Buck

Chapter one of an "ultimate fish-out-of-water" story. What if you suddenly found yourself not just in a different body, but in the body of a different species? What if that species were human?

Shushwa poked his muzzle in the moss, sniffing, looking for the tender saplings he had smelled on the breeze. He walked deliberately, setting his hoofs down slowly and with care, scarcely making a sound. His ears twitched at the sound of his doe, Ashvinh, walking softly beside him. Their foal, his pelt just now losing its baby spots, walked nearby making a comparative racket.

Shushwa dared make a low, snuffling sound. “Quiet, little one.” Weshah would make a fine buck someday, but for today he needed to learn to be silent.

Instinctively, Shushwa rose up and stood stock still, his ears full forward. He listened intently.

The sound was not animal. Hunters, maybe. He listened harder, waiting to catch the noise again. He relaxed. The sound was distant and indistinct.

He turned to convey the news, but saw that Ashvinh had heard it too. She would warn Weshah. Shushwa went back to his saplings.

The sky was gray, and the air held a coldness that cut through Shushwa’s pelt.  It was not snowtime yet. Not for many days. But one never knew what the sky would do. Shushwa hoped his son was eating well. He remembered the cold and deprivation of his first snowtime. Full grown now, Shushwa knew he would get through it. But Weshah could not know the hunger of the lean times to come. Nor that they would arrive all too soon.

His family walked on, following the land along streams and up little valleys, trusting Shushwa to lead them to good fodder. He was not concerned. His proud points spoke to the count of seasons that were his, and to how well he knew the land. His family would eat, while there was time and weather for it.

Shushwa recalled a place dense with young trees, whose bark was soft and juicy. It was not far, so he turned in that direction.

 

 

 

Shushwa stood, watching while his family ate. He had good fat on him. He could spare the time. The bark was as good as he remembered.  But a wind had come up in the little glade, whistling through the trees, masking noises he should stay alert for. Better, now, for him to watch than to eat.

Again, his ear twitched.

He turned to look, staring carefully through the slender tree trunks as a cold rain began to fall.

There.

Shushwa froze. Two humans, downwind, crouching behind the crest of a hill. They were hard to see, but Shushwa knew what belonged in his territory and what did not. Hunters.

Without moving his mouth, Shushwa let out a warning sound. He prayed his doe and son would hear it over the wind. Or that they would see him in his stillness and understand the danger.

Shushwa watched the hunters. He was looking that way. It was all he could do. They move too much, he thought. They do not know what it means to be still. But they were still looking in his direction.  He dared not move. To move is to die. All he could do now was watch, and wait.

One of the hunters raised his gun, pointing it towards the glade.

Let him be aiming at me, Shushwa thought. The rain came down harder now, chilling him as he waited for fate to settle the situation.

The hunter took his eye away from his gun, wiping water away from his face. Shushwa’s keen eyes caught the gaze of the hunter, just as the human returned to his weapon. For a moment, it was as though there was no glade between them. No trees. No distance at all.  They stared at each other muzzle-to-muzzle.

There was a clap, and a flash, and Shushwa’s senses were flooded. Whiteness. Confusion. The feel of thorns all over his hide. A strange, echoing sound like many rivers playing in his ears all at once. Shushwa slumped to the ground.

 

 

 

Shushwa heard a thunderclap, which caused his ears to ring. He held tight to his stillness, waiting for it to be over, then and felt a hoof nudge his ribs and heard a human voice.

“Get up, boy! What’n hell’s the matter with you? Get up, you little s**t!”

Shushwa’s eyes cleared. The other human’s face was up close to his. Too close! Shushwa knew he had to bolt. He attempted to right himself, but couldn’t get his legs under him.

“Settle down, damnit! They done run off. No sense thrashin’ about now. I got one off at the buck.  Might’ve winged him. Get yer a*s up and we’ll go look, but if there ain’t no blood to follow, I don’t want to track ‘em in this rain.”

Shushwa shook his head. The human’s calls made sense to him. That wasn’t right. he tried again to rise. he managed to get to all fours, but everything felt wrong. His weight, his balance, all wrong. What had happened?

“Damnit, Virgil! Quit screwin’ around! You done wasted a good clear shot already. We oughtta be guttin’ that buck now, you dumb b*****d. Now, unless I got lucky, you done wasted the whole day, too!”

The human grabbed him by one shoulder and hauled Shushwa onto his hind legs. Shushwa was shocked, he didn’t know humans were so strong. The human continued to stare at him, his eyes full of rage. One chance left. Shushwa reared his forelegs and struck the human in the chest, breaking the man’s hold. The human landed hard on his haunches. Shushwa dropped immediately to all fours and bounded away as best he could while

The human yelled again as Shushwa clambered over a mossy fallen log. “Oh, you done it now, boy! You damn well better run!”

Behind him, Shushwa could hear the human stomping clumsily towards him. In moments, the man was upon him. The man kicked him savagely in the ribs, knocking Shushwa onto his back. The man came down and struck him twice across his muzzle, causing light to flash in Shushwa’s eyes. The man hauled him upright again, and forced his back roughly up against a tree.

“What the holy hell you playin’ at, boy? You done popped yer coils? Huh? You answer me, god damnit!” The man struck him again and again across the muzzle, and Shushwa tasted blood in his mouth.

Shushwa wondered what had happened to the other human, the one he had locked eyes with, and suddenly knew what he needed to do.

“Stop! I’m sorry!” Shushwa yelled.

The man held his fist in mid-swing.

“You god damn well better be!”

They stood like that, at an impasse against the tree, both of them breathing heavily for several long moments. Shushwa’s mind raced. What was happening?

The man took a flat thing out from inside his clothing and threw it roughly at Shushwa. Instinctively, his hooves came up to catch it. He looked down at the thing. The word for it came to him, unbidden. ‘Rag.’ He stared, but not at the rag. His hooves were— They were wrong. He had human hooves, soft and floppy like a brace of pink grubs. Not proper hooves at all. And he had human clothes covering his—the word was ‘arms’. Shushwa started to tremble.

“Oh, don’t you start bawlin’ like a sissy girl!” the man said. “Clean yerself up, then you get yer a*s on down to that glade and see if I winged that buck. I’ll pack up the rifles. You find any blood, you holler out. Can ya do that much, boy? Can ya?”

Shushwa moved his head quickly up and down, knowing it would make the man leave him alone.

 

 

 

Shushwa stumbled awkwardly on two hind legs toward the glade where he and his family had been. The other man stomped noisily away from him. Somehow, Shushwa realized, he had become the hunter. He was now the human who had locked eyes with him over the... barrel, of his gun.

Was this what happened? Did every buck and doe shot by a human become him? Perhaps so. Shushwa prepared himself to find his own body, lying on the rain-soaked loam. Everything felt so strange. Even his thinking felt different, foreign. But as he walked he became more sure of himself, of the placement of his ungainly large feet. His thoughts came easier, too, as he became accustomed to the patterns of the hunter’s—of his—mind. Tree. Rock. Moss. Cloud. Drizzle. Human words flitted into and out of his thoughts, giving him the names of everything he saw. Humans had names for everything.

He arrived at the glade and looked around, trying to recall where he had been standing, where Ashvinh and Weshah had been. Yes, here. This was the spot. He looked back towards the ridge where the hunters had been, crouching down to his former height. Yes, this was it.

But his body was not here. He sniffed the air. It smelled dull and flat. Rain always made the world smell fainter, but not like this. He could not smell the moss on the ground or the sap oozing now from where he had been eating bark off the young trees. Perhaps there was something wrong with the human’s nose. He could not even catch a whiff of Ashvinh, whose scent he knew like his own heartbeat.

Shushwa crouched down to examine the earth. He could see his own hoofprints. He had been here, but was not here now. He looked for blood, but found none. The hoofprints, however, continued on, back in the direction they had come.

Shushwa’s heart beat faster. Perhaps he had not become the hunter. Perhaps the hunter and I have only switched.

Yes, that must be it. The human man was now in his own body, himself becoming accustomed to the keenness of Shushwa’s own nose and ears. This, Shushwa decided, was not what happened when a human shot a deer. He had known bucks who had been shot, and they did not come back with human spirits in them.

The human must not have fired his rifle. Something else must have happened. Shushwa did not know what, but something had passed between them and they switched. The other hunter, the angry one, had missed with his shot, and he—no, Virgil; the other man had called him Virgil—Virgil in Shushwa’s body had managed to run away.

Shushwa sat and tilted his head up to face the rain. He sat, unsure what to do. His heart wanted to plunge on into the wood, to look for Ashvinh and Weshah. But even if he could find them, they would not know him. They would fear him in Virgil’s body, and they would only run away as he himself had taught them.

Worse, his mate and son would be expecting Virgil to lead them. But Virgil would not know where to go, what to do. Shushwa wished, harder than he had ever wished anything, that Virgil understood what was happening and would do his best to take Shushwa’s place.

The rain began to overcome Virgil’s clothes, soaking through to his skin and making him shiver. Well. He had done as the angry man had commanded. He had looked for his body, but it was not there. He was not himself, but he wasn’t Virgil, either.

Still, he knew he couldn’t stay in the woods, no matter how much it felt like home. Humans weren’t built for it. There was little for him to do but go back. If Virgil was to take Shushwa’s place, then Shushwa too must do his best to take Virgil’s.

 

 

 

Shushwa reached the humans’ truck, writhing at the unpleasant feel of the wet cloth against his hairless skin. He stood for a moment, staring at the other man sitting in the truck, before it came to him that he was supposed to sit on the other side. He stood dumbly in front of the door until it came to him how to grasp the handle, push the shiny chrome button with his… thumb, and pull. Such a complicated process, and Shushwa wondered if he could make his floppy pink hands work that way.

It took three tries to open the door. The other man stared at him the whole time through narrow eyes.

“Took yer time.” The other man glared at him as Shushwa got into the truck. He had to move some smooth round things—empties—off the seat before he could take his place.

“Sorry, Grizz.” It came to him that the other man liked to be called Grizz, and that this would be a good time to change the subject. “No blood, just hoofprints runnin’ off.”

“Well, Virgil, ya done screwed that up pretty good, but we’ll get ‘em next time. Sorry for beatin’ on ya, boy.”

Shushwa knew he was supposed to say something about that. He was supposed to offer forgiveness. “It’s all right, Grizz. I had it comin’.”  He also knew Grizz wasn’t sorry.

“Damn right you did. Well, let’s get on back to the truck. Molly’s sure gonna give us hell for comin’ back empty handed, though.”

Shushwa knew that was a lie. Grizz started the engine and the truck rumbled. Backing the truck out onto a dirt road, he drove off.

It was uncommonly strange, Shushwa thought, to be moving without using one’s own legs. Trees sped past the truck, making him feel that he should be running, and yet he was still within the truck.  Its hard smooth surfaces and acrid mix of smells—tobacco, diesel, Schlitz—unlike anything he had known.

As they drove on, Shushwa became cold and started to shiver. If Grizz noticed, he didn’t say anything. Sitting still in the truck, he could feel his muscles tightening around his ribs where Grizz had struck him. One of his eyes felt wrong, too. Swollen. He touched it gingerly with his new hands, surprised for a moment at the delicate sensitivity in them. The eye hurt, so he stopped touching it.

The rain increased as they drove, heavy clouds bringing an early darkness as Grizz turned the truck onto a different road. A smooth road.  The highway. Shushwa realized they were close to their destination. An image came to him, of an unpainted aluminum trailer, parked on a small concrete pad. The image included many other trailers nearby, of different shapes, sizes, and colors. But this one was theirs, his and the man’s. Lights shone behind small windows, and inside, a female. Grizz’ mate Molly. This was Shushwa’s new home.

As they approached, Shushwa became fearful. Not for himself, he realized, but for Molly. He and Grizz were supposed to be returning with meat. With my body. Molly would have a skillet ready to cook some. Shushwa fought down the bile of revulsion that crept up in his throat at the thought, and focused on Molly. Grizz was still mad, he was certain, about what had happened and if Molly said the wrong thing he would beat her. He needed to warn her, somehow, before she said anything.

Shushwa watched the road carefully, struggling to summon memories of where they were and how close to home, so he could be ready to exit the truck and get to Molly first.

Another turn brought the truck to a smaller but still smooth road, after which Shushwa caught sight of the lights of the trailer park. Moments later, the truck arrived at theirs. He could sense Grizz working himself up, his jaw clenching and hands fiercely grasping the shift lever as he threw the truck into neutral and set the brake. Grizz was itching for another fight.

Shushwa opened his door as quickly as he could manage—the handle on the inside was different, and thankfully, a much simpler lever mechanism—and jumped down to run to Molly. Outside, the door of the trailer was swinging open to greet them.

He doubled over as pain shot through his bruised ribs, going down on hands and knees. Molly came quickly down the three steps to the ground and dashed towards him.

“Virgil! Are you all right?”

Grizz was out of the truck now, and snatched her arm as she passed. Looking up as he rose to his feet, Shushwa saw Grizz pull her in close, forcing her face close to his. Even from several paces away, in the dark and the rain, Shushwa could tell she hated the closeness of him.

“Leave off, Molly! He’s fine. Get your a*s back in there and fix some supper, you stupid b***h! A man expects supper when he gets home.”

Grizz threw her roughly away from him, back towards the trailer. Molly stumbled, recovered her balance with the skill of long experience, and hurried back inside.

“And open me up a beer!” Grizz called after her.

Shushwa rose awkwardly and uncomfortably to his feet. His ribs throbbed, and he felt very stiff. An urge to attack Grizz, to charge and butt him with his antlers, rose up. Shushwa forced it down. Memories came to him of many other fights with Grizz. It never came out well for Vir—for him.

Giving a long, sideways glance, Grizz said “Put the rifles away, boy, and get inside,” then turned his back and followed Molly.

Shushwa retrieved the rifles from the truck and carried them inside. Grizz wanted him out of the way for a while. Putting the rifles away meant cleaning them and wiping them dry from the rain. Grizz loved his rifles and Shushwa thought Grizz might actually shoot him if he didn’t do a thorough job of tending to the weapons. The job would take some time.

Shushwa made his way to the back of the trailer, avoiding Grizz’ eyes and taking care not to look at Mol—no, she had another name that only Virgil used. Mom. Molly was his dam. He took care not to look at Mom. The actions of cleaning the rifles came to him easily, almost instinctively. Virgil must have done this often. Shushwa listened, as he worked, to Mom preparing food. Mom made the soft sniffling sounds that meant she was fighting not to sob out loud. Grizz would hit her and caller her weak if she did.

Shushwa shook his head. He felt dazed. Was all this real? Grizz, the truck, any of it? How could it be?

And Molly—Mom—what about her? How was Shushwa supposed to think of her? She was his dam—no, she was Virgil’s dam. Shushwa recalled his own mother, his proper mother, how large and round her dark brown eyes were. Not like the hidden, small eyes these humans had. How she had licked him clean when he was born and helped him to stand, showing him that he could take his own steps.

 Molly was not his mother. But he had to act like she was.

Did that mean Grizz was his—Virgil’s—sire? It seemed so, but something about the thought felt wrong. He pondered, while he worked, and it came to him. No. Grizz was not Virgil’s father. Virgil’s father was gone. Had died when Virgil was still a foal. No, a child. Grizz had mated with Virgil’s mother afterward, but Virgil had refused to call the man “Dad.”

He felt the terror of Virgil’s memory about that. How Grizz had insisted on that title, but Virgil had refused. And when Molly took Virgil’s side, how Grizz had lashed out at her.

It had been the first time he beat her, and Grizz had clearly been saving up. Blood and one tooth had come out of Molly’s mouth, and Molly collapsed on the floor. Virgil had thought she was dead, even though Grizz kept kicking at her anyway. Grizz liked kicking. He could kick without putting his beer down. Virgil ran out of the trailer after that, unable to watch. He had hidden hid underneath a neighbor’s trailer, crying in the dirt.

Hours later, when he heard Molly calling for him to come back, he emerged from his hiding spot. Molly’s voice had been weak, and that as much as anything drew him back. She was laid up in bed for three days after that. Grizz refused to take her to the hospital.

Shushwa felt a lump grow in his throat at Virgil’s memory of bringing Molly food and water, and helping clean her up when she urinated or defecated.

After that, Grizz stopped insisting that Virgil call him Dad. And Virgil never had. Shushwa smiled at that. But it had been a costly victory, and Virgil had never wanted his mother to pay that cost again. From then on Grizz got what he wanted.

Shushwa finished with the rifles. But he knew it would be better not to go to the front of the trailer before his mother was finished cooking. So he changed into dry clothes and waited, thinking.

Was he going to be stuck in Virgil’s body—in Virgil’s life—forever? His heart ached for Ashvinh and Weshah. Would he ever see them again? Even if he could find Virgil out in the woods, what then? Would seeing him again be enough to switch back?

He had no answers even when he heard Molly setting plates on the trailer’s small table. Molly went into the bathroom and closed the door, catching his eye briefly as she did. He knew she was going there to cry in peace.

Was life like this for all humans? So cruel and vicious? Perhaps so. After all, Shushwa thought, they do shoot deer.

His stomach rumbled, but the last thing Shushwa wanted was to go and sit at the same table with Grizz to eat a meal. He could simply say he was tired and go to sleep. But no. Grizz would never allow him to waste the food on his plate. Better to simply go, eat, and say nothing.

The food was strange. Hot, with a sharp smell that was new to his experience but not to Virgil’s memories. Pepper. With care and slowness that was only partly due to his soreness, Shushwa picked up his fork and began to eat.

Grizz neither looked up nor acknowledged Shushwa’s presence. He held a beer in one hand, and Shushwa saw an empty on the table nearby. He would have been at the beer in the truck, too, while waiting for Shushwa to come back from the woods. He tried to recall how many empties he had moved off of the seat. Two, at least. Maybe it had been three. Six beers in the evening was usually enough. When Grizz drained the last swallow, Virgil’s experience came to him.

“Can I get you another one, Grizz?”

Grizz grunted an affirmative, shoveling another forkful of potatoes into his mouth. Shushwa walked to the refrigerator, took out a fresh can, and popped the top. He smiled as the details of Virgil’s routine became clear. Grizz’s chosen spot at the table left his back to the fridge; Virgil carefully and quickly spit into the can before delivering it to the table.

Grizz finished his meal, drained the beer without complaint, and slouched down.

“Get on them dishes, boy.” Grizz undid his belt-buckle and unzipped his pants, releasing his paunchy belly from confinement, and gave his typical contented sigh.

Must have been three beers in the truck. Grizz closed his eyes, the master in command of this little tin kingdom, and soon began to snore.

Shushwa washed the dishes, losing himself again in the familiarity of Virgil’s routines. Molly came out and helped dry the plates and put them away. She put her arm around Virgil’s shoulders and squeezed, but didn’t say anything.

“It’s all right, Mom,” Shushwa said. “I’m fine. Really.”

Molly nodded. She looked as though she was trying not to cry again.

When they were finished, he said “I’m pretty tired, Mom. I’m gonna hit the sack.”

Molly nodded. “All right, dear. I’ll take care of getting him to bed later.” Shushwa couldn’t help noticing her looking at his swollen eye.

Shushwa climbed into bed. He could not understand Grizz. Grizz was strong. But he was no real buck. A real buck led his family to green pastures. A real buck did not make danger for them. A real buck did not make his family fear him. When sleep overtook him, Shushwa was no closer to understanding.

Author's Note

This is quite the genre departure for me. I've never written anything this experimental before, especially not anything that involves the explicit point-of-view shift this story demands. I would be really grateful for any comments as to how I can improve the sense of the main character not being in his own body anymore, and whether you find it believable that the main character reacts to this strange situation in the manner that he does.

Reviews

[spence]

I quite liked this story. The concept really works for me and I enjoyed the social commentary around domestic violence from the perspective of the buck. I'm unfamiliar with the trailer park hunter type that seem quite notorious in the USA, but the ignorance of the 'breed' was conveyed very well and offered a universal sense that I related to. Every nation has it's lowlife idiot sect!
It was tempting to draw parralels with books like 'fluke' and 'call of the wild', (and even that diabolical movie 'big'), as i read, but the manner in which you drew the reader into the scenario allayed such comparisons to maintain its 'stand alone' originality.
I found the character 'soul switch' convincing and interesting and I think the way Shushwa adapted to becoming firstly human and then Virgil was really well worked. I began to worry when the language of humans was being translated by the buck, as I have rarely seen that being pulled off convincingly, but you put paid to that concern in the statement, 'humans have words for everything'. I'm usually left wondering how on earth any animal- especially a wild animal- can understand human language when it holds little or no relevance to them. The 'memory bank of acquired knowledge' is by far the most convincing method I have read to describe any human/animal interchange, (outside of childish fantasy of animal/insect societies that are a microcosm of our own of course).
There were a couple of grammatical errors that I noticed, 'caller' instead of 'call' and 'hidden' and 'hid' beside each other that i imagined were oversights when amending tense and at one point I felt that the introspective thinking switched from learning the human ways to missing his family was slightly contrived, but apart from that the story was seamless and highly engaging. In that context, my only disappointment is that there was not a chapter two to read!
Any chance that you will be continuing this? I think it would make a really good novella or perhaps even more? I'm not sure how far one could take this before it lost its unique flavour, but I'm certain you have the ability to do so, take care, spence

[Scott Free]

This was written very well. It was a great idea for a story, too; I especially liked how you compared Grizz to Shushwa. How Grizz had strength but didn't lead his family well.
Also, how you said at one point, "They move too much, he thought. They do not know what it means to be still." So true! We don't know how to be truly patient.
This piece was full of little insights like that. Really well done.
I think you might have played out Shushwa's feelings a little more when he's remembering how terrible Grizz was to Molly; because he's probably never seen this before. No deer are like that (far as I know). All in all, you might add more emotion at several points.
One little nit;
"Without moving his mouth, Shushwa let out a warning sound."
I picture this as "MMMMMMMMMMM!" but of course, that's probably not the picture you want me to get. I'm not familiar with deer warnings, but maybe you should give us a few more specifics on this part.
I truly enjoyed this piece of anthrofiction. If you made a sequel, I'd read it...but I'm not sure if that's in your plans. ;)

[Eric]

I forgot to mention, brilliant choice of names.

[Eric]

Returning to the Writer's Cafe after a year-long sabbatical, I've noticed that the poets have multiplied like rabbits and that well written short stories are scarce. You, my friend, have restored my hope in the cafe. Buck is imaginative and written well.

You've done a good job maintaining a consistent voice. Characterization is full and believable. Sentence structure is varied, but not so much as to distract.

The only critique I have is that your dialog may be overly colloquial. I like the redneck feel, but it seems you could dial the "color" down a notch. Your solid characterization allows the reader to intuit the slang, no need to spell it out so thoroughly. For me, the dialog draws attention to itself rather than to the characters, the story.

Thanks for taking the risk to write a truly creative short story. Well done.

[Tracie Skarbo]

This was phenomenal...I am going to add it to my favorites. The way you have "fleshed" out your charcters was done so well that I had a hard time not wanting to plant my foot in the a*s of Grizz to give him a taste of his own medicine! I don't usually get such a strong urge to do so when I read. I thought the transition of the deer to human was smooth, and your dialogue was clear and moved the story nicely. I liked your version of newness of the experiences of the MC, but what I liked the most and caught my eye first was the unique names you gave the characters.

I can tell you that I am happy for Virgil...now that he will be free in the forest. All those years with Grizz...he certainly deserves it.

I will be reading more of you in the future...

Thanks for sharing this

Tigra

[DiggeyEleven]

I loved you story, it really kept me reading with a great flow and an ending that really kept you wanting more.

"For a moment, it was as though there was no glade between them. No trees. No distance at all. They stared at each other muzzle-to-muzzle."

I loved that line, you built the tension and suspense so well in these few moments literally holding my breath waiting to see what would happen next. The character of Grizz was great, sure it's not the first time there has been a drunk wife beater in a story, but through the eyes of "Virgil" it allowed for a unique way of describing his every action, looking at everything fresh new, and through the eyes of a child almost. Confused, yet knowing that something is terribly wrong with the Grizz and mom relationship. "Shushwa could tell she hated the closeness of him." Beautiful.

There was one section in your piece that I felt did not match the flow of the story, unfortunately I can't really make any suggestions but I feel as if it was thrown in their, it was the moment that Shushwa started to semi-understand what was happening. "Perhaps the hunter and I have only switched." Around that section, I feel it didn't match. Overall though it was an amazing piece, easilly one of the best stories I have read here in a long while, unique, jam packed full of detail and imagery. It was a great break from the many poems on here :) I would love to read some more, and see where you can take this, learn of the fear in the real Virgil, now being in a deer's body. That I'm sure will be just as difficult the write, but I know I will enjoy the read.