This one might knock them all out of the park.
I love it. Next in Line will definitely be an ongoing thing, but this one will still probably be the best one, which is a good way to start if you ask me.
Anyways, compiled from twitter into a more readable format, here's Name Day.
They no longer feared the hunters this season, but she couldn't stand the way the blacktop river felt beneath her hooves.
They'd traveled north a bit after the humans were gone, seeking somewhere to settle. It was cold.
They'd taken to sheltering in empty houses. She still found it funny when her brother tangled his antlers in light fixtures or bedsheets.
The deer didn't understand why they were the next species in line. In part, they didn't care. They didn't notice themselves growing smarter.
After all, their predators showed no sign of the same progress, but were as brutal and unforgiving as ever. Maybe moreso.
She thought she had a handle on reading the humans' books. Maybe tomorrow while they grazed she'd bring up the topic of naming themselves.
Humans had paved the way. A given, but it was also their fondness for suburbs. The habitat let her species grow exponentially.
Suburbs meant the edge of the woods. Deer thrive on that. If they hadn't vanished so quickly, she'd have said they did it intentionally.
Why had the humans left? DID they leave? Or just disappear? The young doe still hadn't found an answer.
The book was in many houses, and quite thick. The doe didn't like most of it, but one line she loved: "The meek shall inherit the earth."
She pulled another blanket off the bed and onto herself. The herd seemed to like this house. She did too. She felt herself dozing off.
She would never forget that day. Not ever. How could she? It was the day she finally recognized herself.
Humans celebrated birthdays, and since she couldn't remember when she was born, she counted the days since that special moment.
She'd been exploring what the humans called a 'living room,' while her brother and younger sister were out behind the house, nosing around.
She'd seen the strange fabric-covered boxes before and understood they were called 'speakers,' but without power, didn't know what they did.
Serendipity came in the form of her curious siblings. They were fascinated by the motor-looking thing behind the house. What was it?
The brother poked it with a hoof. Weren't these things normally in those metal car things? Why was this one wired to the house?
The younger sister wondered if the house moved like a car. The brother told her not to be silly. How would it move without wheels?
But they were curious. How could they not be? What did it do? They noticed what looked like a cable and a lever. maybe they could start it.
After some nosing and prodding, they thought they had it figured out. The brother would yank the cord, the sister would push down the lever.
The brother yanked, and the sister pushed. The brother let go of the cord, tumbling and locking his antlers in the framework of the porch.
The younger slipped and slammed her snout into the machine, But it worked! It roared to life, and lights blazed inside the house.
In the living room, the young doe jumped in surprise. Noise poured from the speakers, the sound of the jets that the humans used to fly.
And then—and then! A miraculous sort of thing happened. Music. The most beautiful music she'd ever heard.
The spinning black disc beneath the little arm brought to her a world she'd read about, but never felt—the unbridled joy of a good song.
She understood the song was decades old, and probably everywhere, but when she heard the lyrics, she didn't care. It was written for her.
She'd spent a week struggling to find a word that fit her for a name, something that felt like 'her.' It had been fruitless. But now?
As the little black disc spun on, she heard her name for the first time.
Dear Prudence,
Won't you let me see you smile?
