That

What was it like to be a deer? It’s hard to imagine because human beings, particularly western ones are no longer creatures of the moment. We float now, more like ghosts or automatons than people, trapped in our minds or in the glare of a computer screen. What was it like for the deer in that moment before time expired? Did deer’s sit around thinking about the day of their death? Did it change their conception of life to know that they were only going to live for five or twelve years or however long deer lived? For some reason the image of his old hamster, dead after two years popped into his head, and he imagined a domesticated version of a deer bowling through the house in a giant plastic ball, knocking over furniture on its way outside. It was, as many thoughts are that we choose not to share, patently absurd.

                Someone was going to have to kill the deer.

                “Do we just drive over it again?” For a while H walked around on the side of the road looking for a large rock. The fact is that he wouldn’t have done anything with the rock if he had it in his hand, but he wanted to feel useful, so he looked for a large rock that he would do nothing with.

                “What speed do you think we’d have to get up to in order to, you know, end things?”

                “Is it troubling at all that we’re standing around talking about this deer’s death right in front of it?”

                “Would moving out of earshot be more appropriate in any way shape or form?”

                A blue sedan whizzed past as the two of them stood ten feet away from the deer, though now H was looking for a large stick that he could use as a club. There was no way that he could club the deer, even being near it nearly brought him to tears or made him feel nauseous. The coppery scent of blood hung thick and insects were starting to whir.

                “We have to do it,” Daniel said, not moving.

                Then they heard the slow purr of an old engine and the blue sedan pulled slowly over to the side of the road and a middle-aged man got out. He was balding and round around the middle, but he moved briskly out of the car, slamming his door and walking towards them. He was wearing white tennis shoes and old blue jeans.

                “What are you all up to?” he asked, shading the sun from his eyes with his right hand.

                “He came out of nowhere,” Daniel said, shaking his head. 

“He came out of the grass is what it looks like,” the man said. “He doesn’t look quite dead yet. Are you two going to fix that?”