I saw Bambi's mom

I believe in zombies, and I will tell you why.  I came back from school early winter semester so I could work a few days before the semester started.  It was a blast.

Needless to say, the hours spent alone did not do much in the way of helping me maintain a stable emotional balance. The longer I spent alone, the more desperate I became. At one point I found myself attempting to learn the Armenian National Anthem. In Chinese.

To compound the issue, I also became absolutely determined to do a headstand, which may not seem especially problematic until you understand the extent of my coordination issues. I practiced for an hour a day through the break, leading to massive headaches and an impressive sized bump on my head, in addition to other unnamed possible effects. (Still, it was a month before I could do a headstand with the wall.)

All this to say, by the end of the break, I was fraying a little at the edges.

It was a cold, dark, eerie morning on December 30th. Witching hour--the last few minutes before the sun rose. The streets were deserted, and a pallid fog had settled over all of Provo; something sinister lurked in the darkness.

Along came innocent little Sarah Perkins, curls bouncing, happily imagining various conversations she might have with the founding fathers while on her way to her 6 AM custodial shift. Little did she know the danger that lay not two blocks away.

Skipping happily, distracted by Franklin's rather saucy response, she did not, could not notice . . .

The carcass.

Yes, I was so oblivious I nearly fell on top of it. My shrill scream pierced the silence. Still, I was determined to retain as much composure as possible. Straightening up, head erect, I stepped around the body and continued towards the MTC with as much dignity as I could muster, but shaken now, and silent.

The world was mute, but for a quiet, rhythmic sound. Soft at first, it grew louder . . . and closer.

It was the sound of hooves on cement.

I didn't take the time to glance behind me; I knew what I would see.

I sprinted onward, the MTC glowing like a shining edifice of safety before me. Images of dad's hunting excursions, the horns mounted on my sister's wall, Bambi, Twilight flashed through my mind--all of them: my fault! And now it was too late. All too late.

The hoof-prints came faster and faster. It was right behind me!

With a shuddering gasp, I shot past the guard and slid behind the gate surrounding the MTC, safe at last.

Walking home, I saw a bit of fur where the deer once was, but nothing more. They tell me the public health control cleaned up the body, but I know better.

It's still out there somewhere, just biding it's time. When it comes again, I'll be ready.