The setting--my parent's house/childhood home. Florescent lighting. Pitch black outside. I recall being up long after normal waking hours. I walked into the kitchen and found a still-breathing hunted deer laying on the counter, its face drooped in the sink--a massive heap of weight. It was so real. I nearly puked. Another deer lay to the left of it, nearly dead or actually dead. I couldn't tell. I couldn't be in that room. I fled into the adjacent living room and collapsed, shrieking for and at my father--how could he do this, leave them to die like this? The deer with its head in the sink was slowly drowning. It could hardly lift its head. I could hear water gurgling. I could feel it suffocating.
Suddenly, gigantic male lions with luscious, flowing manes entered the room. I became hysterical. They sniffed at me, began licking me. One gently teethed at my hand. I was crying. No one--not even my dad--was protecting me. No one was even trying to save me.