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'The Puma' (standard:action, 49911 words)
Author: J.T.KillainAdded: Apr 11 2001Views/Reads: 3163/3654Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This is the story about angels, bad angels who take care of bad problems and worse people. This is the story about black angels or Puma's. Heavens stormtroopers who come to earth to even the score with evil.
 



Monday,   August 15, 1997            `The Puma!'       c copyright 1997-
J.T.Ward                                                                
           By: J.T. Killain 

"What though the field be lost ? All is not lost; th' unconquerable
will, And study of Revenge, oh immortal hate, and courage never to 
submit or yield hence." John Milton. 1608-74. 

The Puma, Ancient bounty hunter of the lost and dying nighttime
wanderers. A Lone walker of the darkened forest. Feared by most, of 
deep concern to the rest. The Puma, Invisible to almost all-day or 
night. Only it's sound, it's voicing of fear, is the echo of it's 
passage. The Puma spirit and body, Soundless and deliberate till but 
the last fleeting and hopeless seconds for it's pray. The sound and 
it's mental image are but the only offering put forth by The Puma. And 
to only one: The hunter, who has now become   The hunted. . . . . 

And The Puma?. . . .  The lethal Puma is propelled by the only behavior
he has known. His past mixed with his present, Speed and power. Much 
speed and violent power, deadly power. In the end, The Puma, in mind 
and body is the vengeful and the victorious. The Puma, is the 
wickedness and immortality combined to produce the most efficient of 
all killing machines when it's territory has been invaded. To the proud 
invaders! . .  .  They who have yet. . . To become it's victims, . .  
it's pray, . . it's future. . . . 

The setting is far north central United States or Canada. Perhaps in
Iowa or Minnesota. It's hazy, murky. And at a glance the trees 
themselves seem filled, streaked or laced with those frighteningly odd 
little mythical gerrymanders. Witnesses of the bazaar.  For a few 
moments the screen is filled with just the panoramic view of the wet 
forest, and the sounds of what's left of a nights storm. It is still 
quite dark and the only sounds of life are the scavengers seeking their 
last meal of the night. 

Soon there is a slowly increasing sound of something approaching.
Something heavy! Be it on foot or paw. It stops at the sound of 
something like a small twig snapping underfoot.   Someone else's foot 
or paw!  For a few moments ( which seem like hours) there is the wait. 
Slowly again small movements resume. And then there is some light 
whistles exchanged. Soon one of the wanders shows only a slight slice 
of his face. He knows he's been seen and the next few moments are 
perhaps his last. 

Again after painful minutes, the other invisible seeker shows his face.
They are both tall Indian braves. Each separated from their hunting 
parties. In another setting and time, they might be at war, but now and 
here they are but two lost souls looking for an acceptable way to 
retreat with honor and safety. Each now slowly comes out of hiding. The 
two are of different tribes. And the one an 'Arapaho' is on `Shawnee' 
hunting lands.  This is an affront to the Arapaho nation and it's 
defenders, however! 

The two slowly approach each other and grudgingly acknowledge each other
status. They speak a common tongue and the Shawnee warrior is warned  
that he is on Arapaho land, and that he needs to leave this part of the 
forest. Soon! The two speak of only being lost and the Arapaho say's he 
will obey the Shawnee's wishes as soon as he can travel safely. He 
notes that morning's light is only a few hours away. The two wish each 
other a safe trip and start to move off into the darkness, but just 
then the semi-silence is shattered by the sound of the most feared of 
all wilderness travelers. 

It's sound stops both men in their tracks. It's sound drains the life
from each of their faces, and their hearts speed to twice normal speed. 
It is the sound that silences everything with earshot, save for the 
mighty brown bear. It is the sound of the Puma! 

The two braves now wait in silence and fear. And the wait is not long.
For soon come's the sound of the attack. The momentary painful 
screeching scream of the pray, and then the crushing of bone and the 
feasting of the victorious yet deadly hunter. But soon, he will want go 
hunting again. Soon it may be the two Indian braves who utter their 
last screaming sounds as the remaining life is ripped from their 
hearts. Perhaps it is them who are to be the Puma's next  feast . . . . 


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