Memories Of A Monster: Rabbit Stew
--- Booker H. Freeman, Past ---
“Alright, now I set some snares around here a few days ago so by now we should be able to find a few of them rabbits you’re so fond of easily enough.” His grandad assured him, the old man’s gaze looking around the forest with no small amount of caution. “But there are a number of critters out here that’ll happily make rabbit stew out of you boy, so you’ll wanna be quiet around here boy less you stir up trouble we don’t need.”
“Yes, grandad.” He nodded, his eight year old legs straining to keep up with the older man’s longer limbs while also avoiding the various plants getting in his way.
“Oh, and watch your step, we’re getting close to the swamps and I don’t need you getting stuck in the muck boy.” His grandad added, kicking at some of said muck.
“Yes, grandad.” He nodded once more, knowing that it was easier to go along with the old grump than to point out that he played in these forests enough to know how to handle himself even if he wasn’t as big as the older man. (That would just make grandad angry…)
The older man didn’t say much else after that, his grandfather rarely one for words if they weren’t towards Booker’s mama who his grandad could spend all day talking to. (Unlike me…)
He shook his head at that thought. (No. Grandad is taking me hunting for rabbits. That means he wants to be around me, he’s just… rough like mama says, and mama is never wrong!)
With a bit more pep to his step he continued to silently follow after his grandad, until the older man came to a stop. “You hear that boy?”
He tilted his head and listened to the sounds around them, sorting through the sounds he was so used to hearing in the forest before eventually noticing a squeaking sound of some kind underneath it all. “The squeaking?”
“Yeah, the squeaking. That’s a rabbit.” His grandad explained, before telling him, “Keep up boy.” and heading towards the sound.
He’d never actually heard a rabbit before, sure he’d seen a few from a distance while playing in the forest, but they always ran from him before he could get close enough to catch them. (But this one’s being loud rather than sneaking around.)
That was going to make catching them so much easier!
Only… as he got closer he slowly realized that the squeaking wasn’t so much squeaking as it was… screaming…
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When he actually caught sight of the little rabbit with a wire wrapped around its throat, and sounding like it was in no small amount of pain, he couldn’t help but grimace.
“Does… does this happen a lot?” He frowned, wincing from how much the rabbit’s screaming… hurt, and how painful it
“Sometimes.” His grandad shrugged before crouching down to inspect the snare. “Usually they’re already done struggling by the time I find ‘em, but this one seems to have knocked the snare too low when it caught him.”
The older man paused after pulling out a knife, his gaze falling on Booker for a moment. “You know what, this’ll be a good lesson for you. Come here.”
“What lesson?” He asked, unable to keep his eyes off the panicking rabbit even as he got closer to his grandfather.
“If you’re old enough to hunt, then you’re old enough to kill what you hunt.” His grandad told him as he put the knife into Booker’s hand.
His eyes slowly drifted between the knife, the rabbit, and his grandfather. “You… you want me to kill it?”
“Well, do you want rabbit stew tonight?” The older man asked. “Because we need that rabbit there if you do.”
He looked back down at the knife in his hands before once more looking at the frightened rabbit trying to run from him just like he tried to run from the other kids in town. “Can’t… can’t we let him go? I… I’m okay not eating…” He swallowed. “rabbit stew…”
For a moment he thought he’d said something to upset the older man as his grandfather frowned down at him, before his grandad’s leathery skin softened and he crouched down. “Boy, this ain’t exactly a nice lesson, but it’s one every young man needs to learn. Sometimes if you want to eat, you’re going to have to eat something else.”
“But I… I don’t want to eat…” He admitted, feeling his eyes start to water.
“Hmm, and what about your mama?” His grandad frowned, like he did whenever Booker cried. “Do you want her to be able to eat? Remember, she likes rabbit stew just as much as you. Or do you want her to go hungry?”
He wiped at his eyes as the tears grew worse. “I… I don’t want mama to… to go hungry…”
“Then stop your crying, and do what you’ve got to do.” His grandfather growled before grabbing his hand and the knife and putting it to the rabbit’s throat without killing it. “Remember this boy, a hunter’s job is to kill so people don’t go hungry. If you want to be a hunter then you need to man up and kill this rabbit so your mama doesn’t go hungry!”
He fought to breathe before underneath his grandad’s glare, he closed his eyes and pushed the knife forward, unable to watch as the rabbit continued to struggle before slowly going still.
“Good job boy.” His grandfather nodded with approval as he stood up.
(It… it doesn’t feel like I did a good job…) He thought feeling hollow as he looked down at the blood on his hands.
Later that night, when his mama had cooked the rabbit into a stew, he couldn’t help but stare at his food with no appetite.
“What’s wrong baby?” His mama asked him in concern. “Aren’t you hungry?”
He found his eyes drifting towards his grandfather watching him, before remembering the older man’s words and asking his mama, “Do… do you like rabbit stew mama?”
“Of course.” His mama assured him with a beautiful smile before taking a bite of her own food and swallowing. “And it tastes even better knowing my little hunter brought it to me.”
He nodded, once more staring down at his food before taking his spoon and eating the rabbit stew.