In the dark anyway he squeezed his eyes shut and braced his arms on the steering wheel. He waited for the impact he was sure would come. It was sure to tear up the station wagons front end, but she was an old car, built before they all were made out of plastic. He was sure the car would survive.

The buck would probably get up and run off too. It wasn’t very often you saw roadkill deer, even though he knew it was a common occurrence for them to loose a dance with a car.

Once hit the buck would go down, then struggle up again.

His hide would be torn, the coveted meat below would be shining moist and red. The skin would be missing from his knees, and one or more of his legs would probably be broken. More than likely there would be bones showing outside the skin, sharp and white against its brown hide. No matter how damaged he would be he would still run off into the woods. It would leave a trail of blood which, if followed, would soon lead to a dead deer.