Blood on the Highway

His boots clicked on the hard, dry pavement as he exited his truck. I could hear his footsteps as he slowly scanned the area and walked toward me. He didn’t come to my rescue at first, rather he went directly to the animal.

The Caribou squealed in pain, its limbs broken, its body battered and bloodied. The man held the animal in his arms, saying a prayer while he shed tears for the suffering beast. A loud cry came from the side of the road, as a larger animal, perhaps the mother of the injured deer said goodbye to her baby. I watched as he removed a long blade from the leather sheath that dangled from his belt. He took the knife and quickly cut the throat of the suffering animal. Everything went silent and its body went still. With that, the herd moved on, leaving the slain one behind.

I was most amazed at his strength, as he heaved the animal over his shoulders and into the back of his pickup. He walked over to where I lay, bent down and smelled my breath. When he detected the smell of whiskey, he spat on me and walked away, leaving me to bleed to death on the lonely highway.

I tried to call out to him, begging him for help, but he said nothing. He simply walked back to his truck and drove away.

This is a work of fiction. Just to let you know.

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