The Target
by Margot Savin
I ventured into the wilderness, one goal on my mind,
My target: the fox, I needed to find.
As I clutched my gun tightly, the frozen air was still,
This sly, cunning creature, I was out to kill.
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| Tiger on Film by Nina Stumpf |
My focus was locked in a mad concentration,
as I set foot through the icicles, no hesitation.
To battle this tundra, I’m told I’m insane,
But I was set on my mission, my motive deranged.
The November air was sharp on my skin,
My veins felt icy, my blood running thin.
The thick winter wasteland hindered my sight,
The woods that engulfed me, a blizzard of white.
An eerie howl echoed through the amber sky,
As I glimpsed the creature, its head nobly held high
There my target lurked amongst the dead winter trees,
The conniving fox standing proud, taunting me.
My soul filled with rage upon seeing the creature,
Its stature was intimidating in every feature.
I saw my reflection in its beady black eyes,
Before it swiftly darted toward the hazy skyline.
Fire streaked across the powdery snow,
Defying everything that science knows.
In its menacing trot, I beheld its demise,
But it disappeared into the yellow pines.
I felt my body overwhelm with unease,
As I crept through the somber, winter breeze.
Then, I spotted its pawprints in the snow covered floor,
The villainous, shrewd fox could outsmart me no more.
My gun was pointed as I followed the path,
My hand on the trigger, my mind filled with wrath.
I was destined to rid the world of such evil,
The deceitful pest that filled my soul with upheaval.
Chills surged through my body as once again I spot
The root of my wretchedness, the mischievous fox.
Its blazing red fur in a fiery rage,
My inner beast was let uncaged.
Its fluffy tail swayed in an arrogant trail,
As I pounced toward the creature, but to no avail.
It was quick and clever, thus easily escaped,
From my arms of frustration, my body of hate.
So I raised my gun for a deadly blow,
As my target prowled through the pure, milky snow.
With a vibrant explosion, a bullet was shot,
Toward the artful creature, the despicable fox.
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| Flustered by Anna Paviglianiti |
I found myself on the cold, wooded ground,
And as I scanned all around me, no fox could be found.
The sparkling snow turned a bright scarlet red,
As I noticed the blood pouring from my own head.
A pillow of Earth held me in my last breath,
In this unforgiving wilderness, I found my own death.
The fox I sought after, the creature I despised,
Remained a mystery, to no surprise.
The bleak winter evening turned electrically bright
My mission was complete, a demented plight.
For no tangible fox was the pursuit of my gun,
I was my own target, and it seems I have won.
