When I was 17, I was driving home from work along the 2 lane highway, going approximately the speed limit, which was 50mph, when a deer wandered onto the road. I slammed on my brakes. The deer ran into the center of the road, and paused. As my car was sliding (no abs), the deer decided to continue across the road. It ran into my fender just in front of my side-view mirror. As it bounced off the side of my car, hair and deer poo exploded along the side of my car. It bounced into the opposite lane just in time for a minivan to nail it. Following the mini van was a huge old Ford F150 pickup truck. It drove over the deer with both axles before skidding to a halt. The next few cars in the line were able to swerve around the deer and go on their merry way. By that point I had pulled over and was watching this spectacle unfold with horror. I had never seen an animal (short of bunnies and moles that our dogs and cats caught) die before.
As the F150 came to a stop, 5 rednecks piles out. They took one look at me, on the verge of tears, and yelled across the highway “You want that!?” “What?!” I shouted back shakily. “The deer!” I shook my head no, and watched as all 5 of them synchronously grabbed the deer, tossed it in the back of the truck, and drove away. I was left on the side of the highway, with nothing but a small blood stain on the pavement, a dented fender, and deer fur and poop splattered along the side of my car as evidence of incident that I had just taken part in. I got back in my car, and sat there on the side of the highway, fighting back tears for a good 10 minutes, trying to make sense of everything. I eventually decided that I just needed to get home and tell someone about it. So I drove home, and told my mom about the whole ordeal. Then I proceeded to drive that car for another year, with yet another battle scar.