The Texas desert was new moon dark, our truck the only thing moving for miles, stars everywhere. Everyone else slept, sun-weary college kids slumped in their seats, leaving me alone with the highway. Ahead, two lights blinked into existence. Small. Stationary. Dead center of the road. I slowed fractionally. The lights then rapidly multiplied, spreading outward, hundreds, overlapping, shimmering. A low, luminous curtain across the desert with us aimed straight at its center. I eased off the gas, unsure. Then we reached them. A vast herd of mule deer parted, having turned to watch our approach. No one believed me.
AP Ritchey is a professional graphic designer, published board game inventor, multi-instrumentalist, and accomplished printmaker with work in/forthcoming from Zodiac Review, AntipodeanSF, SciFi Shorts, and more. adamritchey.com