Deer

The sun is sinking in the sky as you drive home from your last day of [[work]].

You've been laid off. Of course, you saw it coming. You weren't pulling your weight. But you still feel a twinge of anger burn under the surface of your indifference. Your head feels foggy, and it's hard to focus. But you feel better knowing that barely anyone takes this road. As far as you know, you're the only driver out [[here]].

Thoughts swirl thick and lazy through your head as you try to pinpoint the exact moment things went wrong. Your outburst in the workroom, your mother's passing -- A deer jumps in front of your truck. You slam on the breaks. But it's too [[late]].

Everything has stopped as quicky as it began. You take a moment to collect yourself. As you breathe, hands still gripping the steering wheel, you can hear the animal crying, still alive. You decide to get out of your truck and take a [[look]].

Living in the middle of nowhere, this isn't the first time you've encountered something as gruesome as this. But with everything that's happened today, you can't help but feel shaken looking at the deer. In the beam of your headlights, you can see that it's a female. She's struggling to get up, but she can't. Two of her legs are broken, and her head is bleeding. But what stands out most to you are her bright, moss-green [[eyes]].

Your gun is still at home, but you have your hunting knife in the passenger's seat of your truck. The deer is still screaming. You have two options. Do you use the knife to kill her quickly and [[end her suffering]], or do you [[report the incident and continue driving home]]?

You get your hunting knife out of your truck. Mentally, you promise the deer that it will be as quick and painless as possible. You bend down and cut her across the throat. Blood gushes freely from the new wound. The deer stops crying. Looking more closely at her body, you can see that she was healthy aside from the damage you caused her. She was mature, but not old, and she was a healthy weight. No signs of disease. Now that you're out of a job, taking her body with you is starting to sound like a good idea. You know from experience that deer meat will last you a long time if you prepare it correctly. Besides, leaving the body here would be wasteful. But, you would still like to get home before dark -- if you were to take it, you would have to spend some time removing the entrails before they spoiled the meat. You could move the deer to the side of the road and let "someone" else enjoy it instead. Do you [[leave]] the deer on the side of the road, or do you [[take]] it with you?

You still have service, and dial 911. They tell you that volunteers from Fish and Wildlife are on their way. You wait until they arrive; by the time they get there, the deer has ceased to moan. She is still alive, but she breathes heavily, and her green eyes have become a cloudy silver. A volunteer explains that they will have to kill her and take her body away. They use roadkill to bait mountain lions for observation, he says. He warns you that what happens next could be shocking, and that you're welcome to leave. You decline. He draws his gun and points it at the deer's head. You look at the deer. Her glassy eyes roll back to look at you, and your blood runs cold. He pulls the [[trigger]].

You're back on the road, almost home. The people from Fish and Wildife thanked you for reporting the incident and carried the body away, as they said they would. But you can't forget the way the deer looked at you. You pull into the driveway and reach for your keys, your hands shaking. You feel weak -- you haven't eaten since lunch. But the thought of eating is unbearable. Instead, you lie down on your couch, still in your work clothes, and pull a quilt over you. You sleep, dreamlessly, until [[morning]].

The sun is already setting, so you decide to move the deer out of the road and leave it. Hell, some hungry coyotes could need it more than you. You pull into your driveway and take a deep breath. It's been a long day, and even though you've done more than a few things wrong, you hope that you did the right thing by putting the deer out of its misery. You take a look around your car to ground yourself. [[Look at your wallet.]] [[Look at your passenger's seat.]] [[Look at your dashboard.]] You should get out of your truck and go [[home]].

You turn your hazard lights on in case anyone needs to pass you while you dress the deer. You use the knife to take care of it swiftly, just like your father taught you. The first time he showed you was five years ago, on your fifteenth birthday. You remember it well. When it's all done, you bury the entrails and pull the deer into the flatbed of your truck. It's time to [[head home]].

You need to finish butchering the deer, but you cannot do this until its body is out of rigor mortis. You must wait until the same time tomorrow for its body to loosen up. Your shed is cool and dark during this time of year; it's a good place to keep the deer for now. You haul the deer's body onto the workbench in the middle of the shed. But it's strange -- the deer's once-beautiful eyes are now cloudy and gray. You chalk it up to death; you know how it changed the way your mother looked when she died. Taking a deep breath, you use the padlock on the outside of the door to secure the [[shed]].

The next day, your appetite is still down. You bite purposefully into a piece of toast you've made, urging your body to keep it down. The bread feels like a kitchen sponge as you chew, and swallowing it is like choking down sandpaper. You feel the mass of food stick in your throat, and you retch dryly, once. Although you slept through the night, you //feel// as if you haven't slept in days. The sound of wind whistling through the trees in the forest by your house puts you on edge. You don't feel like going outside today. You feel like something is waiting for [[you]].

It's late and you're exhausted; moving the deer has only made you more tired than you were after work. You decide to skip dinner, and head straight to bed. You pass your mother's bedroom before you get to yours, as you do every night. You sleep without [[dreaming]].

The morning passes quickly and slowly at once. You spend this time on the couch where you slept the night before. The quilt you lay under is on the floor by your feet. It was a gift for your mother, but you don't feel compelled to pick it up. The fireplace is across from you. You haven't used it in a while, even though your house doesn't have heating. You can hear the wind moan and rasp through the chimney. Mementos your family has collected sit on the mantelpiece, undisturbed. You get up to take a closer look at them. [[Your parents' wedding photo.]] [[A baby picture of you.]] [[A painting on a miniature canvas.]] [[A get-well card.]] [[A family photo at a barbeque.]] One thing that definitely sure isn't there is your high school diploma. You dropped out four years ago when your mom got sick. Maybe a shower will help clear your [[head]].

Your parents married young, but they didn't have you until they were in their mid-thirties. In the photo, your father is beaming with pride. Your mother smiles without showing her teeth, but you can tell that she is as pleased as he is. Your father wears a pink carnation on his lapel, but your mother has a purple anemone tucked behind her ear. You wonder if they didn't coordinate [[beforehand->you]].

Your parents told you that they took this photo when you were nine months old. You're wearing a green onesie with a teddy bear on the front. You appear to be looking at something [[off-camera->you]].

Your father tried painting once, during a family vacation to a lake up north when you were ten. He painted this for your mother and you. The canvas is the size of an index card, but it's incredibly detailed. It's a painting of the lake that the three of you visited, but your house is right next to it. The sun is setting on the horizon, and the silhouettes of the three of you stand hand in hand, with you in the middle. Your father even drew tiny shoes for each of you on the bank, as the three of you stand ankle-deep in the lakewater. All of you are watching the sunset together. The colors of the sky blend together, warm and cool, with no end or beginning. You remember your father said that he wished the three of you could always be on vacation. That way, he said, you could always spend time [[together->you]].

It's a card from the same man that bought the quilt for your mother. It's a store-bought card, with a vase of flowers on the front. Next to the vase, gold-foil script reads: "Thinking of you" You don't want to read the message inside; you know it will make you angry. You can [[put it back->you]] on the mantelpiece and save yourself the trouble. But maybe [[getting a little angry]] could help you feel like yourself.

It's a Polaroid from the family barbeque you attended with your parents when you were fourteen. You looked a lot different back then. You barely knew any of the relatives that attended. Your parents didn't have any siblings -- some cousin something-removed had organized the event and invited the three of you. You suspect it was out of pity; your maternal grandparents had just passed away. Everyone is huddled together to fit inside the photo. Your parents are doing their best to look happy, but you aren't smiling. Everyone is looking at the camera, except you. Your eyes are directed at some place above it. You wonder who must have taken the [[photo->you]].

You wake up. After you make yourself a hearty breakfast the next morning, you decide to check on the deer. You slip on your boots and open the front door. When you get to the shed, the door is open. The deer is [[gone]].

How could this have happened? You decide to investigate the scene. [[Check the padlock.]] [[Check the inside of the shed.]] [[Look at the ground outside.]] When you are done investigating, you drive into town to buy a new [[lock]].

The padlock is still hanging from the shed door. It doesn't look like someone used bolt cutters to break it. Instead, the shackle looks like it has been pulled [[apart->gone]].

You check inside the shed to see if anything else is missing. Everything is in its [[place->gone]].

You look around the driveway. There aren't any footprints or tire marks to be seen. However, there is a trail of the blood -- you assume the deer's -- in the gravel. You follow it. It leads behind the shed for about twenty feet, and then it stops. You're facing the woods. As far as you know, there is nothing out there. No place for a person to escape [[to->gone]].

You think about the situation as you drive down to the hardware store. There aren't any bears where you live -- your parents wouldn't have built the house there otherwise. And besides, a bear could have broken the shed door or window to get inside. Even in the dark, you swear no one was there to see you put the deer in the shed in the first place. You pull into the hardware store parking lot. and purchase a new padlock with out incident. The rest of the day passes uneventfully. But tonight, [[you dream]].

You take the soap and lather up a washcloth. When you close your eyes to let the water run over your hair, her eyes are all you can see. Green. Silver. Decaying. You can see her entire life unfold up to the moment it crumbled under your touch. Seasons feeding into one another, times of prosperity and famine, death giving way to the living. Then, you don't just see the deer's life; you see everything, in glimpses. It's so vast you can't comprehend it. Cyclical. All things return to where they came from. It's exhilarating and terrifying all at once. It's beautiful. With your eyes still closed, you drag the cloth hard across your arms; the way it makes your skin prickle under the hot water feels good. You scrub harder. You can almost see the skin peel away through your eyelids. Rip away the fat, the muscle, until all that's left is the bone. You want to let yourself drip down the shower drain, to reach the ocean. You want everything alive to consume you until you have nothing left of [[yourself]].

You open your eyes. The skin on your arms is irritated and red. But they're still there, intact. The joy and terror are gone. You're back to your unfeeling old self. You dry off and get [[dressed]].

You still feel like something is waiting for you. [[Outside]].

You look outside the window. You can't see the sky, or clouds, or trees. Because in the air an on the ground, dark figures are surrounding your home. They fly, they walk (on two legs and four), they crawl, they slither. They all have bright, moss-green eyes. You realize that they are waiting for you. They showed you the vision of life and death. They're here to punish you for letting the deer suffer. They're going to take you like they took your mother, your father, your grandparents. They howl with the wind outside your door; it hurts to listen, but they won't stop. Do you [[stay put]], or [[open your door]]?

You decide to stay in your house; you can't possibly take them all on if you flee or fight. You hear a thud on your door, then several more. You hear your kitchen window shatter. You run down the stairs into your basement and shut the door behind you. It's your only hope at survival. You haven't been down here for a long time. It isn't just yard supplies down here; you're surrounded by old books, clothes, records, toys. Surrounded by memories of your family. You sit, tranquil as you hear them break down your basement door. END

You step forward. Perhaps if you plead, if you beg for forgiveness, they will let you continue to exist. You've learned your lesson. You pray that they will accept you. You want to see all, as they can. You don't want to die, you want to give yourself up so that you can see the cycle of all living things. If you gain their sight, perhaps you could have a purpose, maybe you could see your mother and father again... But they refuse you -- you are a sinner. One of them, a winged creature, flies at your neck and rips your throat away with its talons. The pain makes you stagger. Your vision turns dark not as you lose consciousness, but as the green-eyed figures surround you, smothering you. You can't hear yourself scream over the deafening noise. END

Even now the wind still blows around your house. But it sounds different. You swear that there are gusts that sound like people wailing deep in their throats. Sometimes the wind sounds like dogs howling, or birds of prey calling, sharp and high. You don't just hear the wind; you hear the trees rushing, leaves shuffling as if threatening to close in on you. The noise grows as you [[listen]].

[[Deer->the]]

You open the card. "Dearest, I'm sorry that I can't be there with you. I'm always thinking of you -- I hope this quilt keeps you warm in my place. Love --" Lying bastard. You crumple up the card. It's about time you [[did->you]].

You make sure to lock the front door as you close it behind you. You're starving -- you haven't eaten since lunch. You piece together a sandwich out of some bread and lunchmeat you find in your fridge. The sandwich tastes great because you're so hungry, but you chew slowly. A lot has happened today, and you're still trying to parse everything. When you finish, you leave the dishes in the sink and decide to get ready for bed. It's only eight, but you feel so exhausted from the day's events that you feel dizzy. You brush your teeth more thoroughly than usual. Just to make yourself feel a little better. You walk past your mother's old bedroom and into yours. You change into your favorite pajamas and get under the [[sheets]].

There's three dollars and sixty-two cents in your wallet, and not much more than that in your bank account. Better find work soon. You look at your license to make sure that you're still you. Brown hair, check. Brown eyes, check. Twenty years old, check. You don't particularly look like either one of your parents, but when people met the three of you together they often used to comment on how much you resembled them [[both->leave]].

The knife is still there; you tried to clean it off the best you could with some napkins you found in your glove compartment. On the floor there's an almost-empty six pack you half-assedly covered with a towel. One of your coworkers felt sorry for you and kept you stocked after your mother died, but a week ago she stopped buying for you out of good conscience. Probably better that she did, although you miss the supply of [[booze->leave]].

All that's on it is a bobblehead that your dad bought for you after he gave you his truck. It was a cheap thing from the dollar store; he didn't expect you to put it up, but you did to humor him. It's a cartoony French Bulldog with a disproportionately large head and eyes. Its pink tongue sticks out at you playfully. It makes you [[smile->leave]].

You take your keys out of the truck and get out. As you close the door, you look up. There's a raven perched at the top of your chimney. As you spot it, its eyes flash as it looks at you. It takes off immediately, moonlight shining on its glossy feathers. Maybe it was just the color of its retinas reflecting in the light, but the raven's eyes looked bright green. You can't be sure since it flew away so quickly, but it makes you feel [[uneasy]].

Even though you're bone-tired, sleep doesn't come easily. Maybe it's because you're going to bed earlier than usual, but you feel like it has more to do with the deer. And that weird raven. Once you do fall asleep, you [[dream]].

You're sitting on your knees in a clearing. Mist swirls around you, and you can't see fifteen feet ahead of you in any direction. Slowly, dark figures move toward you. They are large and imposing, but you don't feel threatened by them. As they draw nearer, you can see that they all have bright, moss-green eyes. They stop in a circle around you. They have different forms -- some are lizard-like, some look like birds. Some even stand upright as humans do. A figure that looks like a deer is facing you head on. Voiceless words appear in your [[mind]].

But it's not a dream. It's a memory that you had forgotten a long time ago. You're eight years old. You brought home a drawing that you had made at school. You showed your mother first because she was the one who had picked you up. As she looked at it, you thought she looked a little worried. Maybe it was just your imagination. Still, she smiled and thanked you for the drawing; when she got home she put it in her dresser drawer with all the other important things she kept in there. You wake [[up]].

Usually when you wake up, you can tell immediately that no matter how real a dream felt, that it was still only a dream. But this was different. You wonder if the drawing is still in your mother's dresser drawer. You get up and walk down the hall. You hesitate in front of her door. You haven't been inside her room since she passed away. You turn the knob, [[slowly]].

It's just as you remember it, perhaps a little dustier. Her makeup is in front of the mirror. There are photos and greeting cards from distant relatives on the dresser. There's the painting of a hilly landscape you always remember her having on the wall. The sheets on her hospital bed are still messy from when they removed her body. You try not to think about that. Instead, you open the drawer that you remember her putting the drawing in. You dig through the contents. There are tax documents, extra school photos, copies of social security cards... You think you've found it. You can see the crayon through the folded up piece of [[paper]].

This is the drawing. It's a forest scene. There are animals frolicking between the trees, drawn in the best detail you could manage. There are a few birds in the branches, squirrels climbing along tree trunks, foxes trotting on the forest floor, deer chewing on foliage. You had drawn them all with green eyes and dark, black pupils. They almost pop off the page. It's just a crayon drawing, but you feel like the animals are looking at you. Looking at the drawing makes you feel nauseous. You look up around the room, and it makes you feel nauseous too. You walk out quickly and [[shut the door behind you]].

You walk into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water. You sip slowly, tyring to quell your nausea. Sure it was a weird drawing, but why did it scare you so much? Your dream did lead you to it, but you feel that something else about it is making you nervous. The deer had green eyes, too. And now it's gone, because //something took it//. //What if it came back for you?// You pace in your living room. There's no one you can stay with until you feel safe. You don't even have the money to stay at a cheap motel. You could drive your truck into town and sleep there for a couple days... But if you get "it" first...then it wouldn't come back, right? The trail of blood into the woods is an obvious start. ...maybe it won't come back. If you wait, maybe nothing will happen. Do you [[look for whatever took the deer]]? Or do you [[wait it out]]?

"YOU DID THE HONORABLE THING DESPITE YOUR MISDEED. WE FIND YOU WORTHY OF OUR POWER, SO SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO SEEK IT. "YOU HAVE A CHOICE. YOU MAY WIELD OUR POWER FOR A DAY. YOU WILL GAIN THE STRENGTH, WISDOM, AND INSTINCTS OF GENERATIONS PAST, SPANNING AEONS TO THE BEGINNING OF LIFE -- AT A COST. THESE ATTRIBUTES MAY AID OR HINDER YOU IN YOUR DARKEST HOUR. OR, YOU MAY TURN THIS POWER AWAY, AND WE SHALL NOT RETURN TO YOU. YOU MAY CONTINUE TO LIVE A NORMAL LIFE." Do you [[accept]] their offer, or [[refuse]]?

You may as well accept. You don't have anything left. Maybe being a different version of you for a day will help you turn things around. The dream ends. You wake up feeling heavy, but [[alive]].

You appreciate the offer, but you don't know what you would do with that kind of power. You politely decline. The dream ends. You wake up feeling strangely refreshed. ...... It takes a few months, and a lot of hard work, but you're back on your feet again. Losing your mother was devastating, but you've grown since then. You struggled with giving up alcohol, but you did it. You have a new job at the local grocery store making chump change, but it's enough to live off of. Besides, you think it's worth it given the friends you've made amongst your coworkers. The owners are kind people too, and you can tell that they're glad to have you. You drive home each evening feeling fulfilled. There are ups and downs to retail, but that just motivates you even more. On several weekends, you've gone to the lake up north to barbeque and have fun with your friends. Watching the sun set over the water and the stars come out on the drive back gets you every time. You can tell that they're watching, perhaps even smiling as they see the person you've become. END

When you get up, you rush to the mirror to see if you look any different. You don't look any stronger, and you don't have fangs or claws. The only thing that seems to have changed is your eyes. When you look at yourself straight on, they're still brown. But when you tilt your head, they flash green. [[Sick]].

Having color-changing eyes is pretty cool, even if it's just for a day. Feeling confident, you decide to test your skills outside. There are boulders scattered outside your house that are small enough to hold with two hands. Despite your hard-earned muscle from work and growing up in the back country, you weren't able to lift them before without struggling. Now, it's almost effortless -- they're still heavy, but you can toss them almost like you would a basketball. When you sprint, you break a sweat but you don't feel out of breath. You could go for miles if you wanted to. Your mind feels faster too, more quick to react. But you're more impressed with your feats of strength. You don't feel superhuman, but you wonder if you've reached the pinnacle of human power. You feel really [[good]].

You're not sure how to feel about it. Eyes being the window to the soul and all that.

You daydream about spending a day on the mountain to make use of your newly gifted strength. No one will be up there since it's a work day; you can have free reign to do what you want. Climb trees, run, explore -- a day of childlike freedom to clear your head. You drive into town to pick up some food. You can enjoy nature once you have fuel in your tank. You pull into the grocery store parking lot. It's a local business, but it's the only grocery in town; it gets a lot of business from the residents nearby. You almost get out of your truck, but you hesitate. You see //his// car. He dated your mother, briefly, after your father died in the car accident. You were both welcome to change, until he made it clear that he didn't care about either of you. He hurt you and your mother, and took your fucking money to boot. It was a miracle that the two of you managed to get him to leave, but the police told you that you didn't have enough evidence when you tried to get him arrested for abuse. You think about your plans for the mountain. It's a beautiful morning. He's probably not worth going after. But with your current strength, you could make him pay. Easily. Do you [[get what you came for]] and leave, or do you [[tail him]]?

As much as you hate him, you're not going to waste any more time on him. You pick up a half-dozen doughnuts, leave, and you don't regret it. A day as a new you is just what you needed. ... When you get home, you feel pleasantly tired. Your muscles ache from the running, climbing, and the stones you turned over, but you know it means you're just growing stronger. As you fall asleep, you feel your power leaving. You thought the process might feel unpleasant, but's warm and tingly, and it makes you feel light. Letting go feels nice -- for once, you're actually looking forward to tomorrow. END

This could be your once chance to put him in his place. To hell with the consequences. You leave the parking lot and wait in the loading zone behind the store building. Once you see him get in his car, you leave some space between the two of you and follow. He's on his way to work as you expected, but you have time to wait. It's better if you face him in the dark, anyway. He enters the building and you park in an inconspicuous spot a block away. As time passes, you think about about your options. You could beat the shit out of him until he learns his lesson. You could kill him if you wanted to. The hunting knife is still in your passenger's seat -- sheathed, but ready. As each hour goes by, you feel more and more rage build. Waiting has only made you more [[hungry]].

At six o'clock, you see him exit the building. The sun is setting. It's time. You know where he lives; between here and his house, there's a stretch of road surrounded only by farmland. You can do it there. As you reach the road, he notices that the truck is yours. He pulls over, and you follow suit. He looks scared. Good. He gets out of the car. "Hey, uh, kiddo...what brings you out here?" You get out of the car and start walking toward him. You don't say anything. Do you go in with your [[fists]], or your [[knife]]?

You tell him that you just want to talk, but you still draw closer to him. He's on guard. But once you get close enough, you tackle him. He bowls over easily, but he puts up a fight. He reaches for his back pocket -- he has a gun. The two of you struggle -- you're so close to overpowering him. But you can't knock the gun away in time. One shot to your chest is all it takes. The pain is unimaginable -- you lose your grip on him and he kicks you away. You cough, and blood gurgles out of your mouth. You lie on the side of the road, your breathing shallow. The shot punctured one of your lungs. Your eyes flicker green, then brown, then become cloudy gray. END

You pull the hunting knife out of your belt loop. He pulls out a handgun from his back pocket and raises it. Shit. You're able to move quickly enough to dodge as he fires. You run toward him. He fires again; this time it grazes your shoulder, but now you're close enough to go in for the kill. You tackle him to the ground. You can't remember how many times you sink the knife into him -- it's an animalistic blur that stretches out for infinity and ends in the blink of an eye. When it's done, you stand over his body. The slits in his chest spew blood onto the pavement. You grip the knife, admiring your handiwork. Then you hear a siren, and see red and blue lights flash [[behind you]].

He must have noticed you tailing him before you got to the empty road and called the police during the drive. "Put your weapon down, and put your hands where I can see them!" an officer yells. You drop the knife. You raise your hands. You close your eyes. It's over. END

Aside from the blood, you don't have any leads, let alone any reason to go looking for what took the deer. Maybe the carcass was enough to satisfy what took it. You should consider yourself lucky that you're alive. You gather up enough courage to eat breakfast at least. You decide to go job searching in town to get it off your mind. Your search is unsuccessful. Although the townsfolk are sympathetic to the fact that you lost your mother only a month ago, there are no jobs to be had for the rest of the season. Being your mother's caregiver was hard enough, one woman tells you. You should give yourself a [[break]].

It can't kill you if you kill it first. You eat breakfast -- you'll need all the energy you can get. You pack a backpack full of water and food, plus your hunting knife, compass, cell phone, and some gauze. You take your hunting rifle as well, and keep extra bullets in your pocket along with your keys. It's noon. You should head out while it's still [[light]].

You return home, eat dinner, and head to bed. Maybe you can look in the next town over for a job, but the commute is awfully long... You drift off to sleep easily. Then you wake up as you hear a crash. It sounds like someone broke the kitchen window. It takes you a moment to collect yourself, but you know what you have to do. You put on your shoes, and get ready to open your window -- But you hear the handle of your bedroom doorknob turn. You try to will your body to move, but you can't out of sheer terror. You look up. A dark, humanoid figure stands in the doorway. The only details you can see are its bright, moss-green eyes. END

You follow the trail of blood that leads behind your house, and keep heading in the direction where it stops. You take note of your bearings; you're headed north. Whatever took the deer must have been huge. You search for anything suspicious: tracks, scat, hair, deer parts. You don't see anything unusual. You find some deer tracks, various types of rodent poop, but not much else. But in your search, you've lost track of time. The sun is already setting. You're deep in the woods now, and you should have already started to turn back. Doesn't mean you shouldn't, though. You start walking [[south]].

The sun sets quickly, and soon, it's dark. You're still in the woods -- and you forgot to bring a flashlight. You can use the light from your phone to see, but it's dim. Maybe it's your imagination, but you don't feel alone in the forest anymore. You keep walking, looking around to see if you can spot the moon through the trees. If they're sparse, enough, perhaps that means you're at the edge of the forest -- You trip over something big and land on your face, dropping your phone in the process. You catch your breath -- you're lucky your gun didn't accidentally go off. You see the light from your phone and pick it up. You almost drop it again. In the light of your phone, you can see the deer's [[silvery gray eyes]].

You shine your phone across the forest floor quickly. The whole deer carcass is there, intact aside from the incisions you made two nights ago. You just tripped over it. Now it's really time to get out. You make your way south as fast as you can, keeping your gun at the ready. Your heart is pounding in your ears. Then you hear it. Moaning, screeching, howling -- it starts off slow, then it grows louder. You look around. Between the trees, you see animal-like figures drawing closer. You can't see any details besides their bright, moss-green eyes. You start to run, but they're catching up to you. You have to think of a way out. You can stop running and try shooting at them, but they vastly outnumber you. Shooting might make them angrier. You can also try to keep running and look for a means of escape. Do you stay and [[shoot]], or [[keep running]]?

You fire. In your panic, you loose aim. The shot doesn't hit any of the creatures, but it does hit a boulder. Sparks fly off it, and the dry leaves on the forest floor start to smoke. You see fire. The creatures start to back away, and the fire continues to grow. This is your chance to [[flee]].

You leave the gun and the backpack and sprint as fast as you can. You can see the edge of the forest, and -- thank god -- your house. You can feel heat on your back as the fire spreads -- the creatures scatter rapidly into the night. You dash out of the forest and make a beeline for your truck. You get in and drive. You want to drive as far away as possible, but instead you to stop in town to call the police about the fire. You find a payphone, and thankfully you have change. You watch as the fire engines drive down the road to your home. Days later, when they finally put the forest fire out, you return. Your house didn't make it. In the end, you still got what you deserved. END

You keep running and hope that you'll hit the edge of the forest. And you do -- but that doesn't stop them. You trip over your own feet halfway to your house. They are relentless. Before you can prop yourself up to stand, they descend on you. The last thing you see is darkness, speckled by flashes of green. END