Everyone in Glen Morgan knew there was a wild boar in the woods over by the Miller farm.
"Boar out there.."
The boar was out beyond the splintery rail fence and bast the old black Dodge that some how ended up in the woods and was missing most of its parts. I would hook my chin over the top rail of the fence, twirl a long blade of grass in my teeth and whisper,
"I bet he's never afraid of the moon...."
'He could have a golden horn..."
And there were times I was sure I heard him. I'd always imagined him running heavily through the trees, ignoring the sharp thorns and briars that raked his back and sprang away trembling.
But that boar is out there somewhere, between those awful trees, and his dark green eyes waited for someone. I knew those eyes would land on me.
One day, I had enough. I went to the woods to find that boar. I bet no one in Glen Morgan had ever past the old black Dodge or beyond.
when I got deep enough into the woods, I kept looking up. I had to keep reminding myself that there was a world above and apart from the trees- a world of space and air, air that didn't linger around me, air that didn't press deep into mt skin ,as the forest air did.
The boar ran up to me, so quickly, I had no time to run or scream, h'ed had beat me and was already before me.
he and i shared the same silence, an before i knew it; it was over and he ran due to a crow of a bluejay.
Ever since, i still hook my chin on that fence ans still whisper "Boar out there." But i did so with my eyes full of tears, for feeling sorry that he lives in fear from little girls and bluejays, while we all lived in fear of him.