A short walk down,
two miles at best.
Our deer stand could be found.
Built in a tree with branches splayed,
twenty feet off the ground.
The greatest view of trail and trees,
just beyond, a rolling hill.
"A perfect spot," my father said
"To make an easy kill."
This day was the very first time,
my father took me along.
He had no sons, I'd have to do,
inside it felt so wrong.
He whistled as we crunched through snow,
rifle heavy in my hand.
A lunch with fruit and cut up cheese,
was stuffed in a coffee can.
I climbed up first, my frozen feet
slipping on the pegs.
Pounded in the old tree bark,
some of them scratched my legs.
My father followed close behind,
his face was filled with glee.
Cradling the rifle in his arms,
he stared out from the tree.
The woods were dark and silent,
no animal made a sound.
Even the owl and croaking frogs,
were nowhere to be found.
We didn't speak, we sat apart,
there were no words to say.
Taking a life would scar my heart,
would change me on this day.
Then suddenly, a flash of brown,
like magic soon appeared.
Majestic antlers like a crown,
soft eyes that showed no fear.
"This one's yours" my father said,
"Slow and easy, lift your gun."
"Silence now is crucial, and noise will make it run."
Then, just to please my father,
I let my bullet fly.
The snow stained red, the deer still moved,
I saw it slowly die.
Through tears I watched this horror,
wishing I couldn't feel.
My father swung me in his arms,
his jubilation real.
Where once a lovely creature stood,
a carcass just remains.
"That's my girl, you done real good."
I wish he felt my pain.
He ate his lunch but I felt sick,
for the next deer we both waited.
With the smell of deer thick in the air,
soon his bloodlust would be sated.
Walking home he talked of things
so normal, you would think,
that nothing happened in the woods,
save, for the blood and stink.
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