Write a little something about: the hunter.
Harvesting for our local orders kept us busy most of the morning, but that was mainly the fault of the beans - those things take forever to pick.
Jeez, September sure is getting close all of a sudden, isn't it?
Puffing a cigar, he studies the heads affixed to his study walls. From lions to tigers to bears, he's bagged them all. There's even a rhino head in the hall. Fingering the scar on his right side, he ponders that close call.
They're just trophies, nothing more, nothing less. He's claimed victory in all those games of survival chess, leaving his defeated foes a bloody mess. His collection cannot fail to impress.
And yet there is a feeling, he must admit, that his heart will rarely emit. It's not, exactly, that he gets upset when he considers all those animal obits. No, he won't label it, but I submit that he is haunted by regret.