Three Days of Stone

Day One

*Six years later*

The howling wind enveloped the cave I still called home. Staring at the weathered paintings on the wall which my family created, I decided the only thing to do on this freezing night was to create some new art. Using a long piece of wood, I knocked a charred piece of kindling from the small fire burning in the centre of the cave, and mixed the charcoal with some water on a flat piece of stone.

Dipping my index finger in the viscous black mixture, I began to draw on a plain section of the cave wall. There had been six Winters since my parents death, each more vicious than the last. I depicted the happenings of that fateful day - a woman, drawn simply as if made from thin pieces of wood, speared on the tusk of a mammoth which I drew much larger than it's true proportions. Behind the mammoth I drew the crippled body of a man, making him appear thin and simple like the woman.

The death of my parents still haunted me. Many nights, before I fell asleep, I would see my mother's open but empty eyes, and hear her stifled cry as she met her gory end.

The blizzard outside grew in intensity, and the fire I had lit for warmth started to weaken as the cold winds managed to whip slightly into the cave. Adding more kindling to the fire, I huddled closer to it, my vision clouded by the smoke emitting from the dancing flames.

All I could do was hope that the storm would calm slightly by the next day. I had not hunted in a week and had no food left. My body was already scrawny, my ribs visible through my pale skin. I had no choice but to eat, and soon.

I lay my head down on the cold, smooth floor of the cave, and let my eyes crash shut, pulling my knees to my chest to conserve the little warmth I had in my body.

***

The hunger woke me not long after sunrise. There was a deep gnawing ache underneath my left rib, my stomach reminding me that no matter what, I had to hunt today. Picking up my spear, I examined its point, made of a strong rhombus shaped piece of stone. The spear had been crafted the way my father taught me - taking my time to ensure that the point was firmly attached to the wood, so that there was no point of it detaching in whichever beast I killed.

Stepping out of the cave, the weak rays of golden sunlight struggled to shine through the bleak clouds. The snow on the ground was fresh and crisp, and for the time being had stopped falling relentlessly from the sky. I stretched, feeling the weakness through my entire body. Not eating had been hard on me. I adjusted the leathers around my pelvis, doubling up against my hanging nether region. I could not risk the cold prohibiting my movements during this hunt.

I stepped into the forest, my boots, crafted from mammoth skin and hair, being completely usurped by the deep snow. My senses were on high alert - I constantly scanned the perimeter looking for signs of danger, and had honed my hearing to recognise the slightest hint of another footstep in the distance. Clutching my spear close, I reminded myself: do not end up in the same situation my father did.

My boots made a crunching noise as they disturbed the powdery blanket of snow, which I attempted to muffle by taking slower, longer strides. This helped only slightly. I was nervous now, hyper aware of my heart thudding in my chest, growing gradually in speed and intensity the further I got from the safety of the cave.

Spotting my target through a gap in the frosted trees, I crouched to avoid detection. The old mammoth was weak. He stood a little further away from six other mammoths, all obviously younger and much stronger. Using his dexterous trunk, he plucked a small pile of grass, which was poking slightly out of the snow, from the ground of the clearing past the trees. Raising it to his mouth, he was completely oblivious of my presence. This was exactly what I was relying on.

I picked up a fairly heavy rock, nearly dropping it as the freezing ice coating it left my fingers feeling burnt. I swung my shoulder back, hurtling the rock past the larger mammoths. My methods were working as intended - the stronger mammoths started to walk away to investigate the sound, scouting for signs of any threat. I moved in for the kill.

The beast had to be wounded first. He may be older and weaker than a younger male adult, but he weighed close to six tonnes and could kill me still. Reaching into my belt, I pulled out a smaller spear made solely of wood - father called these 'stakes'. I grasped the stake in my right palm, feeling its smoothness. With the pointed end facing away from me, I threw it at the old mammoth, aiming for the abdomen. The sharp wood found its target, and the creature let out a noise of pain.

I crept closer to him, doing my best to make as little noise as possible. The rest of his herd were still a safe distance away, investigating for the origin of the clatter of the rock I threw against the solid frozen earth. Within a minute, I was close enough to the mammoth to stab him with my spear, straight into the heart. The animal yelped in pain, knowing this was the end for him. I set to work quickly, using sharpened stones and my spear to remove as much skin and flesh as I could carry, to take back to the cave.

I had no sorrow in my heart for killing the creature in its moment of helplessness. An eye for an eye.