Been out since dawn, Tracks went cold around noon. Should head back empty-handed, But there's mushrooms growing by that old oak... Look edible enough... Stomach's growling, Figure it can't hurt. I eat a few... Make it back to the cabin by sundown, Feeling strange... Vision swimming at the edges. Oh god...! Those weren't the right kind... Sit down on the couch, Just ride it out, Wait for it to pass, That's when I hear the first voice... The buck on the wall, Eight point rack I got five years back. "I HAD A MATE!" "THREE FAWNS!" His glass eyes are looking at me now, The boar on the left wall... "You GRAZED me with the first shot" "I ran for an hour bleeding out!" "AN HOUR!!!" More voices now... Every wall... Every head. Elk... Wolf... Doe... Bear... All of them talking, Remembering, Their deaths... Their lives before... I try to tell them it's just the mushrooms, But I can't make my mouth work right. The wolf speaks the loudest, Mounted above the door. "YOU DIDN'T NEED TO KILL ME!" "You wanted a trophy!" "Wanted to tell YOUR FRIENDS!" "Wanted PROOF!" I open my mouth to argue, But the words won't come out... Because he's right. They're all asking why now, Why the boar... Why the doe... Why the elk... "Population control," I try to say, "Tradition", "Conservation", The words sound hollow... Even to me. Hours pass, Could be minutes, Maybe days. They won't stop talking, Won't stop asking, Won't stop staring with those glass eyes... I argue until my throat is raw, But I'm arguing with myself now, Justifying, Rationalizing, Failing... Wake up on the floor, Sunlight through the window, Mouth tastes like copper and dirt. The heads are silent, Just taxidermy. Just glass and fur and wood. Bad mushrooms. Jesus Christ! Bad mushrooms... Drink some water, Eat something, Check my rifle. The day's still young... Could get a good spot before noon, I go back out. Huge ten-point buck, Best I've seen in years, Lines up perfect, Squeeze the trigger, Clean shot. He drops. Pride swells in my chest... This one's going over the fireplace. Field dressing him, Knife into the belly, Starting the cut, "PLEASE STOP!!!" I freeze... The buck's dead eyes looking up at me, "Please don't cut me!!!" "It hurts...!" "Why are you doing this?!" It's not real, Not real...! The mushrooms still in my system... I keep cutting, Have to finish, Have to get him back... "Please" "Please stop" "Please" I finish the job... He begs the entire time. Mounted him that weekend, Right over the fireplace, Like I planned. Ten points, Beautiful rack, Best trophy I've ever taken, He won't stop talking... None of them will.. The wolf, The boar, The elk, The new buck... All of them. Every day... Every night... I can't go back out there, Can't pull the trigger, Can't make another kill. They're still on my walls... Still talking, Still asking why, And I still don't have an answer... Except that I wanted them there..
