I am told to watch the video, a buck shot beside its artery, the light stream of blood wrapped around its vertebrae like a bow. It is harrowing the way it presses its veins to grass and wonders what sort of life is squeezing out of them, its thin skin and delicate frame now part metal and part dying. It does not move, it does not answer, it lays there cooled in the morning dew listening to the sounds of birds and lizards and living things skittering around. It is still, hearing everything, gathering the finishing moments of its own body between the trees, and it is over, the video, the curiosity, the spectacle.
By Kristian Perez