A lone doe walks through the forest,

Serene and graceful,

Dipping in and out of the trees,

Grazing among the fields of grass.

The beauty of this specific doe

Far exceeds what most achieve.

It's sad to think,

of all who see this beauty,

most will never,

ever,

grieve.


BANG!


The flash of a rifle.


The doe drops, lifeless.

A hunter rises from the shadows,

looking upon the fresh kill.


Suddenly, the bushes rustle.

A tiny hoof emerges.

Then the head,

and the body,

and the legs.

A fawn.


Then it came.

The sudden realization.

Of what

He

Had

Done.

His hands…

The hands of a murderer.

He had blood on these hands.

The blood of innocents.

He drops his gun.

Then runs.

As far as his legs can take him,

The farthest he can go.

As long as he wasn’t near

That once-living doe.