I watched the 8-point Virginia buck feast on the ripe berry bush next to the caterpillar green field from my stand. Sweat was streaming down my parched face, as I clinched my .30-.30 Winchester tightly to my right cheek and glazed down her sights. The searing hot summer sun and the orchestra of crickets screeching all around were little distractions compared to the mosquitoes that were arbitrarily feasting on my body. The buck was about 80 yards away and seemed as though he was enjoying himself in the pleasant shade of a large old oak tree, nestled on the edge of the field where the flourishing berries grew adjacent to. I knew that with one slight pull of my finger, I would take the sterling buck's life as my prize. I could visualize every sensation and result in my mind once the trigger was pulled. The fierce powerful recoil of the rifle into my shoulder, the roaring thunderous "Boom!" the stench of burnt gunpowder amidst in the air, and the life of the buck gone with the wind as it lay motionless on the ground.
I embraced the vision and slowly began to pull the trigger as the smell of roasting venison over a cedar-oak fire rested pleasantly in the back of my mind.
Seconds later, a ferocious ringing was cluttering my ears and before I knew it, it was done. Several birds filled the sky with there wings as if the world had suddenly imploded on them. A strong gulf breeze blew in from the west cooling my baked skull, and carrying off the smells of potassium nitrate mixed with charcoal and sulfur into the wind. I approached the buck from behind with my rifle poised for a follow-up shot. He was still twitching as early signs...