Spectator
Kacie Rumens
I rub my gloved hands together under my
blanket. I breathe warm air into them too. I pull
the blanket tighter around my shoulders. The shishshish
of it sliding over my jacket is the loudest
sound besides the crickets chirping before the sun
comes up. I can see the silhouette of a large creature
starting to emerge from the early morning fog.
I back up towards the bushes and stand, wiggling
my toes and biting my lip. I’ve always wanted to
see this. More large shapes materialize behind the
first and a few smaller ones move with the larger
shambling beasts. My breath catches in my chest
as they come clearly into view. They’re spectacular.
The bison make no noise through the field as they
travel as one herd.
As they near, I release the breath I’d been
holding. They seem solid but the lack of sound
sends chills up my spine. Now the only rustling is
from a slight wind. The bison shuffle past and I
can see the ways they passed. Many have been
mutilated, likely by a predator. These ones all have
broken legs to glide on. There are gunshot and
24