#the coyote was on the side of the highway | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleshdyke · 21 days

Text

I saw a deer rotting away on the side of the road, ribcage gaping open, sternum shattered, sagging leathery skin shedding coarse hair as decomposition sets in. Eyes and entrails long since pecked out by crows and vultures, the doe lay blind and empty, her cranium chewed open and cleaned out by reverent coyotes. Crawling with maggots and worms, she writhes.

Wildflowers bloomed tall around her, cushioning her corpse in a bed of milkweed and aster, wild lily and strawberry bursting through her drying skin and out through the cavernous hole in her body. Wasps and horseflies drink the nectar flavoured by her body, dripping sweet onto her ribcage.

A violent death unto peaceful sleep, bones crushed like brittle eggshell by steel alloy, whiplash and internal hemorrhaging as she stumbles forward and collapses into the cold ditch by the asphalt, gasping and twitching as her lungs filled with blood, shards of her ribcage puncturing her lungs, struggling to take a full breath as spots grew larger in her vision. Twin headlights barreled on, uninterrupted and uncaring as she lay dying in the ditch, the taillights of the departing vehicle bathing her in red light as it leaves. There are no other cars in the road.

Scavengers bowed their heads to her memory as they filled their stomachs with her body, gorging themselves on cold offal, worshipful as they licked congealed blood off the ground. A necessary sacrifice to the good of the many; her agony sustains them. They don't know anything else. She sleeps, quiet and alone, in the ditch by the road, as she decomposes. Her eyes, plucked from their sockets by hungry birds to be fed to their hungry chicks, no longer saw; she slept in peaceful darkness.

I wondered what she dreamed about. I wondered if she could still see, in her mind's eye, the life she dreamed of. I wondered if all she could see anymore was the wriggling of maggots in her skull.

I wondered if the deer on the side of the road left behind a herd, maybe a fawn, waiting patiently, nestled in tall grasses, for its mother to return. I wondered if it, too, had fallen prey to the great metal maw of a passing vehicle as it, hungry and cold, searched for its mother. I hoped not, but I know better; deer don't often practice crèches.

I felt kinship with her, in a way, a deer left for dead next to the country highway, carved out empty and left gaping. I saw myself in her in the way she died alone, ignored, rotting from the inside out as cars passed by, the way she was vulnerable, defenseless; she had no way to defend herself against her fate. The scales were tipped against her, the battle lost as soon as she took her first step onto cracked asphalt, doomed beyond her own comprehension and her killer's capacity to care. She had no antlers to defend herself. She didn't stand a chance.

A faceless figure in a nondescript truck, anonymous in the atrocity of death, with no witnesses and no guilt for what they had done. Perhaps I'd already passed them on the street. Perhaps I'd already wished them a good morning. Perhaps I'd done the same with others.

It was almost comforting, in a way, to see such a visceral and grotesque representation of myself, flayed open snd hollowed out and left to rot. It reminded me there were others like me, even if they were roadkilled deer. In the aftermath of catastrophe, I, too, lay broken and gasping, immobile as I watched the world pass me by, no one stopping to notice my agony. I supposed it wasn't quite as obvious as that of a deer, trembling and bleeding from the mouth, branded hot in the shape of a car's front grill. It was confusing, still. It certainly felt more than obvious.

I dreamed of coyote teeth tearing me apart, pulling out my organs as I watched, passive, of vultures picking at my skin, grunting in veneration as they ate me to the bone. I dreamed of crows eating the scraps left behind, pecking at my face and mouth, pulling out my eyes and tongue, rendering me blind and mute. I didn't mind; I hardly had use for them anyways. I dreamed of dandelion blooms crowding my airways, airborne seeds filling my lungs until I choked, and growing from my body again.

I dreamed of love, of prostration and black birds bowed in supplication, owing me their lives, surviving at the price of mine. I dreamed of love, of sickly sweet devotion, like the smell of decay. I dreamed of love, of poisonous butterflies drinking down the nectar of my body's wildflowers, of dangerous beauty. In my dream, I watched the jays snap up those sweet butterflies, bright wings crunching and shredding within the predator's beak, only for the eaten nymph to reappear as its bitter poison burns the jay's oesophagus, vomiting up the offensive prey. The butterfly is not saved. The butterfly is still dead, half-digested and broken in a small puddle of the bird's mucous, but the jay learns; the butterfly's death prevents others.

I dreamed of love, like the coyote and the badger that found my corpse one night, forty million years of evolution between the two, but perfect teamwork nonetheless. The two arrived together and left together after they'd had their fill of my lungs and heart. I wished them well on their journey and waited for the next scavenger to find me.

I hoped the deer on the side of the road found the same peace in death as I had. I hoped she found her closure in the scavengers who worshipped her. I hoped the faceless figure in that nondescript truck faced their retribution and I hoped the faceless figure in my hazy memories faced the Old Testament judgement I so wished.

As I accepted the deer into myself, let the shape of her rotting body brand itself on my mind (reminiscent, almost, of the brand of a car's front grill on her flank), I felt her dreams assimilate with my own. I felt, suddenly, the desire to walk along country highways in the dark, the desire to know what waits on the other side of the road, the desperation so strong that I couldn't stand to wait for the rumbling beast to pass. I felt the awe of staring into blinding light, larger than me and near incomprehensible. I understood why deer stopped in the middle of the road. I'm sure anyone else would, too. The first contact of the car's front grill to her (my) body felt something like love, like the embrace of the only one who could stand to have me.

I thought about the crows that picked off the smaller pieces of flesh missed by the larger scavengers. I thought about the sweet adoration between two black birds as they passed my eyeball to their mate, the pure devotion between them as they preened one another, beaks coated in congealed blood. Their love is a living thing, a separate entity, powerful and writhing. It occupies the crows entirely, not unlike parasitism. Their chicks will grow from my scavenged flesh, insatiable, fledging for the first time above my drying skeleton. To fly had always been a dream of mine, and now it is actualized by those young black birds, fulfilled as they hop unsteadily from branch to branch, their parents watching over them protectively. How lucky I am to witness this. How lucky I am to learn, firsthand, the depth of that love, the endlessness of life, how it begins again, and again, and again.

#this is one of my favourite things ive ever written tbh.#made it for an english assignment. sarah if youre checking for plagiarism and it matches with this. this is my account you can ask me if you #want to. love u sarah.#anyways. hi everyone #rambles #my art #ask to tag

738 notes · View notes

incorrectbatfam · 2 years

Note

Things that would happen at Bruce and Selina’s wedding (everything gone right, wrong, and just plain funny)

They took their pre-wedding photos on top of a skyscraper with Tim as their photographer, but when he backed up to get a wider shot he fell over the railing and Dick had to grapple down and catch him while wearing a tuxedo

Steph collaborated with the cake decorators to go all out, including Bruce and Selina's while journey drawn in frosting and sparklers on top... in Spoiler colors

Damian and Jon were playing hide-and-seek with Billy Batson and Lucy Quinn during the reception and no one could find the boys, so a mass search with vigilantes and police officers alike ensued. It took an hour, but finally they were found when the theater called Bruce to let him know they tried to sneak into an R-rated movie

Bruce showed up to the wrong venue

While trying to get some one-on-one time at the bachelorette party, Harley and Ivy locked themselves in a hotel supply closet and the only person with the tools to get them out was the stripper firefighter with a pink crowbar

Dinah caught the bouquet and immediately threw it to Kate saying, "I'm already married!"

When repeating his vows, Bruce accidentally said, "I, Clark Kent"

Also during the vows, Clark's phone went off playing Cotton-Eye Joe and Bruce just slowly clapped and said, "My best man, everyone"

One more vow mishap: Roy tried to start the wave

Dick ripped his pants doing a somersault from the chandelier

Bud chewed up Holly Robinson's shoes and she had to wear flip-flops

Damian adopted a coyote puppy he found digging through the trash

The Flash family drove to the wrong Gotham

Duke sneezed before the "I do," accidentally elbowing the fire alarm

Jason slowly switched seats throughout the wedding so he could sit next to Diana

At the rehearsal, Cass was holding one of the clip-on mics that the officiant used and brought it with her to the bathroom, where everyone could hear her do her business

Bruce invited some of his coworkers, forgot he invited them, and then asked "What are you guys doing here?" when they showed up

Lian was the flower girl but instead of flower petals, she mistakenly threw the rice that was supposed to be for the end

Babs requested a song before the reception started and the DJ put it at the top of the list, accidentally replacing the song Bruce and Selina were supposed to dance to

Without telling anyone, Jason decided to start a new tradition of firing blanks while the bride and groom kissed

Young Justice got a whole tier of the cake to themselves

Harper's wedding speech started with "Bruce might've been in his emo phase since he was eight, he might've dropped out of med school, and he might not know how to crack an egg..."

The party bus Clark rented for the bachelor party caught on fire on the side of the highway

Alfred downed 7 glasses of champagne and loudly confessed that he never thought Bruce would get married

Hal's still bitter that he couldn't convince Bruce to wear the Batman cowl

They waited until an hour before the wedding to teach Duke how to tie a tie

Lucius and Luke got balcony seats so they could see everything. They were the only ones up there and Bruce kept looking at them during the ceremony

Carrie put a bath bomb in the decorative fountain

Nobody knows what happened to the cheese plate. Nobody except Cullen

Steph did the electric slide right into the speakers

Comm. Gordon had to leave in the middle to arrest the Joker

Babs accidentally wore Alfred's socks

Selina thought it'd be funny to wear a pair of granny panties around her thigh instead of a garter

To kick off the reception, Bruce held up a piece of bread and said, "I'd like to make a toast"

#ask #anonymous #bruce wayne #batman #selina kyle #catwoman #batcat #batfamily #batfam #batkids #batsiblings #justice league #gotham city sirens #superfamily #arrow family #dc comics #headcanon #crack #tw food mention

548 notes · View notes

kedreeva · 5 months

Text

I had a long drive yesterday, but I pulled over to see what this was on the side of the road partway into a field, because it was so large I worried it was someone's dog, and I would have called a collar phone number if so. I didn't want to get out or trespass along the side of a minor highway if I didn't have to, so I took a max zoomed photo with my terrible phone camera (seriously why did Pixel cameras get WORSE in later models), to learn it's a coyote. Bad news for the coyote, good news for me not having to make a call I didn't want to make.

#dead animal for ts #animal death for ts #coyotes #it was so far back and facing the road #i don't think it was roadkill #it's possible of course #I've seen a lot of coyotes #but not one this big before

31 notes · View notes

witchofthesouls · 1 year

Note

Team Prime learns (and maybe meets) some cryptids/urban legends

(Heads up, the last one includes death. It starts with "A wolf sits at the side of the...")

The less Ratchet thinks about the rude, little shit of a jackalope, the better off he is. It dented the side of his alt-mode, gouging deep as it insulted his intelligence when he pulled off the road.

To be fair, it's even smaller than a typical human and highly drunk as it slurred a warning about "idiot tourists staying after the sun sets" and "stupid big folk" and "Great Hunting."

It doesn't help that no one else believes him. Oh, sure: ghostly apparitions are fine, but a talking, big-antlered rabbit isn't?

The kids would roll their eyes and think he's trying too hard.

Optimus enjoys people-watching. He enjoys being part of the crowd. None distinguishable from the rest of the men when he uses his holomatter. There’s an old man that’s always at the bar. Hair long since grey, skin full of liver spots and translucent, back stooped, and yet he can out-drink everyone in the vicinity. His body is old and creaky, but his mind is still sharp, his tongue silver, and his hands fast on a fiddle.

Jack is his name. He’s well-acquainted with Optimus, who goes by Leo Cullen, as they struck up an odd friendship at the bar counter. Both are familiar with surviving in the true wild lands, with getting out of sticky situations and too-powerful authority figures, and ruminating on Gone Things.

Old Man Jack with his quick tongue and tired eyes carries a lantern carved from a turnip, and whenever the man and holomatter walk out together, Jack lights it up before his feet touch the ground outside.

Eventually, Optimus will be able to see how the shadows play with its light, the swirling color and shifting patterns on the turnip’s face, and Jack asks him:

“Did you make a piss-poor deal with the devil, too?”

On the outskirts of Jasper at the abandoned roads, there’s a different kind of race for a different breed of thrill-seekers, adrenaline junkies, and lost souls.

When the wind blows right and the night is dark, people race against the coyotes of dust and sand. With eerie eyes and haunting voices, they group together to form sandstorms as they chase after tires and wipe away the roads.

To the winners, howls will crown their victory as Jasper is right in their line of sight. To the losers, a storm will sweep over the area and wash all traces of the racer. Howls will welcome the newest member of the pack.

Arcee goes out there without anyone else and races. The sand scrapes over her plates, ghostly jaws snap over her tires, and her spark thrums wild as she cannot see anything in front, nor behind her, as the storm swallows her whole.

She wins. She manages to overcome them and they howl at her victory.

Neither of them spoke of it, but when Bulkhead and Cliffjumper raced on an empty stretch of East coast highway under icy conditions, they saw a battle raging in the sea.

A massive serpentine shape with shades of onyx and midnight blues is wrapped around an equally massive squid-like form. Tentacles thrash, deadly hooks swirl within its suckers as it tries to puncture the serpent’s scales, and waves crash upon the rocky beach, the seawater rising high to meet the road. They see the foamy water pulling back and turning, turning, turning-

And then the serpent unhinges its jaw, wide enough to take a chunk out of the Ark, serrated and swordlike teeth gleam wickedly in the distance, and it sinks into the fat head and twists-

The squid turns a ghastly white and the water calms as the victor and its prey disappear into deeper waters, the sea rippling and distorting before evening out.

“This planet has giant Quintessons.” This planet has a bigger critter that eats the giant Quintesson.” “Primus save us…”

A wolf sits at the side of the road. It’s the same wolf at the same point of the road, all the time, rain and shine. Bumblebee pulls over during his free time, and he notices it bleeding from its mouth and collar on its neck before it darts into the woods behind it.

Bumblebee doesn’t go after it because his comm rings and it’s Decepticon activity. He leaves and feels its heavy gaze upon his bumper.

The next time he stops, it’s still bleeding from its mouth and it moves to the tree line. It stops and looks back, beckoning him and Bumblebee follows.

The terrain is rough and there’s no set pavement, but he can handle it. It moves like the wind, speeding fast as it darts and weaves between trees.

If Bumblebee wasn’t a Cybertronian and so intuitively in control of his alt-mode, he would have run over the wolf that now lies on its belly on the ground.

His holomatter approaches slowly and it paws the ground, whining, pushing away the dead leaves and muck.

Bumblebee digs deep and finds a familiar collar, he also finds bones and patches of faded cloth scraps.

He keeps tabs on the location’s local news when it finally breaks: an old couple gets their closure on their son and the family’s wolfdog that went missing decades ago. Fingers, adult ones, were stuck in the wolfdog's throat.

83 notes · View notes

skelly-words · 3 months

Text

Help me with the title-

Sorry sorry sorry, ik 99% of my followers are here for my smut and i have a few asks to do, but... i'm not in the mood to write porn, so have my favorite OC work ever that's deeply personal and revealing instead.

wc-4.6k

I didn’t know why my Mom picked for us to move to the country when I was little, but there wasn’t much I could do to prevent it. It wasn’t farm country or ranch country, just the red dirt of the California desert. The house we lived in simmered on the hot rock. Then, when fall started, the Santa Ana winds would kick up dust and wildfires all over the place. My mom and I conceded to the cacti, coyotes, and wildfires for the low rent (only comparatively when living in California). I fell for the land as quickly as I adjusted to wearing shoes. The backyard could’ve been as small as my mom’s garden or as large as the sparse woods that stretched up and down the road for miles. The neighbors were few and far between, and they fenced off anything they wanted to keep to themselves. It was expansive, so I felt free.

We moved away from the suffocation of the big city, almost running from the snow and smog that the clogged highways always seemed to be blanketed in. I had to leave school halfway through the second grade and the cross-country trek was inconvenient, but anything was an improvement from Chicago. Mom missed the city but substituted with LA, making the three-hour drive with a few friends whenever they could get time off work or had a weekend free. She never tended to me much, not as a second-grader, and not when I got older either. I’d been able to read since before I could remember and my mom figured I could take care of myself if I could sound out the instructions on the back of a frozen pizza box or the fire extinguisher.

Mom would kiss my forehead before she left and mumble something like, “Don’t let anybody in while I’m gone.” She’d always be back to get ready for work on Monday, even if that meant coming home at two in the morning. I don’t know how she expected me to know the difference between her opening the front door in the middle of the night and a murderer doing the same. I missed having her kiss me goodnight too, but I mostly stayed up to listen for her footsteps, making sure it was the sound of her heels that echoed through the quiet house.

Her plans always varied, sometimes coming home late on Saturday or rolling in as I made absurdly chocolatey milk to put in my cereal while watching Sunday morning cartoons. She’d sleep whatever was leftover of the weekend, making up for both of us.

On other weekends, we’d run errands together. I liked to loiter around the perfume counter at Macy’s while she tried on pants. Errands weren’t always clothes shopping, it was also groceries, gas, car wash, toiletries, cleaning products, a book for me from the library, and a new screen for the kitchen window. When I wasn’t in school, this was the only time I would come into town. I spent most of my time at home in the backyard or reading if the weather was particularly bad. The local library was still twelve miles away, but they also sold lightly damaged or old books for a quarter. Mom let me pick up new reading material whenever I ran out; something Nancy Drew, Encyclopedia Brown (if I could find any), and an almanac with lots of illustrations about whatever looked the most interesting. I cut myself off at three books so I could leave something good for the next kid.

Everybody read in the summer. Schools, libraries, parents, youth clubs, and ice cream parlors all offered incentives to get kids to read over the break. The library bookstore would be picked clean of anything worth reading and I’d spend more time outside that week.

Directly behind my house were live oak trees, gopher snakes, native foliage that mom called weeds, and a creek. The creek was sunken into a valley and spanned a little over five feet in width. Down in the gully, on my side of the stream, a headstone pretended it wasn’t out of place. It was tilted casually against a tree, but anyone could tell it didn’t fit in. There wasn’t even a name on it. For a few years, I went down to visit and place dandelions that popped up in my mom’s garden at the base of the cross. I suspected the family before us had planted a dead cat or dog there. The grave wasn’t new, but it wasn’t that old either. The ground dipped a little and that’s how I knew something was really under there. Leaves would collect in the basin, and I’d try to push them out without getting thorns in my fingers. In the winter, I’d fill them back in like they’d keep the guest warm. The awkward, blocky headstone and hastily dug ditch felt too innocuous for a final resting place, so I treated the grave as any gracious host would.

I cleaned the headstone too, to add to the ritual. It felt nice to care for the marble with a bit of dish soap and water after the rain flooded the creek. It widened a little each year whenever the tropical storms finally blew us a little rain at the beginning of fall. The warm equator water was always a little more than the parched soil could handle, and the banks would inch out.

My mom and I had neighbors behind us. The waterway is what drew the separation between the two properties. I spent most of my free time at that junction, especially when the four walls started to feel more like a solar oven than home. Cool air tended to fill up around the water; most of which trickled down from the mountains as snow melted in spring. Wiry oak trees popped up around the swampy banks, building little dams and bridges with fallen twigs. The summer before middle school, I met the neighbors’ daughter. By then, I didn’t care about the headstone. Things died, probably someone’s pet a decade ago.

But the neighbors’ daughter was my first friend. She was a year younger than me, so I got to feel like I knew a lot more than she did. I’d show her how to cross the creek without falling in and she’d just stare like I was Jesus; walking on water. She was sweet and simple-minded, and I liked having the company and someone to share the woods with. Since that summer was my first time meeting her, I figured she didn’t get out much. Her skittish temperament reminded me of the squirrels that watched us play from between tree branches. It made me want to hold her close and push her out of the nest at the same time. We quickly became close. It happens that way when there’s nobody else your age within a twelve-mile radius.

Around mid-June, she started taking off her shoes to wade into the creek with me and we talked while watching the minnows navigate around our legs. She thought I knew everything, so I acted like I did. She asked me once about dying, so I offered to show her the headstone. It wasn’t hidden, but the dusty marble blended better into nature when I didn’t bother to clean it up.

“Who did you bury here?” She asked.

“Dad,” I answered her without thinking. “Uh, some of his ashes anyway.” That was the truth. But my dad practiced family law and lived back in Chicago. Mom prayed every night that he would become part of that city’s startling crime statistics. I figured he was just as well off buried in the backyard.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

“Thank you.” This was my first time having a family member die. I didn’t know what to do, so I let my eyes water until it looked like I was crying. She helped me pick sourgrass and buckwheat flowers to decorate the grave. Whenever my dad did die, I knew I’d need her then too.

The house was way outside of town. It was fifteen minutes to the nearest gas station, which is what got her in trouble the most. As far as I could tell, that was the only reason to resent the distance. I met the neighbors’ daughter in the valley almost every day of summer. We’d walk down the creek until our feet were sweaty, then carry our shoes and shuffle back against the weak current. The path got tired and overbeaten, but it didn’t matter when every day felt fresh.

On the longest day of the year, we stayed out later than usual. The sun had set and it was nearing nine. The sky still had a bit of light in it, from the stars, moon, and summertime sun that never seemed to fade completely. Chicago skies weren’t cut out for stargazing. Holes would have to be punched through the layers of dense air and light pollution before anything besides the largest suns was visible. I could see the smallest points of light from here, stars that were lifetimes away or beginning to dim and burn out. They were beautiful.

July nights were so hot I couldn’t sleep with the sheets on. Even outside, when we were lying on the prickly leaves, I could feel the residual warmth radiating off the ground. The mosquitos drove us insane, but she stayed out to watch me point out imaginary constellations. I knew Orion and the Big Dipper, but after that, they were just lights to me.

“I’m scared to walk home alone,” she said. I think she only admitted that because I couldn’t see her face. By then, I could tell when she was scared, which was almost always, but she didn’t want to seem like a crybaby. I’d see her brow furrow whenever I’d hand her the knife to gut a fish or push her to climb the tallest tree in the woods with me, and that meant she was afraid. If I had felt meaner, I might’ve made her stumble home in the dark by herself. But it was warm and I was so fond of July that the extra walk felt worth it.

We tripped out of the gully, and I kept her hand safe in mine until we got on flat ground. The back porch light was left on for her. I could tell that they were the cozy type. My feelings were almost hurt by the homemade wind chimes that hung lackadaisically along with the solar-powered fairy lights. She toed her sneakers onto the shoe rack and waved goodbye to me from the sunflower doormat. I brushed her off with a nod as I disappeared into the woods to go back home.

I could recognize the smell of a dead animal by now. Every time a bloated fish washed downstream or a rabbit carcass was left shredded by coyotes, the smell of death became a little more familiar. It was sweet and acidic like rotten fruit but flat and earthy like fresh mud. Dead skunk was worse because the signature odor accompanied the putrification. I went down to the creek earlier than usual. The sunrise woke me up early, and the morning mist had already cooked off of the water. I followed the smell downstream to a freshly dead skunk, partially covered by dried foxtails. I was fascinated by the carcass; both the specimen itself and the process of decomposition. The maggots were eating at it now, stirring up the fur and guts. From a distance, the shifting skin made the animal look like it was still alive, twitching and squirming on the ground.

The smell was bad, almost as hard to breathe around as it was to look at. I picked up a sturdy stick from the ground and crouched to level with the animal. My eyes watered from the smell, so I lifted my t-shirt neckline over the bridge of my nose.

“How can you do that?” She was referring to how I gingerly nudged the bloated belly with a forked stick. She took a step back when the skunk’s writhing face rolled in her direction.

“It’s the circle of life. The skunk dies and serves as food for fly larvae and scavengers.”

“But why do you have to poke at it?” She stepped back further as I kept nudging the skunk further along.

“This’ll be us one day.” I figured flies couldn’t lay eggs on my body if I was buried, but some larvae or another would be breaking me back to carbon.

“Is it because of your dad?”

“What?”

“Are you like this because your dad died?” she asked. I had forgotten this small fact and realized she wasn’t insinuating my father skipped out on the family because of me. I didn’t know if that was any better and considered if my feelings should still be hurt.

“Yeah, it made me all spooky.”

“No.” She shook her head, more so at the way I pushed the skunk again. “I meant about how you’re so obsessed with death.”

“So, what? It’s interesting and spooky.” I vaguely reminded myself that I didn’t have any reason to be defending myself, but I had a point to finish. “What do you remember from before you were born?” I had to stop shoving the skunk because she would’ve ended up in the water with another step back.

She thought about it for a while until she knew the answer and then longer so she could find a way to avoid saying it. She saw my point without me having to say it.

“And that’s exactly what it’ll be like after we die,” I finished. “The decomposition is just getting rid of what’s left behind. This is just some meat that the maggots are munching on.” I shoved the skunk a little more and she didn’t back away. This was the part where she got my point and picked up a stick to poke at it too. I lifted a long, slender switch and handed it to her.

“If you’re sure.” She said it in a sing-songy way that let me know I was wrong. At least she took the stick from me and nudged the skunk back. “But my parents had me baptized, so I’ll go to heaven when I die.”

I didn’t really care if she thought she was going to heaven or not as we shoved the skunk onto an anthill. It left a little snail trail in some parts of the ground and the smell got a lot worse, but the ants would help uncover the skeleton quicker.

“Skunks don’t do baptism,” I said.

“So it’s just meat and maggots.” She still grimaced at the grossness as she said this, not totally convinced. Some of the ants had already started to crawl around to survey the skunk.

“And when it’s just bones, we’ll have something interesting to do.”

It was two weeks until summer ended, not in the fall equinox sense, but school would be starting. Pencils and notebooks had begun populating malls and outlets midway through break, but the need to complete summer felt more frantic. For me, it was the last year before a milestone. My coming of age, which if I didn’t fulfill, would make me subject to be rumored as a late bloomer. The skunk skeleton had been worth looking forward to, but something picked it up after a couple of nights. I didn’t think anything other than bugs would go for something that rotten, but the skunk was gone.

“I think I saw a dead rat a quarter mile down, yesterday.” I was consoling myself while the neighbors’ daughter precariously crossed over to my side of the creek.

“It’s a good thing the skunk’s gone.” I shot her a glare, so she corrected. “I don’t think the bones would’ve been clean by the rainy season.” She spat in the water to finish her point and made a final leap to solid ground.

“I wonder if we went to the same elementary together this whole time?” I sat in the dirt to dig through my backpack and she followed me to do the same. We were fishing today, even though there was never anything to catch. Most of the fun was in make-believing that a goblin shark could snag our line at any moment. Our backpacks matched, a coincidence, and we packed sandwiches and cold lemonade so we could stay out all day.

“I go to West Lake,” she said.

“Nah I went to South Oak, but you should come to Washington Middle next year with me.” I kept my tackle in a small travel jewelry box. It was leather-wrapped and about the size of my palm with a few pillowy slots for rings and small compartments to keep the other pieces from tangling together. I kept hooks and lures where the rings were meant to go and filled the compartments with an assortment of vibrantly colored trout bait. It fit perfectly in my back pocket with my fishing rod in the other.

She got her fishing rod out too. We’d made them by tying a line around the middle of a stick. A five-minute walk upstream took us to our favorite lagoon. The waterway widened and deepened to be the only place with decent-sized fish. A tree was tipped over for us, knocked into the mud. We sat on the bridge, letting the fishing line run downstream through our middle fingers; current pulling our flashy lures until it ran out. The line stayed taught from the pull of the current and I could catch flashes of the lure as it spun beneath the surface. The water made my mind go limp. I stared ahead with my hands in my lap. I’d lost one of my makeshift fishing rods that way. It caught on something and I let it pull from between my fingers.

“Do you really want me to come to middle school with you?” she asked. It was a while since we talked, but it was easy to resume our conversation.

“I think it would be fun. And we’re in different grades, so it’s not like we’ll get sick of each other.” I wound my line back up around the stick and let it go again. We fished together almost every day and had only caught two fish all summer, one each. She’d caught the first fish, a little trout, and I’d gutted it as a messy experiment. By the time I’d caught one, she was able to wash all the innards out easily with a cleaner version of my demonstration.

“We could eat lunch together, and carpool.” She said it wistfully like it was a far-off dream.

I was waiting for the neighbor girl to look for live bait with me, but it had started to rain. The end of summer turned into a torrent of tropical storms that wandered up the coast from warmer climates. She didn’t like the rain, so we scrambled down the embankment each time it let up. The frequent downpours gave us the perfect conditions for catching bugs as they all collected under leaves and rocks. It was Sunday though, and sometimes her parents dragged her to church. I was digging up the foliage to find grubs until I noticed that it was sprinkling again. If she wasn’t in church already, she definitely wasn’t coming down now.

She hated to get her hair wet. Her mom pressed it on Sunday mornings and she liked to keep it smooth for as long as possible. I couldn’t empathize with the experience, but I knew the only glance I would get from her would be through a kitchen window. I crossed the stones to the left side of the creek. The water was higher than usual from the rain, and algae slipped over the surface of the rocks we were meant to cross on.

I didn’t mind the weather. The earthworms would reveal themselves and I’d collect them to use as bait or toss on my mom’s compost pile. I left my shoes and socks in the soggy leaves and climbed on my hands and feet up the slippery incline to her house. I’d hardly ever been up to her side of the creek before. There wasn’t really any point to it when we spent most of the time wandering as far from home as possible.

Some of the lights in her house were on. The French doors grinned at me, but I didn’t see anybody inside. I walked around to the front door– listening for life and thinking about knocking– and it was apparent nobody was home.

The butt of my pants got dirty when I slid back down to my shoes. I’d see her tomorrow if the rain ever stopped, but not until school was out at 3:30. When I picked up my shoes to put them back on, I saw some beetles and pill bugs hiding beneath my soles. It seemed right to leave them be, so I sat in the mud and let my feet hang into the filling stream.

The bank was squishy beneath me, softened and sliding. Across from me, a slab of mud sloughed off the right bank. The chunk broke into smaller parts as it fell away. I thought his hair was roots, brown and wispy with soil clinging to the ends. The wild grasses were what held the hillside together when it got wet, but sometimes the grass sprouts can’t do much to keep the soaked ground together. The brittle ends of the man’s hair stuck straight out from the bank, too sharp of an angle and wiry of a texture. The roots looked wrong, so I stared and squinted through the drizzle until I caught a glimpse of his messed-up face. It was a man because I’d never seen a woman that looked so ugly. From my spot, I could watch the water uncover him. He seemed to be swaddled in transparent plastic, wrapped with the smothering care I gave my dolls as a toddler. The top half of his face protruded from the open end. More of the earth melted into the creek as the bank continued to erode. The creek washed further out until the headstone was threatened too. I could see his face through the dirty plastic. Who knows how long he’d been buried there, but I’d guess that the plastic was the only thing keeping him together. The top half of the corpse leaned out into the water like a gigantic pupae. He was a slurry inside, waiting for form and metamorphosis. He wriggled free of the ground, aided by the current, and sloshed into the rushing water.

“Some ashes.” A low whistle passed between my teeth. The banks overflowed from the ripples, staining my pants more. The body bumped back and forth against slimy rocks as it shoved off to much busier things. I could tell school would be easy tomorrow, and then I’d rush down into the gully to tell the neighbors’ daughter what I saw. It was getting dark and raining harder and harder. Mom was probably going to have dinner ready and I needed to shower. I left my shoes behind for the beetles and crossed the creek back home.

I didn’t think middle school would amount to much. By the end of the day, I was tired from icebreakers and it took Mom twenty minutes to pick me up. Considering we lived fifteen minutes away and she drove like the cops were chasing her, it had taken her a while to realize she had a daughter to pick up from school. It was a quiet drive. The house was hushed by that same awful silence. The kind where it wasn’t quiet at all, but all her talking turned into a high ringing in my ears. I let her keep circling around and around whatever she really wanted to say, hoping she’d get there eventually. She kept repeating a beat on the steering wheel, and when we got settled at home, sitting side-by-side on the couch, she was playing the same pattern on a throw pillow.

“The neighbors’ little girl, Cam, passed away.”

Mom must’ve been waiting all day to say that to me with the same nervous excitement she had about conflict overseas; any news was light if it didn’t involve her. Now, I was more curious about why she hadn’t said anything sooner, maybe it was a special treat for making it through the front door or designated mother-daughter-gossip time on the couch. Mom didn’t know I had been friends with Cam. That was the first time I’d heard her name.

“In the creek?” I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d be stuck indoors next summer due to an unfortunate drowning accident. The feeling was right for me to cry, but I hadn’t even known her name.

“What creek- Oh, no. I don’t know what happened to her. Car accident I think, Californians don’t know how to drive in this rain.” Mom stopped the nervousness and walked into the kitchen and I was left on the couch, scolding myself for not gossiping right. We were done conversing because she didn’t find middle school interesting and I didn’t have the appropriate reaction to the local tragedy. It was probably better that she got distracted by the pantry instead of talking to me because I might’ve let it slip that I knew the girl.

Mom didn’t cook on Monday nights. She’d have a glass of wine and fall asleep while watching the news or Grey’s Anatomy. I’d done it with her once and didn’t understand the appeal. Wine is bitter and the heavy makeup on the Anchorwoman’s face made her look too beautiful and perfect. I made mac n’ cheese for myself and switched to the Cartoon Network after Mom fell asleep. My bedtime was nine PM. It said so on the organizational whiteboard that kept track of my chores and allowance. But I strongly believed that rules were only as strong as their enforcers. I turned the volume on the TV low and I tucked myself into my mom’s side.

At some point I drifted off with my fork still in-hand.

I felt guilty later. Mom woke up and put me to bed. It was a school night, but I couldn’t sleep. While counting the dim glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling, I could hear my heart beating in my ears. I went completely still and began to count the beats. My heartbeat would keep me up at night sometimes. If I was feeling anxious and my heart was wailing against my ribs, the sound was enough to stave of sleep. The rhythm would beat in my ears, my chest, beneath my collarbone, my fingertips, behind my eyes, and sometimes in my throat if my tongue was dry. So my heartbeat was all I heard as I played a bad rendition of that afternoon over and over again. That’s when I felt guilty. She really did love me like a sister. The stars were sickly and the night sky was stucco and I was never all that good to her.

I cried, thinking of how I’d miss her and how terrifying she’d look after she’d decomposed like the dead man in the river. That was how I pictured her while I grieved. I was unsure how well I’d known her, so all I had was what she left behind.

a/n- i promise i'll write something good soon, but idk, i'm feeling uninspired and bland so i revisited some stuff i wrote for creative writing class

#my ocs #oc writing #short story #short fiction

11 notes · View notes

paperjunk · 2 years

Text

Life or Death - Chapter 02

Summary: Anger issues and memories of a horrific past biting at her heels, Kenzie Ames is pulled back into active service. Sent to Top Gun to help train a handful of Navy Pilots on how to survive their next mission, Ames’ resentment and anger may hurt her and those around her more than she knows if she can’t get it under control. Secrets weighing her down, Ames soon finds a Lieutenant’s persistent desire to know her maybe more than she can handle as the clock ticks away the time she has to make sure that not only do they come home, but the part of herself she left back in the cold, barren, tundra does too.

Author Notes: I am out of practice writing fanfiction. Sorry. This is an OC x Bradly Bradshaw or Reader x Bradly Bradshaw. All 3rd person pov.

Table of Contents: Will update as we go.

Legs pushed Ames into a standing position before she could stop herself and all eyes turned to her.

“Major Ames...,” Maverick started, green eyes following her movements with apprehension.

“You all talk too much. I prefer show and scare,” Ames said before Maverick could cut her off. “So get up or get the fuck out of my unit.”

And she was off, out the door and disappearing down into the lower reaches of the base. Lieutenant Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw, who had been sitting next to her, looked over at his friends Lieutenant Reuben “Payback” Fitch and Lieutenant Mickey “Fanboy“ Garcia before Hangman was up on his feet, Lieutenant Javy “Coyote” Machado following in his wake.

"What are you waiting for?" Hangman asked, turning around, walking backwards down the aisle of desks and chairs as he threw his hands out in a question mark. "She said follow or get out... unless you're giving up already Rooster?" He beamed brightly.

As a little over half a dozen Lieutenants filed out of the room, Admiral Simpson's lips pressed into a hard line.

"I really appreciated the lack of discussion on her part," he said flatly, exasperation filling his face as he looked at Maverick from the corner of his eyes.

"It was her way or the highway," Maverick replied with a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You agreed to it, Sir."

Admiral Bates nodded his head slowly with a small smile claiming his lips.

"Don't worry, Admiral, I'll keep an eye on her," Maverick said with a bright smile that crinkled the lines around his eyes, feet turning him back around in pursuit of the others.

"Keep more than an eye!" Admiral Simpson shouted at Mavericks back as he too vanished into the depths of the base.

"Your mission is to collect intel on the enemy. Plain and simple," Ames had been saying, having partly if not expertly explained the task on her way down the stairs into what she considered to be at least the fifth ring of hell. She hit the switches on the wall throwing light into the ample, nearly empty space.

"This ugly beast is a two-seat version of the fifth generation Su-57 fighter," Ames stated as Maverick entered the enclosed hanger. "Two-seat is not normal for the Su-57. It was strictly made in the interest of foreign customers. Wonder why it doesn't have a canopy and only a shield?" she beamed brightly, the smile never reaching her green eyes.

Maverick took a deep breath and stood back, reading the room, the mission briefing tucked under an arm as hands fell to his side.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, people," her voice grew slightly in the silence that had followed the question. Her eyebrows ascended in either disbelief or aggravation; Maverick couldn't tell but knew if someone didn't answer, she would start yelling like a drill Sergeant.

"Test sortie, Sir," Lieutenant Robert “Bob” Floyd answered quickly, his body pressed for space between Phoenix and Rooster as his feet shifted nervously across the concrete.

"Cockpit habitability trial, Sir," Rooster said, eyes roaming over the fighter jet. "Aimed to test the emergency escape procedures. They are usually tossed after heavy use."

"Congrats, you've just met your way home," Ames said with a wicked smile.

Silence filled the hanger for the briefest moment, a moment Ames relished. One could hear a pin drop if they tried, but the only thing they would hear was the other shoe dropping. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to laugh at how absurd all of it was.

A harsh eruption of voices filled the hanger; questions and disbelief all falling over one another, all demanding to be heard and answered. Ames crossed her arms and watched the faces of the seven pilots she would have to teach how to fly not only without a canopy but with no possibility of ejection and conceivably no bullets—all while in a defensive posture. Of course, these pilots knew how to fly in attack and defensive positions, but did they know what to do when they ran out of everything?

"You...," Maverick shouted but had to start again at an even louder octave. "You will be running sims with the Felons first thing in the morning! But, for now, you will acquaint yourself with it because it will be your only way home!"

Rooster turned to look from Ames to Maverick, his lips pressing together into a tight line that Ames had seen many times on Admiral Simpson in the last few days. Her anger and his rising to the highest peaks and the lowest lows.

"Why are we flying Su-57s into enemy territory for intel?"

Ames started to laugh. She couldn't help herself. It was just too fucking ridiculous. Eight pairs of eyes turned on her...watching her.

"The real question you should be asking is: why does it take seven pilots to get intel?"

Ames watched with delight as the realization dawned across the group of pilots all at once. Like watching a herd of animals careening towards a cliff and their doom.

"Oh, dear, we are in trouble now, aren't we?" she smiled softly with a wordless chuckle, eyes full of amusement.

"You aren't flying these into enemy territory, Rooster, my dear—you're flying them out."

****************************************************

A/N: Sorry for the short chapters. Small bursts help me a little better. I’m rusty :0

#oc #jake hangman seresin #pete maverick mitchell #natasha phoenix trace #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x OC #OC x Bradley Bradshaw #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #rooster x oc #oc x rooster #Top Gun #Top Gun Maverick #mywriting

83 notes · View notes

katiesharms · 1 year

Note

1-100, hangster 😜 (you pick)

(nina chose a sad one, sorry)

just like heaven - the cure you, soft and only/you, lost and lonely

jake's learned a lot about bradley over the years.

small things, like how he takes his coffee and the way he yells at the tv when baseball is on. big things, like his mom's favorite meal and just how dark those years away from mav were. like an onion, he's peeled back the layers of bradley, slowly and surely, to reveal the tender and raw heart of the matter. something raw and bruised and full of grief, papered over with half-hearted reconciliations and shallow relationships.

jake was always jealous of bradley, those years before they were together. of the way people gravitate towards the other pilot, instantly liking him, immediately falling under his gravity. jake's always had to work for, had to work for everything, and it seemed to come so naturally for bradley. he knows now that's not the truth.

bradley, in many ways, is a master performer. it took jake years to learn the brash and charismatic public personality that is rooster fades away in private, becomes something soft and lonely when rooster reverts back to bradley.

it can drain him, sometimes, to be what people expect of him. someone doing party tricks and attracting all the attention in the room. sometimes, jake can spot him across the party and see bradley's eyes grow dreary, the spark leaving them. that's usually when he'll jump in, divert attention to himself to give his boyfriend time and space to breathe.

today, it seems especially bad. not even an hour into phoenix's christmas party, and bradley's smile is wooden, his eyes dead. jake's standing in the opposite corner, catching up with coyote, when he hears bradley's laugh, affected and hollow. it sends a shiver down his spine to hear the man he loves sound so far from joy.

"excuse me," he says to coyote, who just nods in understanding, and he worms his way through the crowd towards rooster.

"hey babe," he greets when he reaches bradley, kissing him quickly and then settling in by his side. bradley throws an arm around his waist, pulling jake into him. jake follows easily, letting bradley nestle his face into the crook of jake's neck, his mustache tickling the sensitive skin.

"hey," bradley muffles into his neck.

jake looks up and sees the crowd bradley was entertaining has slowly started to dissipate, driven away by the cloying pda that bradley tends to engage in when he's in one of his moods.

"you looked like you needed rescuing," jake explains, bringing a hand up to the back of bradley's neck to play with the loose hairs there. he feels bradley shiver at the touch.

that's another thing jake's learned about bradley over the past few months. even the gentlest of touches, the most casual placement of jake's hand over bradley's body, has the other man reacting strongly.

"i did," bradley confirms, lifting his head to look at jake. his eyes are rimmed with dark circles, shooting worry through jake.

"let's get out of here, yeah?" he asks, and when bradley nods, jake weaves them towards the door without saying any goodbyes.

bradley drove them there, but jake takes his keys and slides into the driver's seat of the bronco. bradley doesn't protest, just slumps into the passenger seat.

they drive in silence for the first ten minutes, letting the gentle christmas music flow through the radio speakers.

"christmas is really hard," bradley says softly as they exit the highway, head leaning against the window, eyes closed. "it always has been but this year, it feels worse."

"do you want to talk about it?" jake asks carefully.

bradley huffs out a sigh. "yeah. no. i don't know. it sucks to talk about and it sucks to not talk about and it all just..." he trails off.

"sucks," jake fills in, and bradley cracks a smile, the corner of his mouth turning up. "well, how about this? i'll get us home, make you some hot chocolate, and then we can talk or not talk or whatever you want."

"yeah," bradley agrees. "that sounds really nice."

and hour later, when they're in pajamas and curled up together on the couch, a blanket thrown over the two of them, bradley speaks.

"christmas was my mom's favorite holiday. even after we moved to san diego, away from her family, she made it the warmest holiday in the world. and it's silly, but-" bradley cuts himself off.

jake brings his hand up to play with bradley's hair where his head is reasting on jake's chest. the two of them are laid along their slightly too small couch, bradley on top of jake.

"but what?" jake gently encourages.

"i've always avoided anything real around now because i knew i'd want to introduce them to my mom. and all i want in the world right now is to show my mom the man i love."

jake can feel wetness on his chest, and he knows bradley is crying. he cups bradley's face, forcing the man to look up at him. he brushes a tear off bradley's face.

"i would've loved to meet her," he says, and bradley smiles, weak. "why don't you tell me about her?"

bradley nods and sits up, bringing jake with him, and starts talking.

#hangster #prompts

29 notes · View notes

barbiewritesstuff · 2 years

Note

Can you write a Phoenix x reader where the reader is in the army and surprising Phoenix on the ship or something? I just saw the movie and loved her character!

-- It's a little short but I hope you like it! --

Phoenix was miserable. The recreation room wasn't exactly the place she had wanted to be in right now. She looked at her watch. It was 5 pm.

She thought of what her day would look like if she was at home: she'd turn her keys in the door right about now, after having parked her car right next to yours in the garage. Then she'd remove her boots on the outside welcome mat and leave them there, entering the home in her socks. She'd lock the door, drop her bag on the floor and walk through the hallway and onto the living room to pet your dog, a Charles King Spaniel named Charlie, on its head. She'd be able to smell your cooking and see the kitchen table set for two. She'd kiss your cheek as you washed the dishes and run upstairs for a quick shower before dinner.

In her daydream, you made her favourite: a tofu thai green curry made with your own garden's chillies. You would talk about your days and about work till both of you were ready for desert, a slice of cake or fruit. You'd move to the living room.

Phoenix pictured herself making you two cups of tea and bringing one for you while you chose something to watch on the tv. You liked game shows and action movies, Nat was happy to watch whatever so long as she watched it with you. Then, you would inevitably fall asleep on the sofa and she'd carry you to the bed. You would snuggle into her and she'd fall asleep like that.

She felt calmer just thinking about it.

It had been so long since she had last seen you. Almost three months, come to think of it. It would be Christmas soon, and luckily she had thought of buying you your present before her departure: a gorgeous engagement ring that you had offhandedly mentioned while passing a jeweler before her latest departure.

To keep a piece of you while she flew, Phoenix had kept the ring on her at all times.

You were at home, thirteen hours away from Phoenix. The separation was killing you.

After loading Charlie into the car with a duffel bag full of clothes, you turned the key into the ignition and the car roared to life.

Phoenix had mentioned off-handedly that the base was holding a Christmas party on base that families were allowed to attend. She didn't actually expect you to attend, and neither were you until missing her just became too much.

The small roads were a pain, between being overtaken by speed demons and getting stuck behind slow drivers, you were getting stressed. Luckily once you were on the highway, the journey was easy. You stopped twice for the bathroom and once for a refill on snacks.

You arrived at the hotel in the evening. It was right at the right time, too, as your eyes had gotten heavy and you were feeling sleepier by the minute. Just as you thought about stopping by the side of the road, the GPS pinged and you were there.

You had picked the cheapest pet-friendly hotel you could find, so you weren't too surprised to find out that the flattering pictures on the website had been exaggerated.

It was only for one night, it would be okay.

You slept fitfully that night, the bed springs digging into your back uncomfortably and Charlie sticking to your side like a shirt to wet skin, but you still felt awake when you woke up. The adrenaline coursing through your veins keeping you up and moving throughout the day. Your energy dipped in the afternoon but by that time it was time to go back and get ready.

Phoenix was putting on her dress whites when Rooster knocked on her door to signal it was time. He was waiting in the corridor with Fanboy, Hangman and Coyote when she opened the door. She felt immediately better seeing that her friends looked as uncomfortable as she felt in the scratchy uniform.

The events hall was just outside of base, it was a large, square, and fairly unwelcoming building but they had gone all out decorating the inside with flowers and flags.

Fanboy left them seconds after they entered to join his mother, then Hangman did the same. Payback and Coyote tagged along for a little longer but left for the bar to get them all drinks.

Rooster dug out his phone and replied to a text.

"So, where's your family?" He asked

"Home, she couldn't come. We live too far away, I wasn't going to ask her to drive thirteen hours for a ball"

"Looks like you didn't have to"

Rooster pointed towards the other side of the room to a woman in an emerald green velvet dress who was clearly looking for someone. Phoenix all but ran to meet you.

You had been looking for Nat for twenty minutes, searching in every corner, nook and cranny but she seemed to be nowhere to be seen. When you had almost lost hope, something ran into you, almost knocking you off of your feet.

Whatever it was, it smelled like pancakes on sunday mornings, vanilla scented candles, early morning beach walks and cuddles in bed. It smelled like everything you loved. It smelled like home.

"Hi baby"

"What are you doing here? I thought you were staying home!"

"I missed you too much!"

Nat beamed at you and kissed you. Rooster looked at you over her shoulder, he waved. You and Rooster had met a few months ago by complete accident and hit it right off. His kind and chilled personality complimented her nervous disposition very well. He had helped you orchestrate your expedition, even going so far as making sure you and Nat wouldn't accidentally run into each other during the day.

You waved back.

The speakers around the room jumped to life with a loud pop song of dubious quality and with a suddenness that made everyone in the room wince.

"Do you mind if we step outside for a second? It's a little loud" You asked, Phoenix guided you through the little grass courtyard behind the events hall.

She didn't know what it was that made her decide to do it then but she figured it was as close to the 'right' time as it was going to get. When you turned around to ask if she was okay, she had already sunk down to her knee.

You didn't realise what was happening at first, but when she tried to take something out of her pocket, she almost dropped the box in the darkness of the garden.

"Yes." You answered before she could even ask the question.

#natasha phoenix trace #phoenix x reader #phoenix #top gun fanfiction #fanfic #top gun x reader #top gun maverick #fanfiction #original fic #request

86 notes · View notes

rabbitcruiser · 7 months

Text

World Animal Road Accident Awareness Day

World Animal Road Accident Awareness Day is on October 10. It’s a fantastic opportunity to help raise awareness of the problem of animals getting hurt on the road and sometimes abandoned without assistance or much care. It’s a day to urge people to consider what they would do if they hit an animal while driving. It is hoped that through education and action, fewer animals will suffer, and more animal owners will be spared the anguish that traffic accidents entail. Driving with extra care and attention will save many lives, but accidents will happen — even to the most animal-loving drivers.

History of World Animal Road Accident Awareness Day

No animal deserves to be dumped on the side of the road after a car accident. Every day, 630 cats are killed in car accidents. Only 25% of these incidents will be deadly, leaving 75% with a possibility of survival, but only if the animal receives assistance. Many people attempt to educate the public on what to do if they hit an animal on the road. Fortunately, the Cats Matter Organization has made raising awareness of the issue easier. Cats Matter is committed to this worthwhile cause and is the driving force behind Animal Road Accident Awareness Day. Annual road fatalities are expected to kill 100,000 foxes, 50,000 badgers, 50,000 deer, 30 million birds, and hedgehogs, which formerly headed the fatality list with 29% of them killed by automobiles and are now critically endangered.

Authorities estimate the accurate death rate to be about 70 million animals based on a statistical study of those that may have gone undetected. Highways England claims that 2,143 dead animals were discovered on about 4,300 miles of roadway — less than 1% of the U.K.’s entire road network.

The Road Traffic Act 1988 in the United Kingdom specifies that drivers must notify the police if they strike any of the following animals: dogs, horses, cattle/cows, pigs, goats, sheep, donkeys, or mules. Although there is currently no requirement to record all animal deaths on roadways, police suggest drivers contact the owner of domestic animals, such as cats, to alert them of the situation. Whatever the regulations, the most important thing is that the animal is provided with the best opportunity possible if it survives the initial impact.

Today highlights the fact that many animals are disregarded for no other reason than a motorist did not value their life enough to give them a second consideration.

World Animal Road Accident Awareness Day timeline

Early 20th Century

The Beginning

Roadkill, almost non-existent before the introduction of mechanical transportation, is related to growing automotive speeds.

2007

Insects are also in significant danger

According to research, insects are also in significant danger of becoming roadkill; insect roadkill is related to vehicle density.

2009

Roadkill Observation Systems

In the United States, statewide roadkill monitoring systems are put in place, with hundreds of observers reporting roadkill on a website.

2020

First World Animal Road Accident Awareness

Cats Matter launches World Animal Road Accident Awareness Day, which takes place on October 10th for the first time.

World Animal Road Accident Awareness Day FAQs

Which animal is responsible for the most traffic accidents?

Deer are responsible for around 260,000 collisions each year. More than 150 people are killed in these crashes.

What kinds of animals are discovered on the road?

Squirrels, birds, cats, dogs, rabbits, raccoons, skunks, turtles, and coyotes are the most common animals observed on highways.

How can I avoid colliding with animals while driving?

Keep an eye on your surroundings. If you are traveling in the rural countryside, thickly forested regions, or near bodies of water such as ponds, lakes, or rivers, take additional precautions and use your horn to scare the animals.

How to Observe World Animal Road Accident Awareness Day

Use social media to persuade others: Share your experience online to encourage others to commit to driving safely. Use the hashtag #AnimalRoadAccidentAwareness to convince individuals to take a personal pledge to drive carefully.

Immediately see a veterinarian: If you accidentally strike or locate an injured domestic cat on the street, take it to the nearest veterinarian, and you will not be penalized. The animal will be given the necessary care and scanned for a microchip, which allows the owner to be contacted.

Drive safely! Driving safely and improving your driving skills is an excellent way to commemorate the day. Learn about traffic safety precautions and other suggestions.

5 Facts About Animal Car Accidents

The majority occur in the fall:This is a mating and hunting season, and deer are most active at this time, thus they tend to wander outside their typical range.

Sunset and midnight are the peak hours: Keep in mind that animals also wander on the road before and after the sun rises, making all these high-risk times for animal-vehicle collisions.

Big animals rarely cross the road alone: If you encounter a deer while driving, expect to see numerous others nearby.

It’s become a big problem for Canada: Every hour, four to eight big animal-vehicle collisions occur in Canada.

One to two million collisions happen: Every year in the U.S., an estimated one million to two million collisions between motor vehicles and big animals such as deer occur, resulting in 200 human deaths, 26,000 injuries, and at least $8 billion in property damage and other expenditure.

Why World Animal Road Accident Awareness Day is Important

It raises awareness for a significant cause: One of the main reasons we observe Animal Road Accident Awareness is to emphasize the hazards of driving while distracted. With almost 1,000 animal deaths caused by traffic accidents each year, increased awareness urges individuals to take extra measures.

It emphasizes the importance of preventive interventions: This day educates individuals on how to handle a traffic accident if they strike an animal while driving. There are preventative methods to help reduce the danger of animals getting wounded, as well as guidance on what to do if an animal gets away, roadside first aid, and much more.

It saves lives: Not only are our lives important, but so are the lives of animals. It can assist to change the destiny of animals that have not yet landed in this situation.

Source

4 notes · View notes