The Fat-Horned Stag / Avian Counterpart
august 28, 2023, the title is from a misheard deerest friends lyric. i made this story into a zine with some drawings
Sometimes I stare down that stag in the forest. I sit in the trees lining the clearing and watch him gallop through the tall grass. I think about how he’s unaware of the knife in my backpack. He doesn’t know what I have planned. He doesn’t know anything. I wish I could be like him. Blissfully unaware of what might hurt him. He won’t ever know. And he silently carries on. I would never step any closer to that stag. I know that when it comes down to it, there’s nothing I could do. Nothing more than stare at him. But it’s not awe, it’s remorse. For remembering what I could do, and why I came out here in the first place. As I duck through the trees and emerge from the woods into a gray city filled with frightened people, I pretend I’m invisible. I continue on the path towards a dull building. It’s shorter than the ones around it, but it’s just as chilling. The frigid air surrounds me and I leave a trail of hot breath suspended in the atmosphere. Goosebumps line my legs, my hair stands up on end, but I continue on the cracked sidewalk. The city skyline never fails to terrify me. Still, I walk forward. Just before the front door, I turn the corner and start sprinting. I run with no destination ever entering my mind, weaving through the concrete corridors of the city. I run with a pattern in my mind: right, left, look back, right, left, turn, right, left, and it continues endlessly. I run with no purpose, yet with great consistency. And I imagine I’m dissolving into the horizon. No one will notice my absence, just like they always ignored my presence. I’m disappearing, yet I still run forward. They won’t even check my unkempt bedroom. My door will be left closed eternally. And I still run forward. The alleyways will become my home. We will be able to recognize each other eventually. Just by the sound of my footsteps and the color of their bricks. I’ll rest, encircled by deep, muted red. I know my legs will give out soon, and I’ll collapse in a heap of uselessness. They won’t miss me, and I still run forward. My body will crumple into nothing more than a sack of bones and flesh, and they still won’t miss me. My hollow bones will disintegrate and I will take flight like the birds soaring off of telephone wires. From the predator, I became the prey. My belongings will follow me into the sky. The old, bleach-stained towel becoming my tail and the knife morphing into my beak. He means nothing to me now, the fat-horned stag. He never knew and he could never know. But I will always know. I can’t forget the pain of being stabbed through the heart with a sword made of flesh, bone, and indigo veins. But he would. He didn’t know that my knife was sharper. The stag in the clearing is forever unaware. But I am not. Even now, they won’t miss me. After I’ve shifted forms completely, born anew into a distant species, they won’t miss me. I’ll always carry the burden of knowing. They’ll say it helps me survive, but I would rather climb into my own muddy, unmarked grave than feel the same way. Your memories will never fade from my pea-sized brain. I’ll remember, if it’s the last thing I ever do. And you still won’t miss me.
