Mason

There are always little sounds out there if you listen.

Wind, bugs, far-off dogs, power lines, something.

But when I stepped out, it felt like someone had lowered the volume on the whole world.

My car was still running, and even that sounded muffled.

I walked toward the coyote slowly.

Not because I was scared yet, but because I didn't want to step in blood or have it suddenly snap at me if it was still alive.

The closer I got, the less right it looked.

Not wrong in an obvious monster way.

Just wrong enough that my brain kept trying to fix the picture and couldn't.

Its legs looked too long.

Its ribs were too visible, but not like it was starving.

More like the skin did not fit right over them.

Its tail was stretched straight behind it instead of curled or limp.

The fur on its neck was matted, and there was dark stuff around its mouth, but I didn't see much blood on the road.

That was what made me stop.

If this animal had been hit hard enough to end up twisted in the lane, where was the blood?

There should have been a smear or spray or something.

Instead, the pavement around it was almost clean.

There were just a few dark marks under its head.

I said, oh man, under my breath.