I shudder, staring at glassy eyes that stare back at nothing in particular. A dried tongue pokes out between two black lips. This is the first time I’m seeing a deer up close, and I reach out to pet the bristly, dusty hair on its neck. What a drag to be shot only to have your head hang for an eternity from your murderer’s wall.
“Are you admiring my trophy, son? That’s the first buck I shot.” My father pokes the tiny antler buds on top of the deer’s head. “He might have been small and young, but so was I.”
A vividly depicted scene. I enjoyed it.
Hello Marissa,
Nice depiction of opposing viewpoints concerning the sport of hunting game.