The Deer
The Deer - May 2024
The fresh scent of morning dew filled the woods, carried on the back of a cold wind rustling through the trees. The Hunter, invisible under the dim orange and pink hues of dawn felt the forest floor giving way under his boots. The storms from the night before left a soft haze around him. He could sense his image blurring inside of it, melting into the brush. Muscle memory inched him gently through the slopes in the grove. He laid each step precisely on the path, as if he could sense every snapping twig on his way to the clearing.His Father had taught him the name and importance of every clip, barrel, and bullet inside his rifle. The difference between a .243 Winchester cartridge and a .308. When to use a fluted barrel, versus tapered versus straight. It was his mother who had taught him the patience to use it. She taught him to understand, and respect the world that consumed him. He thought of her often. He could still close his eyes and picture her in the kitchen, sipping from her favorite red mug, and reading the day's news. The mug was older than him. It had faded on the handle, and in random sections around the rim. The gold encrusted buck that covered the front had been nearly entirely chipped away through many cycles in a dishwasher it was never supposed to meet. She was always here at the kitchen table in his mind. Always admiring the sunrise through the broken opaque blinds.It is an early memory, smelling her coffee brewing from his bed, hearing her slipper’s gentle squeak on the gold and brown linoleum. The sun made the curls fixed on top of her head shine, and the warm rays soaked into her pink fuzzy robe. She would pull him into her lap, and they would sit together, watching the sun pass through the sky, one quarter at a time.When he made it out of the densest sections of the forest to the clearing, he was met with the very same sun shining down onto him. An inkblot of perfectly developed yellow, resting in the early morning east. He found a thicket to hide himself and thought absently of all the coffees being poured in that same moment; of all the mugs sliding across all the countertops in every home. From where the sun sat on the horizon, he calculated the number to be near two hundred million. Then he waited. Letting his mind wander past the kitchen table, a pulse beneath his ribs pulled him back somewhere deep in his mind. Where the sky brewed dark gray and dripped into a thick fog. He stumbled, trying not to get lost in its concoction. The clouds surrounding him were sharp, ice crystallizing on his skin and eyelashes, blurring his vision and weighing him down deeper into the cold mud. His Father ripped his way through the biting air, passing and leaving him alone to follow. The sky was divided into eighths. As he saw the sun crawling behind the clouds he remembered where he was. This is his first time in the forest. His first lesson in hunting. A movement from the corner of his eye saved his focus. Back in the tree line encircling the meadow, the sun was just entering the second quarter of the sky. Between the cracks in the branches he could see the faintest flash of brown streaking across the field. He crept his way to the crest of the clearing, shifting himself down onto his belly. He slung his Stevens 334 Bolt rifle off his back and dissolved into the shadows. A beautiful spring doe, left unprotected by the balding of trees. The shot was clear. He glared down the end of his carbon steel barrel, and felt a familiar tug in his gut. The bullet would pierce straight through her, she would die a quick painless death, and he would go home. But when his eyes peered through the crosshairs, he froze.Her eyes were a pool of amber, pouring directly into him now. As if she had been waiting for him to notice her through the sight. Old friends catching each other on opposite ends of the street. A familiar voice called out to him from the back of his mind. A survivor never wastes a shot. But he couldn’t bear to press his finger into the trigger. The metal felt ice cold in his hands. Burning and spreading against his skin like morning frost, solidifying in his blood, confining his muscles from even the smallest movement. She waited, watching.An eternity passed between them. The sun shifted around them into midday, but neither moved. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched the purple of the flowers being consumed in thick blankets of gray. It wasn’t until the shadows became so tall they almost swallowed her image that she took a step forward. She stretched her right hoof toward him confidently on the lawn, then paused. Was she finally afraid? No. Sure enough her right hoof was followed by her left, and the back hooves imitated swiftly. She braved her way across the clearing heading directly towards him. Her stride, an energetic trot through the tall grass. It was all happening too fast. The Hunter could feel her every step echo in the ground. He wanted to give up the stalemate. Not shoot, not wait, but to pick up and run. He stayed frozen trying to decide which direction. When he snapped out of that thought, he didn’t have time to convince himself what to do next. She was right in front of him.He laid intertwined in the tall grass, still statuesque. Afraid to scare her away now. She was beautiful. Her soft white fur blended into the brown adorning the rest of her coat. Her black nose had edges of soft pink. As he examined her, she peered into him, stepping too close to the barrel of the gun. It pressed into her chest. That cold didn’t belong anywhere near her, but she didn't seem to notice. Finally face to face, he could see her dark honey eyes greet him. As if she had come to the clearing to meet him, as if she had been waiting for his return. The dark amber of her eyes had flecks of liquid gold, and hollows a deep brown. They flicked back and forth reading his face. Warmth radiated from them. He hadn’t realized how frigid the day had become, how deeply the dry wind had infiltrated his veins. He felt her weighing him. Trying to understand why he would not greet her back. He attempted to return her gaze, but had trouble seeing past his silhouette reflecting perfectly in her eyes. She reached out her muzzle toward him, but a slight flash of silver pulled in both of their attention. They broke eye contact for the first time in hours to watch the rifle dance in his jittering hands. She locked her eyes on his finger, still curled around the trigger. Breathing was becoming laborious. Her warmth turning hot, much too hot. Like it was using all the oxygen before he could catch his breath. He felt a cold sweat emerge from beneath his collar, an icy reminder pricking the skin, alerting his body to wake. Her presence loomed over him too close. He could smell the thick forest ooze off of her, the mold, the moss, everything she had touched burned sour in his nostrils. He gagged and the sour smell moved into a sour taste. She was all around him. He could feel every hair on his body slick with sweat, pressing into him. The cotton on his shirt rubbing his nerves raw. Scratching and eating away the skin. When she huffed her breath clung to him. Burning and spreading against his body. Her heat thawing him, consuming him. Her shadow covered him from the sun, he couldn’t make out the quarters in the sky now. He couldn’t see anything but her. He had to get out. He cocked his head toward her face. Trying to look past her, trying to remember the world around them, and how to disappear into it. She was still studying him, watching her torture take. Her expression wiped clear. Her eyes, cold and black now, no thoughts lingering behind them. The Hunter tried to remember how she had captivated him, but it all felt hazy, his memory now blank. She leaned her face to his, but he flinched away, a pulse thumping deep inside. After a small pause, she slowly inched her attention to the gun. Leaning in, lowering her head toward his trigger finger, regarding it with certainty. She looked him in the eye once more, and gave his hand a small kiss. Then nuzzled her jaw hard into his trigger finger.-Vibrations ricocheted in his arms, and the world blurred in dark greens and crimson reds. The silence buzzed in his ears and weighed in his throat. Little patters of paws and hooves echoed behind, and the flapping of a dozen wings emerged somewhere above. The sun had left now, leaving only a half moon to illuminate the horror in front of him. The Hunter laid still on the crest, gripping his rifle, thinking only of coffee mugs shattering on linoleum floors.