You who were thrown, lost through time and space

  Locked away, never to remember your face

  Will you raise your fist to the sky?

  For you, She uttered no longer an echo of a sigh

  …

  As he walked, his mind wandered, trying to find any clues about his location or himself.

  ‘Who am I? Why am I here? What happened to my broken leg? I could’ve sworn it was damaged… or maybe not. Did I imagine it?’

  Those questions lingered and turned in his mind, as he walked until the sun rose, dawn illuminating the surroundings with a soft, golden light. He tried his hardest to remember anything, but nothing resulted in his attempts.

  He crouched down and scribbled some letters in the mud, the wind picking up as he focused on the words his finger traced.

  ‘I can speak… and write, but I do not know the name of this nguage nor where I learned it..’

  That was… reassuring, writing was a sign of civilization, and he was sure he couldn’t come up with such intricate letters and words on his own in a short span of time. He wrote some simple sentences, which all followed the same syntax and rules he instinctively felt and understood, further proving his point.

  Somewhere out there, was society. He knew that writing was a result of people living in groups and developing an efficient way of communication. How did he know that? Who cares.. A more dire question would be what happened for him to arrive here with no memories.

  And where exactly was ‘here’?

  Did something happen that forced him to leave? The lost soul sure as heck hoped he wouldn’t find an apocalyptic world once he got out of here.

  He sighed before giving up; more urgent tasks were at hand.

  Seeing much more clearly now that the sun was rising, he decided to venture into the boreal forest, his mind recognizing it as such, although the source of this drop of knowledge was still foreign.

  He had no choice but to brave the unknown, if he wished to appease his empty stomach.

  Every few steps, he paused, on the lookout and wary of every single sound, and then continued.

  The forest was devoid of the usual chirping of birds, the buzz of insects, the chittering of squirrels..

  This eerie and unnatural silence only made the boy more wary and hesitant to go in further. In the presence of a predator, nature always held its breath. He did so too along with the forest for each step he took and listened, the sound of his own movements seemed like a real cacophony in the still and ominous forest.

  His heart wasn’t ready for another encounter like yesterday, but his stomach forced him to go out hoping to find something to eat. Even his organs were in a state of disarray.

  ‘When was the st time I ate? I wasn’t that hungry when I woke up…’

  ‘Maybe I was a glutton before this… situation.’

  He smiled, that silly thought easing his mind a little.

  He yawned, noting to himself that he might need some sleep soon. Walking the entire night made his feet sore and his eyelids heavy.

  ‘Maybe finding a pce to sleep after food would be a good idea… Perhaps on top of a tree? Can I climb one?’

  He kept walking, eyes scanning for anything edible, like mushrooms or berries.

  The sun was well above the horizon when he stumbled and stopped before a small clearing, a macabre scene unfolding before him. Emerging from the forest, he arrived at the edge of a gde containing a small and shimmering waterhole.

  What he saw made his blood turn cold and his eyes widen.

  Near the small pond, a young white doe y on its side, nasty wounds to its fnk, deep parallel wounds, as if giant cws were at work here. The stench of blood and violence still lingered in the air. It was a sharp, metallic scent mixed with the earthiness of damp moss. The upturned earth around portrayed a struggle till the end. The wanderer felt a pang in his chest - empathy mixed with slight fear. The sight of the gashes was enough to make him want to throw up.

  ‘Those damn spiders… They’re on this side of the river too..’

  He was full on ready to turn back and dash to the river at the slightest hint of danger, but the daunting feeling of hunger won over his wariness. It seemed the stomach rules not only on the heart, but the mind as well in situations like these.

  He looked around carefully, checking if those abominations were perhaps still around. After confirming their absence, he carefully approached the deer, which id in its own blood, the vivid red a sharp contrast with the frozen grass, now engorged and shimmering faintly.

  Once he got closer, he could see the small rise and fall of its body; It was still breathing; those monsters didn’t even bother to finish it off…

  ‘Why hunt a monster if not to eat it?’

  He frowned at the despicable scene and crouched down, setting his coat aside first so it wouldn't get stained.

  ‘I guess there’s my dinner…’

  He looked regrettably up at the clear sky, as if searching for something, before looking back down, locking eyes with the poor animal.

  He felt sympathy for it, for they both faced the same danger, but one of them got luckier. What happened to it could very well be his fate soon.

  Slowly, he reached out to it and started rubbing its head; the doe’s half-closed eye fluttered.

  It twitched its legs a bit, but as, the poor soul was dying, too weak to protest or to escape.

  The tired boy continued rubbing its white fur, a gesture more for himself than for the dying animal. A futile attempt in trying to find comfort in the warmth of another being, even one that was fading away.

  Surprisingly, Its soft fur eased his mind a little.

  He locked eyes with it as he continued rubbing its head, eyes as bck as charcoal reflecting his own, who were shining brightly.

  He dismissed it, thinking it was the tears that magnified the lighting…

  For the next few minutes, he silently sobbed.

  If one saw this scene fitting of a drama theater, they might think it was because of the grief, as if he knew this deer all his life.

  Some would say it was because of his hopeless situation, the ck of food, the lurking danger, the solitude, the confusion and fear eating away at his mind and not allowing him a moment of rest, finally cracking this fragile shell of his, a sembnce of composure and sanity slowly being undone

  Others might argue that the cause was from the fear of never knowing who he was, a part, perhaps the entirety, of his soul gone, perhaps never to return. Memories shape the soul, and he had none at the moment, except for painful ones.

  The fear of being the only conscious being, alive and seeking something. Perhaps, there was no society to go to. Perhaps this world was only composed of just him, the forest and the danger. The fear that maybe that was all there is to life.

  But they would all be wrong.

  He cried for the deer, for the pain it might feel. He cried for the horrors it encountered and the life senselessly stripped from the wild animal. A life lost, and for what? Nothing.

  They didn’t eat it, nor did they use its skin or bones to craft tools, giving a sembnce of purpose and necessity in the hunt. A life, so rare and beautiful, fading just like that. He cried for this death without honor or meaning.

  His hand movement only stopped once the doe closed its eyes.

  He remained in the same position for a while, the animal’s blood on his knees drying up as he motioned still, the kid’s gaze vague.

  Then, abruptly, he stood up, took his coat, and walked back the same way he came before, not harvesting its meat. Ironic, knowing he was mourning the waste not a moment ago.

  ‘I can’t make fire to eat it anyway..’

  With this excuse, he left the animal to rest in peace. Many would criticize him for such a soft and foolish choice, but no one was there to do so. So, he did what he felt was right.

  What once was a mild hunger started evolving into the first stages of starvation.

  * * *

  The sun was setting, coloring the sky in vivid colors once again, as if making sure its departure was grandiose - a selfish and lone star leaving pce to millions of smaller ones, more humble and quiet.

  In a certain spot in the forest, devoid of trees, y what looked like the corpse of a deer, a puddle of now dry blood beneath it.

  If someone was to discover the gde, they would be puzzled at the ck of wounds. It was as if the deer had dropped dead, the blood coming out of nowhere. If they looked closely, they would see the slow rise and fall of its chest, and the increasing twitching of its legs.

  Slowly, it opened its eyes, the glimmer of life that was fading back in full force. It stood up on its four legs, yawning as if it had woken up from a slumber. The st rays of sunshine vanished from the horizon as the deer sniffed, following an invisible lead with purposeful steps.