|
farmfish
|
jamie and i took the deer to get processed. she looked at it once and not again. it was on the back of my pick-up, one short rivulet of blood ran with gravity along the furrow of the plastic liner.
i drove to the ramshackle shoppe, nestled in the deep woods, and waited a couple minutes until they opened. a young guy, the same one i had passed on the way waiting for a ride, appeared to help me carry the buck off the bed. he grabbed the legs, i had the rack.
we took it inside where there was already a large pile, legs and heads twisted in various unnatural positions. eyes glazed and lifeless, some already having lost viscosity and pressed in like the waxed paper of a doll house window. off to one side there were rusty barrels full of body parts, hearts, livers, and spleens. in another pile were hides. i didn't see any heads.
a smell of early morning rain, wet fur, and death was a strange mix that filled me with a guarded and reserved curiosity.
as one deer hung by two legs from a hook attached to a wooden beam above me, i asked the guy if he ever dreamed about this shit. together we looked over at the pile of bodies, this mass of bella morte. his blue eyes got big and round. his front teeth, rotten from snff broke into an eerie, half-cocked smile.
"nightmares," he snickered, as if he was remembering one. i imagined him sitting up abruptly during the night having dreamt he had fallen amongst the slain deer and they suddenly came to life, fucking attacking him with their gutless bodies.
|
011202
|
