The Deer

After the rigorous day, I drove back to my home.
By the way, there are two entryways to get into the parking lot, where the tens of residents' cars are there.
As my car neared one of those ways, my slanted eyes behind the glasses flashed toward the deer, standing so tall under the streetlight and contrariwise, the deer stared back, looking pathetic. My car slowed down to stop.


A chill started to run down my spine at the thought of a deer's roots or feet hitting the windscreen, and if so, I'd imagined the earthquake outbreak on the surface of glass might affect the person sitting behind the wheel.
The seconds passed like days.


The deer and I both became still for a moment, helplessly tried to read each others' faces. As I looked into it, its elegantly elongated neck and dreamy black embedded eyes became more appealing to me. Above us, the sky was dark grayish blue.


Shortly after, I geared a stick to reverse and the car moved very slowly.
The deer, as if it had a common sense and was yielding a traffic, crossed the parking lot like a speed of light to be disappeared from my sight.