Diary of a Loner: On stranger's tides.

The rising sun shields its nakedness behind a patch of blue clouds now tinged orange in the far distant east. We are huddled together; six men with cow dung smeared on our faces, decked in fatigues sown with leaves by the local women, moving as a single unit, armed and dangerously poised- okay make that five men, and a terrified child.
It is my first hunting trip, my first time in the wild, on the less glamorous side of national geographic, without the cameras and the allure of fame. I feel like a teenager about to ask his high school crush to the prom- It’s exhilarating, and terrifying.
The leader of our hunting group, a slender boy with bushy hair about nineteen years old, holds up five fingers, a signal to halt. He clenches his fist, and we crouch low. He stretches a slim finger forward. And in the distance, about four feet tall, in a small clearing, stands glory- seven brown bushbucks with long, backward curved horns, grazing.
Slowly the other men peel off, taking up strategic positions three or four feet away, with the ends of their bows flexed and strings drawn.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath to steady myself, vanquish the anxiety and recall the words of my archery lessons. "See with your mind, aim with your heart. The arrow is an extension of you. Never forget" my grandpa had taught.
I open my eyes, looking upon the world now with a new determination. This is my crowing moment; a way to show the locals that I’m not just a lanky, twenty-three year old doctor who played with fancy toys and prescription bottles; a way to tell them that I am one their own! one of the boys!
Even nature gives the moment a cinematic touch, the birds chime as gutsy winds sweep the awaking forest, conjuring fallen brown and yellow leaves with the grace and majesty of a conductor at the opera.
I stretch my string as far back as it can go, waiting for the signal. And after a lifetime and half rolls over, with anxiety playing Jack-the-ripper with my insides, it finally comes.
Three fingers. Two..
Thwack!
The antelopes sense a dark sinister presence closing in, as six arrows pierce through the heart of the African Savannah, gliding through the forest like precision guided missiles from an F-22 fighter jet. Their ears twitch in the direction of their impending doom. They raise their heads to see the danger, but for five of them, its the last thing they ever do.
Of course there’s no need telling who missed.