The Hunter (standard:other, 1973 words)
Author: Unsun	Added: Feb 18 2001	Views/Reads: 3550/2337	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
another story for a class. Oh and if you think the plot's bad how about telling me why this time?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

parents. He finished up the spaghetti and grabbed another pile. There 
was a short silence before his father looked up, his thick glasses 
reflecting the candle light. 

"You know Owen, the Doctor says I should start exercising some more.
Maybe I should start lifting with you?" Owen sighed inwardly and looked 
at his father. Six foot three, slim and definitely not weight lifting 
material. Of course neither was Owen. Owen didn't like it, he valued 
that release. With his father there he couldn't unleash his temper as 
he did now. Couldn't swear and blast his music. Couldn't pummel the bag 
till his fists were raw, and his breath came in ragged sobs tinted with 
the taste of iron. Couldn't be The Hunter. Of course, his father didn't 
look much happier about the prospect. His mom had probably asked him to 
at least spot him, after seeing his bench. Heat flared behind his eyes. 
Why couldn't they just leave him alone? Let him deal with his problems? 


"Yeah sure Dad, why not." He'd never follow through anyway. He could
still be The Hunter. A damn good thing too, he needed that release. He 
could still feel that other part of himself prowling in his mind. 
Slinking like a shadow just beneath the surface of his conscious 
thought. The part of him that viewed everyone and everything as prey. 
The part that scented Nick Brenner as fitting and utterly deserving 
prey. The fighter, the predator, The Hunter. 

Maybe if Owen had been a normal competitive child who'd longed to defeat
all of his enemies, to rub their faces in the dirt and dance with his 
team mates in victory. Maybe if he hadn't been pushed and shoved by 
people like Nick all his life. Then maybe The Hunter wouldn't have been 
so bad. Maybe it would have seemed like more instead of other. Maybe it 
wouldn't have been a battle to contain himself every time some prick 
jabbed him, verbally or physically. Maybe he wouldn't have to worry 
about leashing his temper, the next time Nick decided to push him. 

Hell, he needed to talk to Sylvia. He finished dinner, put his dishes in
the dish washer. Talked until his parents were satisfied, grabbed the 
phone, and walked down the hallway to his room. 

Opening his door, he was met with a frosty sable blanket. The open
window combined with the fan had turned his room into an ice box. Just 
how he liked it. The darkness was easy on his eyes, and the frosty air 
soothed his skin, still hot from the shower. Still in the dark he felt 
for the buttons on the phone, logically and pragmatically dialed. 
"Hullo?" came the sweet voice. She was always so happy, it soothed him. 
Sylvia was his grounding in the real world. She was what he needed most 
to leash The Hunter. He jerkily reached over and flipped on his lamp. 

"Hey, how are you?" 

"Oh hey" that same happy tone. "I'm fine. Are you okay? I saw Nick push
you today. He can be such a jackass sometimes." Always looking out for 
someone. 

"Yeah I'm fine, it's no big deal, I'm used to it." They prattled on for
a while about his troubles and hers, until it was too late for the both 
of them. They said goodbye and hung up their phones. Owen didn't even 
bother to walk back down stairs to put the phone in its charger. God he 
was so relaxed. The liquid feeling in his chest and limbs was such a 
contrast to his former clenched and seething state. And to top it all 
off The Hunter had seemingly disappeared. Maybe it had dived back into 
whatever psychic abyss it had come from. His mouth spread wide, shiny 
incisors glowing faintly in the lamp light. His green eyes were sweet 
and calm, fluidly graceful. Owen reached for the light switch with 
predatory grace. And descended into his dreams with a powerful and 
graceful psychic dive. He entered the waters of his unconscious with 
hardly a metaphorical splash. 

Owen's dreams were a nightmarish fantasy. Exquisitely beautiful, but it
was an angry sort of beauty tinted slightly crimson at the edges. 
Dreams of hunting in the woods, of graceful and clean movements. Dreams 
of social interactions unfettered by his laconic presence. Dreams of 
smooth moves and quick reflexes, of genuine happiness and freely 
released anger in healthy controlled bursts. And dreams of a life where 
The Hunter was and wasn't there in an inexplicably tantalizing way. He 
didn't remember any of it. 

It was dark and damn cold when he left the house the next morning.
Though he didn't remember his dreams they still soothed his manner. And 
he strolled casually to the big black tank of a van he drove to school 
every morning. His breath rose in great lazy clouds of hazy mist. He 
breathed in short strong bursts just to watch the mist twist and twirl 
away to nothingness. He smiled. The driver side window on his van was 
open. He jumped through the window, nicked his elbow on something, and 
thoroughly didn't care. The tank puttered to life with the twist of a 
key, and music filled his world. "Don't try to hide your eyes. You must 
wake up your mind. You've seen the world outside, is this the way that 
things should be?" sang his radio in a wistful if slightly whiny voice. 
He knew this song "Nothing" by The Deadlights; he turned it up, then 
turned it down some, then turned it up a little more and started 
driving. He hummed along, swaying his head from side to side as he 
watched for other cars. The best part about leaving this early was that 
there were never any cars, so driving was like sailing a boat on an 
open sea. It was relaxation with a slight thrill. 

Owen made it to school with his partial euphoria intact. He hadn't hit
anything either. He had his free period first, so he found a 
comfortable chair, where it was warm, and sat. He closed his eyes and 
sank into the leather and himself. Every morning should be like this. 
He coughed and felt his throat. It felt a little tight so he stood, and 
strolled casually to get a drink of water. 

He felt more than anything the punch headed for the back of his head.
Knew seconds before the fist would hit that it was Nicks. That the 
middle knuckle would collide first, because it was callused and built 
up. That it would hurt but it wouldn't do anything else. That the blow 
was meant to humiliate him and provide entertainment. The Hunter 
shrieked at him in warning. The scream was like flying shards of glass 
on his psyche. 

He pivoted brought his right forearm up perpendicular to Nicks forearm.
They collided. The Hunter roared in triumph. And warm fluid heat flowed 
through Owen's veins. The tightness in his chest liquefied and spread 
out through his body in gently burning strength. This was what he had 
resisted all this time? It felt so wonderful. Owen smiled smoothly and 
cleanly, his incisor glinting gently. Crimson tinted the edges of his 
vision. Nick, overcoming the shock but still stunned, pressed harder, 
hoping to overpower him. Owen pushed back. Skin pinched against bone. 
Owen grinned all the wider.


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