do give me food, shelter, and attention after all.

   

  # # # # #

  The Edge

  A 55-word exercise based on a true story.

  * * *

  “Stop the train!”

  The young expat was frantic—her pet dog was trapped along the edge of the railroad tracks. They were in a new, unfamiliar country and still adjusting to the environment.

  The dog whimpered, crying for help.

  “I’m here.” She hugged her dog, both clinging on to each other.

  The train didn’t stop.

  # # # # #

  Also based on a true story.

   

  Hachiko

   

  In 1924, Professor Ueno took in a new pet.

  “I’ll name you ‘Hachiko’,” said the professor to the golden brown Akita. “Hachiko, meaning ‘The Eighth Prince’.”