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werewolf
Feb 12th, 2013, 06:33 PM
smiled to himself. Thinking of the first winter almost killed him, it was brutal. His initial shelter was barely a lean-to. He felt nostalgia towards the thought of the first years.
Ever since he turned his back on what people would call normal. The whole rat race, the political correctness and all of that other stupid shit. He waved his hand in a dismal jester to get rid of all that he left behind.

As he reached the door handle of the cabin he built. The thought of whatever was watching him came back to him. What was it that made him so jumpy? If it was a bear came calling and wanted in the cabin for his food or even for him. The door, and the cabin was well made by him and maintained over the years. He had several guns and enough ammo to hold out for days. He doesnít like to hunt with them though, they are for protection. His old manís voice came back to haunt him again. He still likes to hunt with a bow and arrow. The more skillful arts he thought, He looked around once more, and didnít see anything. He just shrugged it off as something that he was getting old. He opened the door and walked back in.

Once Mr. Thomson went into have his breakfast, then later start his ritual of canning the food he collected. A darken figure had moved out of the ever decreasing shadows of the night and moved away from the well-built and hidden cabin of Mr. Thomson. It moved deeper into the woods moving stealthily among the trees and the other sounds of nature; merely stopping once in a while to make sure it wasnít followed. This being was of the night, only coming out at night to hunt for its food, and observing Mr. Thomson. Its eyes were red as rubies, its body is black as night as itself. This is its fifth night that it observed him, trying to gauge what type of person that this Mr. Thomson was. It got close to the cabin on the fourth night. It wanted to go in and look around to see him and how this Mr. Thomson lived. It made its way back to the cave that it had found and made its home. The cave well hid also, even more so than the cabin of Mr. Thomson. It crawled in and had some of the food that it had hunted earlier that night, the red eyes started to fad, then with a full belly it went to sleep.

After all the canning that Mr. Thomson had done, he emerged once again that day in the mid afternoon. He had a fishing pole in one hand and a tackle box in the other. He was going to fish for his dinner today. Hopefully catch some rainbow trout, he would even settle for bass. He walked toward his boat. He had to roll to his favorite fishing spot. He didnít have a motor, for his boat. A motor takes gas, and gas takes money. He left all those trappings when he left the world of commerce, besides it kept him shape. He was quite proud of his body. His core was sturdy; his body was lean not an ounce of fat anywhere. His muscles were not big; however, they were