The icy air caressed Jeff’s cheek, hissing softly through the gray-brown stubble that decorated his weather-beaten face. His faded leather boots smashed the freshly fallen snow, leaving a heavy imprint on each perfectly formed flake. The bluish glow of morning shone on the dewy leaves of the spruce trees, peppering the ground with glowing rays that danced to and fro. Jeff smiled as his trapline came into view. A plump snowshoe rabbit was struggling valiantly between the steel teeth, emitting plaintive squeals of distress. Lifting his rifle to his shoulder in one fluid, effortless motion, Jeff pulled the trigger and ended the rabbit’s pain forever. The shot echoed hollowly through the surrounding mountains, a mournful cry that pierced the heart of every animal that could hear it. The second trap was untouched, but had a telltale circle of paw prints rimming its rusted structure. Jeff bent over and studied the clearly defined tracks, cursing under his breath. Lynx. A chill scurried up his spine. A lynx was an unmerciful killer, a thief to be reckoned with. The next trap was sprung, but only a tuft of fur remained between the metal jaws. And another ring of identical prints decorated the surrounding area. Jeff carefully reset the trap, smearing deer fat onto his callused fingers so as not to leave man-scent. The next one had a bare skeleton attached, with a bloody trail that writhed away into the bushes. And the next was no better. A half-eaten carcass of a marten lay frozen in the snow, its pelt shredded and the upper half of its body scattered around the site in bloody bits. It was a baby lynx; a perfect miniature of its mother Jeff groaned in anguish. That’s ten dollars lost already, he thought with a sigh. What am I gonna do? A chilly wind whipped through his hair, burning his eyes until they turned red and began to run. He continued along the trapline doggedly, watching as the damaged pelts materialized before him. His finger played with the trigger hungrily, eager to kill something, anything, to pay for this destruction. He returned home with a meager allotment of pelts, all worth under two dollars. His cheeks were flushed under the shadow of his growing beard, and his dark eyes glinted with rage. He would catch that lynx. He had to catch that lynx. And when it was caught, he would kill it. Jeff licked his cracked, bleeding lips with anticipation. Everything was ready. The traps were set and baited, and Jeff had slathered on a layer of lard to mask his scent. The sun, cold and pale, was setting over the mountains like a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting on its cone. The bitter Alaskan wind tossed flakes of fresh snow about in a raging tempest, clouding the air with stinging drops that clung to anything and everything with their sticky tentacles. Jeff pulled his rifle down from its regal throne on the shelf, cleaning it gently with a soft chamois rag. People often said that this was his best friend, his companion, the love of his life. And perhaps they were right. An old, hardhearted hermit that caught animals for a living couldn’t possibly care for something of flesh and blood. It seemed only right for him to dote on his steel destroyer, an object that existed only to wound and take away life. But there had always been a hole in their relationship—an emptiness that Jeff could not explain or even try to understand. His rifle was a part of him; but a dead thing of metal could not fill the void that existed deep inside his hardened and seldom-used heart. But right now the lynx consumed his thoughts. It would be on the prowl tonight, hungry for an easy meal that took little effort to kill. Jeff buttoned up the collar on his weathered, fur-lined jacket and stepped outside. The snowladen wind slapped his bare face viciously, sending icy tingles down his stiff spine. But nothing could keep him inside tonight. Darkness settled in on the frozen Alaskan wilderness. The local screech owl began to hoot, its glowing green eyes roving the ground for a mouse or two to satisfy his rumbling stomach. Jeff hid himself in the frosty brush in front of the trapline, wetting his finger to make sure the wind wasn’t blowing his lard-covered scent straight down to the traps. The minutes ticked by. A small mink crept silently out of the brush on the opposite side and pressed his nose to the ground. The strong, alluring odor of meat soon led him into the mouth of the third trap, which closed with a SNAP! around his back leg. Jeff fought off the urge to kill the writhing, squealing animal. He knew that the noise would soon lead the lynx straight to him. All he had to do was wait. Time crept by like a weary snail. Each minute seemed an hour, each hour seemed a day. A fine dusting of snow had settled over Jeff’s immobile form, melting into his coat and sending shivers down his back. He clenched his jaw to stop the chattering of his stained teeth and clung ever tighter to his long-barreled shotgun. The mink screamed and twisted against the cruel steel teeth of the trap, but only succeeded in tearing his flesh even more. A crimson trickle of blood pooled under the metal vise, its warm scent reverberating in the cold night. A twig snapped. Jeff cocked his rifle and tucked it into his shoulder, his fingers trembling with excitement. Two green, almond-shaped eyes glittered from behind a spruce tree, cautiously roving the area. Jeff held his breath. There was his enemy, the unmerciful thief. The sleek, cat-like creature stepped into the clearing, her pointed, black-tipped ears twitching nervously. Jeff found a bead, aiming for her snowy breast. The lynx bent her regal head and sniffed the mink, her ivory teeth shimmering in the moonlight.
Morality
Snowmen
Winter is the grain of sand in an hourglass falling from one end into the other, but not at either. Winter is the dark god dressed in black coming to clasp his tight, choking hands on a blade of grass or a maple leaf. Winter, in Michigan, is snow. And thus it snowed. Blinding whiteness stretched as far as the eye could see. Sunlight reflected off the many facets of these crystals of ice, each snowflake like a work of art. Indeed, it seemed like a winter wonderland, the realm of every child’s dreams. I sat cross-legged next to the porch window that provided a view of the landscape around me. I had long since become used to snow such as this, but it never failed to take my breath away. I heard my mother groan as she saw the driveway covered in two feet of snow. By now, all the roads from here to Kalamazoo would be completely submerged under the same whiteness. It would not be a fun day for driving. She sat there quietly, the annoyance on her face suddenly turning to a mixture of regret and serenity. Her eyes looked at everything yet saw nothing, as if drifting off to a world of her own or remembering long-lost memories. “I wonder if there are snowmen out there today,” she mused. “What?” I asked. What on earth was she talking about? Of course there were snowmen. All little kids built snowmen. But it was uncharacteristic of my mother to care about things like that. Indeed, it seemed like a winter wonderland, the realm of every child’s dreams “Snowmen,” she replied quietly. She seemed to go into a trance. “I remember the first time I met the snowmen . . .” I raised my eyebrows. She met snowmen? This was something that I wanted to hear. “Go on,” I coaxed, interested. “You met snowmen, and then . . .” I gestured for her to continue. It turned out that she was more than eager to tell her story. Sipping a cup of hot chocolate, she began. “It was a winter just like this one. As far as the eye could see, there was only snow. Miles and miles of endless whiteness that engulfed everything. The traffic on the roads was so terrible that it practically drove me nuts. Back then, your father went on business trips often. One day, a phone call came from the airport. It was your father calling for me to pick him up. “There had been a blizzard, and everyone had been locked up in their houses for practically a week. Since then, it had been snowing continuously. Though the snow-plowers worked twenty-four hours a day, the road conditions were far from good. The worst part was that I could not see clearly. The wind howled and brought whirling snowflakes onto the windshield, hitting the glass at fifty miles an hour. Though I knew that there were a couple of cars in front and behind me, it was as if I was separated from them and in my own little realm of nightmares. “Suddenly, the car stopped moving. The engine was still wheezing, but the vehicle just would not budge. It had just gotten stuck on a slope, wheels unable to move through two feet of snow. I felt a terrible frustration well up inside of me. I had to get to the airport soon! How was I supposed to do that when I couldn’t even drive? “I heard a sound. Looking, I saw someone knocking on my window. It was a couple dressed in heavy overcoats and wrapped in scarves. They had obviously been out in the snow for a long time, for they were covered in white. Moving clumsily due to their heavy clothing, they truly seemed to be snowmen. “The woman who had knocked smiled warmly. Her husband, a middle-aged man with black-framed glasses, asked if I needed help. I nodded fervently. + “The two went to the rear of the car and began to push with all their might. Despite the harsh weather, they did not pause. In a matter of minutes, my car was functioning again. I wanted to thank them, but they were nowhere to be seen. “Remembering your father waiting for me at the airport, I rushed to the center of the city. Once there, I excitedly blurted the whole story to him. I also expressed the fact that I was eternally grateful, but that I regretted not being able to tell them thanks. When he heard this, he smiled. ‘I know exactly how to thank them,’ he said. “The next Saturday, we walked up to a snowy mountain slope through which a single narrow road winded. It was freezing cold, but the warmth in our hearts was enough to keep us sustained for a lifetime. “By and by, a car drove by and got stuck in the snow. I knocked on the window and asked the woman inside if she needed help. She nodded. We went to the back of the car and pushed her out of snow. “Once she had left, I turned excitedly to your father. ‘She was one of the snowmen,’ I told him, proud of my discovery. “He looked skeptical. ‘How would you know that?’ he asked. “Because of her warm smile,’ I replied. Seeing that there was another car that needed help, he did not reply. “He had glasses; he was a snowman too!’ he exclaimed, teasing. I did not find it a bit funny. “That day, we helped many people get across the rough path so they could go to where others needed them. And I knew that this was the best way of all I could repay the snowmen that rescued me.” My mother stopped talking, the story having ended. An hour had gone by since she started, and the main roads were miraculously cleared of snow. “Did you ever find the original snowmen?” I asked, curious. “No,
Second Chance Ride
“You’re fired!!!” Mr. Douglas said to Paul Greenhorn, a nineteen-year-old boy, after his barn had caught fire and burned to ashes. “I never want to see you on my ranch ever again!!!” he said as he walked off towards the house. “But Mr. Douglas,” Paul said as he ran after Mr. Douglas, “please give me another chance.” “No!” Mr. Douglas said, as he kept walking towards the house. “But it was an accident,” Paul said. “No!” “But I need this job,” Paul mumbled. Mr. Douglas turned around real quick and said, “No! Now get off my ranch before I have you arrested for trespassing!” He then walked into the house. Paul had no car or horse, so he just began to walk down the road. When he worked for Mr. Douglas he used one of his horses, but now he had nothing. Paul had light brown hair and stood six feet tall. His skin was tan and he wore blue jeans and a white shirt. His parents were killed in a plane crash, so Paul lived by himself. When he worked for Mr. Douglas, he always slept in the barn. He didn’t like sleeping in a house. He liked to be by himself. Paul walked alongside the road a ways until he stumbled upon a ranch, with a sign on a fence that read, “In Need of Ranch Hands.” He walked up to the house and knocked on the door. A man answered the door and asked, “Can I help you?” “Yeah, I’m looking for a job and I heard you were hiring,” Paul said. “Oh, that’s true. What’s your name, son?” the man asked. “Paul, Paul Greenhorn,” Paul said. “Paul Greenhorn! Sorry, son, I don’t hire barn burners,” he said as he slammed the door in Paul’s face. Paul then went on to more ranches but it was the same thing; they didn’t trust Paul. Paul went to one more ranch and saw another sign that read, “Need Ranch Hands, Talk to Mr. Wade Sullivan.” He walked up the driveway, walked inside the barn, and saw a man stacking hay Paul walked up to the man and asked, “Mr. Sullivan?” The man turned around and replied, “Why, yes. What can I do for you?” “I’m looking for a job,” Paul said. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. Have you had any experience in this line of work?” Wade asked. “Yes sir. I worked down the road for Mr. Douglas,” Paul said. “Didn’t his barn just recently burn down?” “Yeah, so I guess you heard. And guess you also heard that people said I caused it. “Maybe.” “Well I’ll be leaving now. With all you’ve heard you probably think I did it too,” Paul said as he turned around. “You’re hired,” Mr. Sullivan said. Paul quickly turned around and said, “But Mr. Sullivan, don’t you care I burned down a whole barn?” “So?” “So, that same thing might happen to you.” “Son, let me tell you something. I don’t care what you’ve done. As long as you can put in a good day’s work. It doesn’t matter to me at all.” “Thanks, Mr. Sullivan.” “Please call me Wade.” “Thanks, Wade,” Paul said as he turned around and started to walk away. “Wait a minute. I don’t even know your name.” Paul quickly turned around. “Oh, Paul, Paul Greenhorn.” “Say, do you have a horse?” “No sir.” “Well I’ll have to get you one from the pasture. Come on,” Wade said as he walked out of the barn. Paul quickly ran after him. As they were walking out to the pasture, Paul noticed all of the trees and fields. He noticed how big the ranch was. And there weren’t just horses at the ranch. Paul saw little chickens running around. He heard the cattle mooing from the field. He saw goats and sheep. In addition, he even saw a couple of pigs slopping around in the mud. When they reached the pasture Paul saw many horses running around. Two of the geldings were fighting lead rope, and brought her to Paul. “Paul, this is Jackie, one of our most trusted riding horses,” Wade said. Paul walked to Jackie and petted her on the neck. Jackie was a bay with black hoofs and black socks. She had a little white star on her head. Her mane and tail were long. When she walked, she walked gracefully. “She’s beautiful,” Paul said. “Paul, this is Jackie, one of our most trusted riding horses” “Come on, I’ll show you where the saddles are,” Wade said as he led Jackie into the barn. Paul couldn’t believe how nice Wade was. Wade had it all; a nice farm, sweet horses and many animals. What more could a guy want? Wade took Jackie into the barn and tied her up to the stall. “The saddles are in the little room over there,” Wade said, pointing towards a little room next to the hay. “When you’ve saddled her up follow that trail over there. It will lead you to some broken fences. You’ll find some new poles and wire there too. Good luck,” Wade said as he walked out of the barn. “OK, Jackie. Let’s saddle you up,” Paul said. Paul went into the tack room and came back out with a brush. He took the brush and brushed all the dirt off Jackie’s back. He then went back into the tack room and brought out a saddle, a saddle blanket, a bridle and bit, and a pair of reins. He took the saddle blanket and placed it on Jackie’s back, he then took the saddle and put it on top of the saddle blanket. He grabbed the bridle, put the bit in her mouth, and then slid the bridle up her head. He then took the reins and hooked them onto the end of the bit. He tightened the saddle, untied her, and started down the trail. Along the trail, he saw many birds chirping away.
