of nurture’s wildness: a novella (book 2, ch. 3)
by Tom Stuckey
III
The experience of fear (if it is pure enough) can be a paralysing, outer-body experience. All useless brain activity disappears, which makes up most of its usual content, and leaves a clarity that gives it a chance to act (or not). Lisa realized she was acting out of fear, of which she was surprised, by thinking that she would handle the situation she now found herself in differently when it finally happened. She could see herself, looking down from above, frozen save the occasional, uncontrollable jerking of an arm or a leg. When this plan had been formulated, it was more from a place of anticipated success, but the problem with such predictions is that pride and arrogance cloud the judgement. Now, however, she was alone in the middle of the rainforest being escorted by armed men to what she thought would be the tribe’s camp. Her captors’ language foreign, Lisa could not understand what they were saying—an attempt to understand, futile.
The camp was just the way she pictured it, except now the fear and first drips of shame stared to seriously distort her reality; the spears looked hungry for her skin, thirsty for her blood, and each little hut looked like a potential rape scene; the people’s amazed looks as she was walked into camp were menacing to say the least. She had heard that in such a situation it was best to try and act nonplussed, to talk with authority, even if the words spoken were not to be understood. “These huts are very good, did you build?” Pointing to the senior of the two hunters, making a hammering gesture—the man just looking with deep, non-reactive eyes back at the blonde giant he was leading into his camp and to his leader.
Chief Akunsa was noticeably larger than the other members of the tribe, who by now were all in the clearing and gathered around his hut, where Lisa was now standing before him. He was heavily covered in lined tattoos and wore a large head dress that radiated outwardly with bright yellow and green feathers. His face appeared old, but his body seemed strong; he had a fierce but wise face, with sunken eyes and an upper lip that protruded slightly. Lisa looked into his dark—almost black—eyes and saw sternness, yes, but she could recognize a glint of lust, just briefly, before he resumed his role of protector of his people. The bustle that Lisa’s arrival caused was palpable, stirring a dangerous air of excitement, particularly from the women of the tribe who immediately sensed her as a threat, a kind of extinction premonition.
A sudden quietness fell, as all stopped what they were doing and bowed their heads. Lisa could not tell what had caused the sudden hush until the shaman, Icaro, who was standing faithfully by the chief’s side, raised his head and hand to the sky, where white fumes from jet plane streaked across the otherwise blue sky. He uttered words, strange and ominous to Lisa’s ears, but seemingly soothing to the crowd, ensnaring their eyes and ears. Chief Akunsa, however, steadily gazed at Lisa—at her lips, which were pinker than any others in the tribe; her protruding, round breasts; and finally at the crotch of her revealing shorts, that exposed two, white, firm legs glistening with sweat.
Akunsa, briefly forgetting about the tribe who was watching all around him, continued to study Lisa, particularly the jewel that was pierced through the skin of her middle, where life comes from. He didn’t need to get up or move closer to smell her scent. The new sensation hung in the air all around him, and it was strong, like a fragrant resin applied to sun-warmed skin. In the end, Icaro, noticing the chief’s entrancement, whispered in his ear, “She has the flesh of the big cat.” He chose his words with caution, sensing Akunsa’s fondness for her.
“OK,” the chief replied, “take her to her own hut and make her comfortable.”
And with that Lisa was led away.
*Read Tom Stuckey’s next installment of Of Nurture’s Wildness (Book II) on August 12, 2025, at 6PM CST.
Photo of Tom Stuckey
BIO: Tom is a writer from Devon in England. His work can be found at A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Bristol Noir, Nut House Press, and Pulp Magazine. He is the author of The Canary in the Dream is Dead and The Sun Marches upon Us All. Learn more about Tom Stuckey at www.tomstuckey.com.