Rifle

Esben Jannson brought the axe down in one swift motion. A rip of wood and a dull thud signalled that he had completed the task. It was far from hot in the cabin but he was damp with sweat. He barely had time to register the beads sprouting on his crinkled brow before they sped between his eyes and down his nose. Playfully leaping off at the tip, to fall to their death upon the dusty derelict floor. Although closer to the Skårki mountain than most dared to be (the nearest town being 3 hours away) Esben felt truly blessed as he collected up his freshly chopped wood and headed towards the main house. The air outside was crisp and still, the way it always was at dawn. As Esben looked around at the frosted grassland and snow flecked forest, a sadness gripped him. This realization of solitude was one he often had when surveying his land; the place had an eerie forgotten feel to it. Everything in the mountain's shadow had the ability to play tricks on even the calmest mind. Was that rustling’s source animal or maniac? Are those my footprints or has another been walking this path? Esben averted his gaze from the permanently dark woods, smiled, and shook the snow off his boots, the feeling of unease shedding with it. 

The house itself was still small but made of brick and mortar,as apposed to wood like the cabin. In the far corner of the room was a stove, inside it a dying flame - feebly attempting to spread warmth around with little result. Esben rushed to its aid, snatching it from the brink of death and providing it with new fresh logs on which to feast and indulge. The fire ebbed higher, gaining strength and with the glow of the room restored Esben sat on his plaid chair and put his damp feet up onto the stove. He now had approximately fourteen minutes before Isak would wake up and he'd have to start the routine for the day. He closed his eye and began drifting away towards a dream, grateful for the almost-quarter hour of stolen sleep. A loud bark and footsteps from the east side of the house announced that Esben's calculations had been wrong. Isak was awake. He listened to his son pottering around, hesitating and mumbling as he collected up clothes for the day ahead. Within five minutes Isak strolled into the kitchen, his dirty blonde hair fell over his eyes as he entered the room. Barely thirteen and already approaching 6 foot, Esben's son was a picture of Swiss cliché right down to his pale blue irises. Isak smirked softly, pushed his hair out his eyes and chimed;
'Morning father'
'Good morning Isak, I trust you slept well?' Esben swiveled in his chair so he was facing the battered dinner table. He pushed the stool across from him out with his foot and gestured for Isak to join him. Their dog Rudi ran between the chair legs and settled under the table.
'I always do father.' his son replied, lowering himself into the presented seat.
   Esben knew this answer to be true of late; however things had not always been this quaint and light-hearted in their little mountain home. Esben handed his son a plate of food and watched his eyes light up. Those same eyes were the ones Esben's voice used to inspire fear within. The same eyes that would struggle to repress tears of pain produced by Esben's own fist. Esben had a history of heavy drinking and it was this addiction which had lead to years of constant verbal, often physical abuse towards his son. Esben was shameful of those years, those memories. They inspired a dread to fill his heart, but with months of practised repression he quickly stifled them. Every time he looked at his son now he was filled with a powerful paternal urge to protect him from harm. Luckily the only harm Isak had ever known has ceased on the day he tried to run away. Esben's wife Ide had fled years ago, and he realized his son would do the same if his violent behaviour did not change. 

So he started by giving his son his prized rifle. The rifle had always been Esben’s favourite procession. He used to get distressed if ever Isak even looked at it, warning his son against touching it in the best way he knew how. So when Esben presented his son with it as a gift it became obvious that the demons inside him were ebbing away, and they could start afresh. In the days before, this gun would have been used as a tool to aid Esben's violence towards Isak. Now he could use it to teach his son, not to behave, but to hunt. 
‘Isak, you’ve barely touched your meal.’ Esben spoke stonily, he saw his sons features tighten before they broke into an apprehensive smile, Esben smiled back to assure his manner was one of a lighthearted mocking.
‘I am just excited for today. Can we start now?’ Esben looked at the glee in Isak’s eyes. Isak broke the traditional Swiss mould in this one way; he had the playful soul of a child. Most men had already lost their whimsy by adolescence but to make up for lost years Esben was trying to keep his son young for as long as he could. However he knew this place couldn’t hold him forever. There was a whole world beyond the Skårki and Esben would have to let his son move on eventually. For now however it was his job to keep his soul young.
‘Yes, follow me.’ Esben lead Isak and Rudi into the cabin to get the gun. The routine could begin. He watched as Isak loaded the rifle exactly how Esben had taught him, paying special attention to make sure the cartridges faced the right way. Next he put on his winter coverings, hat, scarf, gloves, extra hat, extra scarf and extra gloves. The best sheilds a father could provide his offspring against the menacing Swiss assualt. 
‘Are you ready to go hunting?’ Esben began. Isak nervously looked over himself, at Rudi, at the gun, then back.
‘Yes Pa.’ He replied strongly.
‘Are you sure?’ Esben teased. At this Isak looked panicked, his eyes searched Esben’s and the room – looking for anything he’d forgotten.
‘…Yes Pa.’ he replied eventually.
‘Okay then, do you promise to bring back birds for dinner?’
‘I’ll try pa.’
‘Hey now, do you promise?’
‘I promise.’ Isak said sternly, the look of adventure back in his eyes.
‘Then off you go, take Rudi.’ Esben gave his son an encouraging pat on the shoulder and with an accomplished smile Isak whistled to the dog, turned on his heel and left. 

Esben went back into the house and sat down at his type-writer to begin writing. His mind a mess of verbs and metaphors he barely noticed the time pass. He had finished by lunch, he looked out at the forest and wondered why his son had not yet returned. Once again exercising his flawless ignorance, Esben quashed the unease and attended to more busy work. With each ebbing second of the clock Esben’s fear grew, he started to get up to check out the window at every imagined sound. As the sun began to set Esben knew something was not right. Isak usually returned by lunch, the temperature was dropping with every minute and once the sun had gone down the forest would be impossible to navigate through. Esben threw on his winter coverings, hat, scarf and gloves, no time for extras, and ran out the door towards the forest. He followed tracks that appeared to be made by Isak and Rudi, they entered the forest at the closest possible place to their home. 
'ISAK' Esben screamed his name as he took his first step into the forest. If there were still 
footsteps to be found here, he could not see them. He followed the moon beams through gaps in the foliage all the time calling for his lost son. He found he could no longer trust his instincts, with the utter panic of losing Isak ready to consume him it was all he could do not to fall down and cry. He ran through the darkness, unaware where he was going and not even bothering to remember where he'd been. The trees whispered around him, laughing at his struggle. What if something terrible had happened? Had he heard gun shots? Were there wolves this side of the mountain? Esben felt like these thoughts were at his shoulder, following him through every clearing. They were everywhere, grabbing at his heels, lodged in his airway, coiled round his chest and growing tighter. He ran fast to escape them but it was meaningless, they had the upper hand. Hiding in the shadows, he could feel their stare, penetrating his soul and forcing him to think the worst. But he mustn't doubt. Isak knew these woods, he knew what to do. Esben taught him how to work the gun long ago, cohabiting in woodland surrounded by wild animals it would have been irresponsible not to. 
'Isak!' he tried to call once more, but only a hoarse whisper escaped him. His voice now lost along with his son. Esben slowed his run to a walk. Covered in mud, shit and blood he had no choice but to let the thoughts wash over him. He knew his son was dead, he'd known it since before the sun set that day. He allowed the doubt to enter him, where it became morbid certainty. It was the solitude of this place, it was in his bones, spreading through his organs like a virus. Just as his feet were about to give way he turned into a clearing. Esben's heart leapt.

There he was. His blonde hair in his eyes and a guilty look touching his features, Rudi sitting lazily by his side. 
'Isak!' he managed to growl. Isak stared at his father, then down at his feet looking crestfallen. Esben ran to him and embraced him with such force that he let out a small pained gasp. 'Why did you not return at lunch like you usually do?' when Esben released his son he found Isak could not meet his gaze. 
'I couldn't find any game.' Isak's voice cracked as he spoke, his eyes once again repressing tears Esben had caused 'I didn't want to break my promise to you Pa.' Isak looked up with apprehension, but seeing his father's face so deformed with such a strong mix of emotions. Isak's expression warmed. Esben burst into loud, relieved laughter. 
'Let's go home son' he chuckled 'Give me the gun' Isak outstretched the cold gun towards one of his father's hands and thread his fingers through the other. Though usually opposed to affection like this, Esben felt he owed Isak. With Isak's hand warming in his and Rudi bounding slightly ahead, he began back to the house happy to have things back to their reliable routine. He closed his fingers around the cold barrel and held the gun at his side. 

Only there was no gun. Esben's hand reached around thin air. His other hand squeezed nothing too. There was no dog. The foot prints leading out the woods belonged to only one pair of feet. Esben began to whistle, still trapped in his grief-fuelled delusion. He shook off the feeling of isolation once again and happily stumbled through the grove in a hallucinogenic daze. 
He had been doing the same walk every day for three years. 
Ever since his son had fled from a beating, run away to the woods, and shot himself.

Choked

She told me that I’d choked the life out of her. She was adventurous before she met me; she ‘had dreams’.  According to her; twelve years with me had quelled every aspiration she’d had. Just over a decade as my wife is enough, she said, to steal from her even her ability to hope for the future. Now, all she looks forward to is the tiny fragment of a moment at night, when my monotonous wheezing breaths stop. Now, her only dream, only hope is that the brief halt in my respiration is actually a sign of the halting of my entire existence not just a harmless symptom of sleep apnea. Her only aspiration now is that one day when she rolls over in the morning - after she remembers that this dreary life is hers and the depression sets in again -my eyes will be staring back at her with no life behind them. As she spewed all these venomous nothings at me I noticed that the flecks of spittle flying from her mouth were reaching a further distance with every angry word directed at me.  I made a mental note to avoid them when they eventually approached. She always spat when she raised her voice. I watched the dampness on her bottom lip collecting as I let her words wash over me. Those lips. The red gloss I once was so enticed by now sunk into their dry cracks and collected in little repulsive blobs across them. Those lips. Once so plump and encouraging, were now wrinkled, fine, and in permanent scorn. I moved my gaze across her face. Contorted in rage and wizened so severely somehow by so few years she did not look like the woman who lay beneath me so happily once. Those lips. How I ever coveted them perplexed me. Flashes of memories raced through my mind, my hand running up a sweaty thigh, red lips quavering and gasping, breath against my neck, a small chuckle of achievement and a lit cigarette. It all made sense then, because she was it. All I wanted, all my dreams, my hopes, my aspirations. I allowed my eyes to travel across her body, wondering how I ever explored it without nausea. My vision wandered up from her calf, mentally undressing her as I went and lingering on her decrepit breast. Disgusted I looked around me at our drab house, our tedious life, our meaningless existence. The apartment we lived in, a cesspit of vermin and regret.  I wasn’t even feigning interest in whatever she was hissing at me anymore. I allowed myself one more sweep over her body and back to her face and then my eyes caught hers. And there it was; everything I’d lost swimming in her blue irises. Trapped there since the day we stood in front of the lord and lied. I felt a speckle of saliva land on my cheek and that was it. I saw red. Those lips. Those monstrous lips, gasping and quavering once more.
She told me that I’d choked the life out of her. So I did.