Dear Members of this forum,

I thought some of you may be interested in reading an essay I wrote for a contest, and is currently entered. This is totally my work, and not changed from the original essay. And also, about it getting kind of squished at the end, it had to be 250 words or less so I had to cram my thoughts a little.

Also, for those anti-Hunters, this story has nothing about shooting the deer, so relax! Please enjoy this story.

Your old member, now returned

-Dreami

Even when I was little, I looked forward to being able to hunt with my brothers and my dad. I always admired the deer upon the wall, and the stories they would tell me. On the day of their return from up north, I would constantly peer out the window, watching for them, ready to run out and ask my dad what had happened. He smiled at me, and started to tell me wonderful stories of albino deer, black squirrels, newborn fawns, or any other unusual animal he had seen.

These stories soon became more interesting than the little bit of candy he gave me from a candy store near the land. Now, I am finally able to hunt, and I realize from my family why hunting is so wonderful.

I always wanted the experience of being able to go out in nature and watch all the animals scurry around. I love looking at pictures of young, long-legged fawns next to the slim does. I never know what to expect, and it gets more exciting as a large buck makes his way towards the stand. It is impossible to know whether the animal that’s head peaks out of the brush will be a muscular buck or a small doe. And most of all, I can spend time with my dad and brothers. They sometimes tease, but they always help me.