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The Hunter’s Sorrow

             Sunlight filters through the leaves, falling in pools on the dirt path that winds through the trees. The scent of pine lingers heavily in the air. A doe is grazing near an old, giant oak. Her fawn sleeps nearby under a sapling, its spots making it blend in with the dappled forest floor.

             The chirping of birds carries through the trees, although none of their bright plumage is visible. Far off in the distance is the hazy line of a mountain range, and the crashing of a waterfall somewhere nearby is audible. On a sun-warmed rock sleeps a lone grey wolf who waits for the moon to shine down on his silky, grey-brown fur. It is a peaceful, warm summer's day.

             Suddenly, the sound of a snapping twig cuts through the pleasant day as if it is a slashing dagger. The doe and her fawn are instantly alert. The birds stop their singing, and one red-breasted robin bursts into the cloudless blue sky. The wolf does not move, although his ears prick with interest. As the robin once more descends into the trees, the frightened doe bolts through the underbrush with her fawn at her side.

             You are the one who stepped on the twig. You clutch your hunting rifle so tightly that your knuckles turn white. Never before have you come into the forest to kill a deer. Now, you see your chance and aim. Your finger slides over the trigger, ready to tighten and send a bullet flying at your intended prey, who has now stopped running and gone back to her grazing. Beads of sweat line your forehead.

             Your finger tightens on the trigger, and a tremendous boom echoes through the trees. Birds shoot into the sky, crying out in alarm. When you fired your gun, your eyes closed, and now you open them again. At first, you see only the trees and the winding dirt path. Then, you are able to make out the fawn, who is sitting absolutely still in a patch of yellowed grass.

             Then, your eyes lock with those of the doe. She is on her side, her head resting on a pillow of fallen leaves and her eyes slowly closing. You drop your gun and go over to her to examine your catch more closely. Her side rises and falls much to fast, and her breathing sounds ragged. You realize that you hit her chest instead of her head. It breaks your heart to see that you have caused such a beautiful animal such pain.

             You tentatively put a hand on the animal's heaving flank, marveling at the softness of the deer's golden fur, and whisper, "I'm sorry." She draws a last breath and then is still, and tears come to your eyes. You have just killed her and left her fawn to face certain death.

             After a while, you finally turn to see the fawn. It doesn't seem to have moved. You go to it and reach out a shaking hand. Still, it remains motionless like a statue. You can see the fear in its black, glittering eyes. A decision is made. You will take the fawn to a zoo, where it will be safe. As you pick up the fawn and stand, you catch sight of your gun, the one your friends gave you and told you to use when you went hunting.

             Hugging the fawn to your chest, you pick up the gun and look at it. It now seems like a cruel thing to own, a thing that causes nothing but pain and death. But you know what to do with it. Solemnly, you take the gun to the dead doe and place it gingerly beside her. "I'll never use a gun again," you whisper. Then, you turn and walk away, concerned only for the welfare of the fawn, who has been harmed in your foolishness.

             When you get to the edge of the forest, you stop for a moment. The birds are still chirping, and you can still hear the crash of the waterfall. It is dusk, and the moon is rising. A lone wolf's howl floats through the forest, beautiful and somewhat sad. It is then that you stop feeling so miserable about the doe's demise. After all, life will go on. It already is going on.