I, a deer in blinding headlights.

Whirring wheels screech against the asphalt.

Demanding movement but provoking frozen fear.

 

I, a wide eyed statistic shaking at the hulking mass.

Lacking comprehension in shape or form.  

And then, the crash.

 

Headlights flashed and with it my life.

I pondered.

Would my use be more pleasurable.

A tough and salty jerky.

A stuffed trophy piece.

Or.

A carcass feeding the solemn earth.

 

Rather, than a grazing waste of space.

Meant only to continue my own misery.

Feeding off the grass, a beautiful, graceful leech.

 

That day a deer died.

No longer.

Running to run.

Eating to eat.

Living to rot.

No longer.

 

Purpose in the headlights.

A chugging steel tool which killed what was me.

And so I was no longer.

And so I was purpose.

And so I was.

For the very first time.