Click here for nice stories main menu

main menu   |   standard categories   |   authors   |   new stories   |   search   |   links   |   settings   |   author tools


The Hunter (standard:other, 1973 words)
Author: UnsunAdded: Feb 18 2001Views/Reads: 2072/1248Story 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?
 



Owen's green eyes chilled. His faced turned an angry red. His arms
quivered, and his breath came out in an angry grunt, spittle flying 
from his lips. "TEN!!" he growled, letting the heavy barbell slam and 
clang its way to a resting point. Panting, he stood up and paced the 
length of his garage. His head hung forward from his shoulders, and 
wandering strands of his shoulder length blond hair shadowed his eyes. 
Finally regaining some composure he leapt to his chinup bar. Pulling 
up, he focused his eyes on a single point on the wall, let his spirit 
relax, and the music flood him. He hated this. It meant complete 
surrender to The Hunter. His anger flowed coarse and hot through his 
veins. At ten pullups his arms burned. "Fuck it all!!! Fuck this 
world!! Fuck everything that you stand for!! Don't belong, don't exist 
don't give a shit!!" screamed his radio. At fifteen pullups he was out 
of breath and his biceps quivered. The point on the wall began to blur. 
His spirit fought for control with The Hunter. 

Owen didn't ask for much. He had his circle of friends, that's all he
wanted. Sure some people annoyed him. But he didn't Fucking shove them. 
His eyes flashed. The seventeenth pullup was always the hardest. He 
heard the Hunter Howling in his mind. He urged his soul to relax and 
let him win. It did and the pullup followed. 

He dropped heavily to the floor, and could barely stand. Still the rage
burned his mind. Breathe he reminded himself. Owen breathed raggedly. 
The breathing of a man who was halfway between tears and a blood 
letting rage. "I hate this" he said, doggedly. 

"What's that?" his mother asked turning down the radio. "Sorry but we
can hear it in every room in the house" she smiled sweetly, ignoring 
the lyrics. 

"Sorry" he said, sincerity in his voice. She frowned at the weights. 

"That's pretty heavy.... shouldn't you have a spotter or a partner or
something?" she asked, her eyebrow raised in question. 

"It's alright Mom I'm ok" 

She nodded hesitantly and left, shutting the door behind her. Owen raked
his hand through his hair, yanking out and retying the leather thong. 
He never used a spotter. The danger was what he needed to get rid of 
his anger. To regain his control. The irony of that was clear to him 
even through the Hunter's incessant howling, "Of course I wouldn't need 
this if I didn't have to deal with Nick every day" he spat. The anger 
flooded him again. 

By the time he left the garage he could barely move. Except to trudge to
his room, turn on the music and the fan, and then collapse on his bed. 
He stared at the ceiling. He needed to eat. If he didn't he'd wind up 
digesting his spine. He needed to shower too. He slept instead. 

He woke up an hour later, still tired, to the sound of his mom asking if
he wanted dinner. "uh yeah" he'd responded groggily wiping his hair 
from his face. 

"It's in twenty minutes" she said. In other words, take a shower he
thought. Grabbing a shirt and pants he walked calmly to the shower. He 
methodically removed his clothes and stepped into the shower. He 
twisted the knobs for both shower heads. He jumped a little when the 
frigid water blasted his tired flesh. He turned the water on as hot as 
it would go hoping the heat would breathe some life into him. Steam 
flooded the room, swirling with even the slightest movement. The 
flowing white vapor soothed him. It was like a warm faintly glowing 
cocoon. Unfortunately it made him painfully aware of how hungry he was. 
He quickly dried off and tied his hair back in his black leather thong. 
The shower had helped. He no longer felt the need to throttle 
something. But damn he was hungry, it was almost as bad as needing to 
throttle something. 

He was an only child so it was just him and his parents for dinner. He
helped himself to a pile of spaghetti, while he listened thoughtfully 
and quietly to their conversation. He never talked much. He always 
listened, but he rarely talked. He didn't see anything wrong with that. 
Regrettably most people didn't feel that way. "Don't you agree, Honey?" 
his mother asked. Owen looked up "Yeah, of course Mom." People like his 


Click here to read the rest of this story (119 more lines)



Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Unsun has 18 active stories on this site.
Profile for Unsun, incl. all stories
Email: pyro1cynic@aol.com
Due to abuse, voting is disabled.
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.

stories in "other"   |   all stories by "Unsun"  






Nice Stories @ nicestories.com, support email: nice at nicestories dot com
Powered by StoryEngine v1.00 © 2000-2014 - Artware Internet Consultancy BV