Chopping to Calm (Otherwise Untitled)
#209 of Short Stories
A doe strives.
~ The doe's breathing came in gasps and heaves, the handle of the axe aching into her fingers. The sun hung low towards the amber glow of horizon as evening settled into the woods around her. She glared at the gnarled stump with a smouldering rage that had yet to find itself spent and shifted in her posture.
~ A generous portion of the stump had already been removed by the strikes of her axe by the time she'd stopped to catch her breath and consider the moment. She found the tingling burn of calluses beginning to form as she clung to the wood of the axe and remembered the sundries that had led her to this rage and driven her into the solitude of these woods to bleed herself of it.
~ Her shoulders tensed as she readied herself for another go at removing the top half of the remainder of stump, a low growl emerging as she found the end to her shortness of breath.