An idea pops into your head.

It roams around speaking of great dreams, they seem real.

Every time those eyes close, the darkness comes, that life comes to life.

It seems so obtainable, these delusions of grandeur.

So divine that a chance is taken to achieve it,

Only to be the single worst decision that could be made.

One that possibly ruins every opportunity for a great life—you didn’t know.

How could you know?

The damage that is done seems too much, too unbelievable.

As if it is a cold winter’s night.

A young fawn stumbles around searching for protection from the winter’s cold.

Through the window your eyes catch the little creature struggling.

Your ears hear the weak call for help.

With a heavy heart you walk outside to give the fawn some protection.

A blanket. Nothing too big yet warmth enough.

You swaddle it affectionately, wishing it the best.

It rests under the deck, protected from the winter’s white.

Soon the cries fade. You sleep.

A sound slumber knowing that you saved another life.

Gave another soul a future.

Or so you thought.

In the morning you see no mother and a still fawn.

It died.

The blanket caught a nail, wrapped around the fawn’s throat.

That kindness had killed the little fawn.

How could you know?

Now all that can be done is to hold the dead body.

The frozen future.

Now a heartless killer.

All is lost, and it is your own fault.