The day was rapidly approaching that he would cross the threshold into adulthood. The elders warned him to stay away from the old stone path, but all his friends had done it the year before, but he could not bring himself to do it yet. They teased him and taunted him.
It was on the heels of a particularly sharp barb that he decided to do it, that very night. He and his friends all gathered in a field near the path. It was a crisp autumn night, and the moon shone brightly.
The group slowly made their way to the edge of the path. There it stood before them. His spirit shrunk back from the gravity of the ritual, but he stood firm. He took one step, then another unto the path. His friends were cheering for him and he grew more confident.
Just as he was about to reach the middle a bright light struck him and a terrible sound froze him in his tracks. His friends called to him to run, but he could not move. As it was bearing down upon him he tried to go back, but it was too late. He flew into the air from the impact, and his lifeless body landed by the side of the path, in a pool of blood. His friends scattered.
The next morning a game warden came down the road in a battered old pick up truck. Seeing the body, he lifted it into the bed of the truck. "One less to worry about," he said as he made a mark on a tally sheet. As he drove on, he thought of his son. They were going to go deer hunting next weekend, and it would be his son's first time.
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