All the pages of As the Deer had been ripped from the binding. Some had been further torn in two, some crumpled into tight balls, some torn into confetti. Some of the tiny pieces floated to the floor, and Rainbow came running, thinking we were going to play a new game. She was quickly disappointed as I could do nothing but stare in shock.Even the cover had been defaced. The back cover had been cut into tiny pieces the size of my fingernail. The letters on the front cover had been scrawled over with a permanent black marker, obliterating the title. The beautiful forest scene in soft greens and golds had ugly, drooling monsters with lolling tongues, nasty eyes, and spiky horns added to it. And from each letter of my name dripped red drops of blood, forming a large puddle at the bottom of the page. At the edge of the puddle lay two dead chickens.I don’t know how long I stared at the destroyed book. Even if the mailbox hadn’t been blown up, my tires slashed, the hens killed, and the note delivered, I’d have felt threatened and incredibly vulnerable by the sheer nastiness of this attack.
