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it Ninnie. They say once you kill that deer, you drink as much of that dead deer’s blood as you can while it’s still warm.
    Once you do that, your life will never be the same. Do you understand me? Something in you will change.” He said.
    I looked at my father like I never looked at him before. It was as if he wasn’t my father when we were out hunting. I looked at him like I didn’t know who he was.
    “What will change father?” I said. “Your soul will change.” He said.
    My father and I walked deeper into the dark forest. I was a little nervous after my father had told me that thing about my soul changing.
    I didn’t want my soul to change. I was a little frightened, but I still trusted and loved my father, and would have done anything for him.
    I was anxious to find the deer and kill it. I hoped to be the one to kill the deer. All I wanted to do was impress my father, and make him so proud of me.
    My father put his arm around me as we walked throughout the forest. He was anxious too.
     
     
    My father found a spot in the forest for us to stay at. We waited for hours in the same area. He insisted the deer would come.
    Then suddenly it rained, and then it stormed.
    My father was too proud to leave, and I already knew that we were here to stay, until a deer was dead by one of our hands.
    By nightfall, my father had built a big fire after he gathered wood from thick branches, off the forest trees with his razor sharp machete.
    We cooked sausages over the fire. The sausages were hooked on wooden skewer sticks my father had made, and sharpened up with his hunting knife. The sausages slowly sizzled over the fire.
    My father entertained me with his stories by the fire.
    He told me a story about one of his hunting trips ten years earlier. “Ninnie, when you were just a baby , I used to hunt more often .
    I wasn’t just hunting for deer.” he said. My father went out hunting one cloudy day.
    He sported the same beard, same traditional green camouflage outfit as he always wore. He carried the same hunting rifle, trusty hunting knife, and machete.
     
     
     
    He was out with one of his hunting buddies. His buddy went by the name of Hector, who was one of my father’s farm workers back in the day, when business was good.
    Hector supervised the other farm workers.
    My father favoured Hector over all the other farmers. My father kept to himself, but he liked to spend time with Hector. Hector was different from the other farmers.
    Hector always had a few days worth of facial hair, short, and had a deep Spanish accent. He was one of my father’s finest farmers.
    The rest of the men that worked for my father were just a number to my father.
    My father saw something in Hector that made him happy to have him as more than just a farm worker. Hector was a good friend.
    As my father and Hector walked through the forest searching for deer, they came to a halt, and found a place to settle until the deer came to be killed by them.
    They waited in the forest for hours, and listened to the mysterious forest sounds.
     
     
     
     
    After a while they started to hear crackles. A deer approached. My father and Hector looked at each other, and smiled, because they knew all that wait time was about to pay off for them.
    The deer was slowly approaching, not far away from my father and Hector. The deer was across from my father’s hunting rifle scope.
    Hector was also pointing his rifle at the deer. The deer did not suspect a thing.
    The deer stood in one place looking around, and it even looked in my father’s direction, but did not suspect that it was being hunted.
    My father had the rifle pointed at the deer. He slowly pulled the rifles trigger back, back, then a POP.
    The deer dropped—in a second after he shot it with his rifle. Hector went to check out the deer as my father took his time to check his rifle.
    Hector approached the deer.
    My father maintained his rifle, as he watched Hector check up on the deer from across.