By the River

Microfiction

Photo by Joe Dudeck on Unsplash

The river overflowed in April and dried up by late August.

When Johnny clomped down its banks during an exceptionally muddy November, he saw something he wasn’t expecting: a lone, shivering fawn, half-covered in muck.

“Hey,” Johnny said to it, approaching slowly. “What happened to you?”

The fawn was skittish at first and tried to back away into the sloshing river, but Johnny’s quiet voice and gentle demeanor calmed him. Eventually, Johnny knelt before the animal.

“Your momma’s gone, huh, pal? I’m sorry. Here, why don’t you come on up?” By the grace of some higher power, the fawn let Johnny step down the embankment, scoop him up, and carry him away from the river.

“Go on,” Johnny said. The fawn looked at him, almost asking which way to go. “You’ll be alright, buddy. No one’s going to bother you.” Even as he said it, he didn’t know how truthful the statement was. Men with guns were known to do just about anything.

Johnny and the fawn exchanged a final glance before it walked away, into the forest.

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