In the world I see 4

Your up long before the sun, it’s a measly 17 degrees out and your beat up 2009 white focus sounds like a throat cancer survivor when you start it up. You really don’t have the clothing for this weather so your wearing a fucking blanket over your hoodie. You turn on some music, pack a tobacco pipe full of weed, and pull out of your driveway. You wish it was the last time you’d ever spend a single minute in that sorry ass trailer but you know you’ll be back in the evening.

As you drive down an old country road you pass a sheriff and he pulls out of his spot and follows you to the wildlife area as usual. You get out, shiver a little, throw your headlamp on, and start the 3 mile hike along a trail marked with a hatchet cut into the bark on trees every 25 paces. The dim light barely reaches across what was once a creek but is now a raging river with the snow melt, damn climate change. You walk across a log laid across the river that the water is just barely spilling over and get to the other side without taking a dump luckily. You approach the first set and find a big male coon, knocked dead as a door nail in your 220 conibear trap. You compress the springs with a rope, take him out, reset, rebait with a walleye head, throw the coon in your camo duffel bag, and continue on your way. It’s cold and early as fuck and your exhausted but it’s all worth it to you. Your learning to live off the land, one painful step at a time. The next 8 traps are empty, but approaching your 9th one you hear a rattling trap chain and something barking and growling. The sun is just barely breaking the horizon and as you come out into the clearing you see a young of the year male coyote is hung in your #2 coil spring. That’s what you were after, fuckers have eluded you for a month and you finally got one. The only problem is, you don’t have your .22 on you. You watch him from near the tree line with pure admiration. He’s beautiful, you’ve only ever seen them a couple times. You have no problem knocking coons in the head with the back of your hatchet to disbatch, but a coyote? Seems daunting.

You know it’s not right to leave him in the trap all day and return with your rifle in the evening, but your anxiety messes with you. You think of all the mountain men and hunter gatherers of days past that would already have it dead and be on their way, all the american hero’s who killed without feeling to attempt to secure their freedom. Ted Kaczynski, Timothy Mcveigh, David Koresh, all these strong great men, killing in the name of freedom or to survive, and you can’t bash a coyote in the head with the flat end of a hatchet. Fucking pussy shit, potential squandered, some fucking mountain man you are. You wouldn’t last a month in Alaska, fucking softy. He’s looking up at you, the look of a lamb headed to slaughter. He’s just too pretty.

A 2 pound hatchet head hits him square inbetween the eyes. It’s probably a done deal there, but you hit him 3 more times to pay the insurance. One step closer to true freedom, learning to integrate yourself into nature, to live off the land. He’s heavier than he looks, and has a real nice fur on him, one that will later bring you a whole $27. You ain’t much for a fur trapper, but after being fired decided that it would be your wintertime occupation.

You give him a big hug, remove him from the trap, reset it, and are on your way. The rest of the line is empty so you throw your catch in the trunk and head to school, late again but better late than never. That day, that coyote is all you think about. You feel especially good about yourself and accomplished, and take advantage of that and Mabey hope that what all the people say about confidence is true when it comes to women.

Rejected again. How do people not take rejection personally. Literally not being good enough for any girl in a school with at least 400 of them. Your a fucking social failure, but hey at least you are one step closer to freedom. You accomplished big things today.

You get home, hang him up in the garage with your coon and your dog goes crazy. If only women gave a shit about your skills the same way your dog does.

About a week after skinning, fleshing, and boarding your first yote you head back to the spot you caught him, make a fire, and cook a hind quarter and his tongue over the fire. Coyote ain’t bad if you know what your doing when your butchering them. You do this to show the land that you put its gift to good use, as you lay on the light dusting of snow picking your teeth, looking up at the moon, you explain to the forest gods what you have done with every part of that coyote. Explaining how grateful you are and how hard it was for you to kill him like that as you carve the Germanic pagan rune for sanctuary into the tree you anchored your trap to.

You May be a failure with women, but your on the fast track to becoming a legend in the woods. You hike your way out by moonlight and return home for a couple hours of sleep. The land finds you worthy, and will later gift you with 5 more beautiful coyotes before the fur auction, allowing you to make a little cash and fill your freezer with organic meat. Hopefully the wilderness in Alaska accepts you the same way this patch of woods in farm country Ohio accepts you. A way that no woman ever would.