Page 5 - FS October 2020

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Jim's Cabin- Flash Fiction by Raz T. Slasher

On a clear autumn night, the full harvest moon shone brightly upon a dense wood. Jim Gilbert sat
in a cushioned throne-like rocking chair upon a rickety wooden porch that was held aloft by beams
that were so old only the trees remembered their names. This particular porch was attached to an
old log cabin that had been there longer than any other structure in the surrounding county.

Jim had lived in this same spot, in these same woods, for as long as he could remember. In fact,
many generations of his family had both lived and died here. Having found no one to share his life,
he had become the last remaining member of his family line. It had fallen to him and him alone to
tend to the cabin and the vast tracks of land it was placed upon.

It was a much simpler life than most folks were used to, but that didn't make it any less difficult.
While most people had grocery stores and fast-food restaurants, he had to grow and hunt all his
own food. While most people had general stores and gas stations, Jim had to use the byproducts of
the things he farmed and hunted to create most other items he needed.

Jim made a variety of different things from those byproducts. The cabin was generally well lit by
candles and the oil within his aging oil lamps that had been made from the fat of animals, while all
of his clothes were made from their skin. There wasn’t anything he needed that couldn’t be created
with some raw materials and a fair bit of ingenuity.

His favorite creation was the very rocking chair he was relaxing on, fashioned from the flesh and
bones of a three hundred- and fifty-pound Caucasian man.

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