Tethered

WOW 2024 Fall Flash Fiction Contest Finalist

Astra set down a bouquet of dandelions then stepped back. Her dirty clothes and face melted into the sun-scorched grasses around her. She crouched low to the ground to observe the small clearing between the pine trees.

She came to these woods to escape her little brother’s soap carvings and their constant hunger. Scarcely any food after the Destruction, but plenty of soap, bars and bars of soap, which her little brother used to carve into small figurines.

Not far from her, a few blades of grass bent. Astra froze. She heard the slightest swish of fur against grass. The deer was here. 

When she had first seen it, a few weeks ago, she wanted to reach out and rub her calloused hands across its soft fur. Then the pain in her stomach reminded her the deer was food.

The graceful animal lowered its head, searching for the flowers. Its fawn-like eyes made it look young, but its body was more like that of an adolescent, lean, desperate, and hungry.

A few months ago, Astra’s mother had asked her to play a game with her little brother, but Astra was busy looking out the window, absorbed by a helicopter seed spiraling its way to the ground. How quickly her love of observation had turned into a necessity. It would help her hunt this deer if she wanted.

Astra reached for her slingshot. 

The deer flicked its tail, but kept its eyes on the flowers. She slowly fished out a steel ball from her pocket. The slight movement caused the deer to lift its head, like her brother did in the night, searching for safety.

When she had picked the dandelions this morning, growing in the shade of the piles of rubble, she knew she would use them to lure the deer toward her. But she didn’t know what she would do if the deer actually came, its light brown fur almost the complete opposite of her brother’s night-black hair. 

Holding her breath, Astra started counting backwards from ten. Deer were fearful creatures. That’s what the book in the abandoned library had said. Anything could spook them, a tiny noise, a sudden movement, even the snap of a twig could cause a deer to run. If the deer was still standing there at zero she would allow herself to exhale and perhaps shoot. 

Ten. Nine. 

A fish, a tree, a heart whittled out of a bar of soap? What was her little brother carving before she left? She couldn’t remember. It was the only thing he could think to do for his big sister, make her things out of soap, now that she was the one in charge. 

Eight. Seven.

There was no way her measly sling shot could take down a running deer, even this young one. The deer must remain still for her to kill it. She had to hit it in the right spot, indicated by the red crosshair in the book, past the shoulder, just above the heart.

Six. Five. 

Like the helicopter seeds she had tied together on a string, which her mom wore as a necklace just above her heart.

Snap.

A twig broke nearby. She was not alone. Larger, black eyes were searching in the brush nearby. From her vantage point, crouched close to the ground, she saw the young deer’s mother: a proud, lean doe who had no idea that Astra was hunting her child. 

How quickly could the mother react?

In split-seconds.

Young deer are rarely alone, the book had said. The doe could tell the fawn to run in the blink of an eye as if an invisible string buried in the ground connected them. The mother’s fear would reach a melting point and the string would vibrate. The young deer would instinctively bolt, tethered to the mother. The doe would slow for a heartbeat, placing herself in-between the danger and her child. Anything to protect the young.

Four. Three.

Just as their mother had done for them during the Destruction. 

It was her. Her brother was carving a figure of her out of soap. She was surprised by her muscled arms.

The young deer turned its head and rotated its ears.

The ground started vibrating. 

 Two. One.

Astra pulled back the elastic of her slingshot and closed one eye.

Zero.

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