The Golden Stag, Pt 2: CWS Distress
#4 of Jaeger Dominus's works
Author's Note: Don't drink trackwater. You nasty.
The Golden Stag, episode two: CWS Distress
Written by Jaeger Dominus
I was a rural deer hunter. Funny enough, murder helped protect them. Humans need not apply. They're clearly not animals. They're someone, not something.
Back to what I was doing that day. I heard a deer had chronic wasting disease in the area, a disgusting disease that essentially made the herd zombies. Calling myself a zombie hunter was cooler than a deer hunter. But I got paid by my company through the Pennsylvanian government. Free rides through the beautiful state made my life a lot easier to deal with.
I sneaked through the Michaux state forest, following the route of the herd. We hunted to sell good game to jerky producers, but we changed tactics when the disease came up and now kept the forest clean.
There was water in the tracks. I wondered why I noticed. It rained recently, about ten minutes before, and stopped. However, these tracks had a little bit more water than the puddles I saw on the ground.
I put my finger into it. Mainly to feel the cold of it. It was perfectly clean, too.
Something stupid called out to me. I'm joking, of course, I remembered what she said in the odd fever dream I had, that bird lady. It was realizing what I did was stupid was where my mind started to come into focus.
I just drank from a puddle of water from the tracks of things with CWD. A caw of a raven.
Weren't usually creatures like that in this forest, as far as I knew. Though I focused on the shooting aspect of it instead of the ecology involved. What kind of person did you think I was? I just did what I had to do, nothing more than that.
I felt sick. Messed up big time after that! Whatever I just tasted probably just killed me.
"You stupid idiot--"
"Enough, Elijah," a familiar voice said.
I looked up. In front of me was the Corvid Mother.
"You're not going to die," she continued, "though you may want to turn your safety back on."
Without looking away I turned on my rifle's safety.
"Put it down now."
"Why?" I asked. "What if you're like death or something? What if you take me to the underworld?"
"Judging by your choice of tracks, you chose an... interesting choice. Most choose bear or wolf prints. You chose the prints of a white-tail deer. Not a lot of growth with that."
"Not a lot of-- What do you mean not a lot of growth? Last time I was tripping this hard you said I had potential!"
"You think you're tripping?" Corvid Mother laughed. "Girls, he thinks he's tripping!"
I heard some laughter from around us, as if the forest itself guffawed at me.
She sighed. "Ah, that's good. But if you want to know more you have to admit this is real. Put the gun down, Elijah."
"No," I said.
"Then we'll be back," she said. "Enjoy normality for now."
I kept staring. Whoever "we" meant probably included those that laughed with her, not me.
"I will," I said.
Another puff of dust and the corvid mother disappeared.
I headed back to camp confused. My coworkers talked about how the CWD hadn't been sighted in this area for a while, anyways, and that when they found the herd there was no evidence of the disease either. I assumed it was a good thing. At least it meant that whatever caused my stomach to turn and have that weird dream again wasn't going to outright kill me.
Me and my mental trips. What was wrong with me?
Eventually we took a ride back to our county, back to Hanover where our business was headquartered. The roads were horrendous, as with most old towns. Despite that, we lived. I got dropped back at my home at the end of the day, and felt confused. I thought I had life down pat, I felt happy.
Normality I wouldn't describe my life to be. It was strange enough, thank you.
Later that night, after getting off my favorite videogame Dota 2 and doing a seance of meditation, I wondered what the hell all that meant. Not many people in the US played my game. Our region was considered trash-tier, despite being developed here. South America had better teams than us. Sue me if I'm wrong, of course, but I hadn't seen an American-born man like me get anywhere near the top.
And I was at the bottom tier of the bottom region, at Herald 1. Hopefully that would change. I earned my spot by being a waste of life.
Maybe being a loser was normal. Maybe being normal was for losers. I wasn't winning in life though.
I laid on my bed, did my midnight routines, and then went to sleep.
My dream involved something that bothered me. I saw a creature, shimmering gold, with the largest head of antlers I ever saw. It was a deer, or an elk, or something else. But it shined deep gold, glimmering in the light of my dream world. It was beautiful, immaculate. I wanted to see what it was.
I found the gun in my hands, the one I used to hunt. Normally when I had hunting dreams they appeared to be when I hunted with a bow. I had strength from using a bow, and preferred it. Having the gun reminded me of work. I didn't want to work. I laid the gun on the ground.
"I won't kill that thing, either. Too pretty."
Usually, in dreams such as that, I killed the creature. I thought they earned it.
Then I looked at my hands.
They had hooves.
Then I woke up.
Out of bed to brew the coffee, I expected the dream to be forgotten by the time I sipped the good joe. But it stuck to me for ages.
I wanted to understand the golden stag more. It called to me, and I didn't know why.
I'm eventually going to take this down for a KU version of the book. Making it clear now why most the story would be gone.
Commission me for writing projects! My Comm's are open, simply DM me for details!
See ya soon!
--Jaeger Dominus