deer hunter, how i became a skinwalker in a world of animal people.

( will revise ) imposter syndrome

The human woke up in the cave, his body aching from the rough ground beneath him. The light of dawn seeped through the entrance, casting faint shadows on the walls. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the grogginess, but something gnawed at him—an unease, as if he'd woken up in a place he barely recognized. He stretched, trying to shake off the stiffness, but the cold air clung to him, making his muscles feel taut and sluggish.

He crawled out from the cave, scanning the area outside. The familiar trees of Crabtree's wilderness loomed around him, but something felt off, like the air was heavier, as if the forest was holding its breath. He crept along the edge of the woods, sticking to the shadows as his eyes honed in on the distant town—Crabtree, or at least, something that resembled it. The buildings were familiar yet skewed, old shops and homes standing like relics of a time he couldn't quite remember clearly. His instincts screamed at him to avoid the main roads.

As he crept closer, darting behind trees, a McDonald's sign caught his eye. It stood tall above a cluster of shops, its neon lights flickering. The sight jarred him—it was something so mundane, yet surreal in this twisted version of Crabtree. His stomach growled, but he shook off the thought, staying low as he crossed an empty street and crouched behind a rusty car. The alleyways ahead were littered with old newspapers, their headlines speaking of war abroad, economic downturns, and rising inflation. He darted to a nearby window of a pizzeria. Through the glass, he could see a family huddled around a small, old TV, the static barely clearing the image of a news anchor reporting on political unrest and supply shortages.

"Have you heard about more job losses at the factory?" a man's voice drifted through an open window of the pizza place. "Everyone's getting laid off left and right. Town's bleeding jobs. We're barely scraping by as it is."

"I don't know how we're gonna make it," another voice joined in. "And now with the talk of moving families into those social housing projects... You know what happens there, right?"

The human lingered outside, the pieces slowly falling into place. This wasn't just some twisted alternate world—it was familiar. Too familiar.

Sneaking around the back of a hardware store, he peeked through a cracked window. A group of old-timers were sitting inside, chatting over coffee. One of them, an elderly man with a weathered face, shook his head.

"I've been here my whole life, and I've never seen it this bad. It's like we're livin' in the Great Depression all over again. Except this time, it's worldwide. Hell, just last week, we had another riot over at the docks."

"And those folks in Europe? Pissed at us for getting involved in their mess. Ain't lookin' good for anyone."

The human moved on, skirting around the back of a blacksmith's shop—something you'd expect in a place like this, only it was out of place now. A relic of the past that coexisted with modern conveniences. Inside, a large man hammered at some gardening tools, sparks flying with each strike. Across the street, an old shoe repair shop had a "Going Out of Business" sign slapped across the door, dust collecting in the display windows.

He crouched behind a bench outside the mall, his eyes drawn to a group of high school girls chatting on the steps.

"Mom says we might have to move if Dad doesn't find work soon," one of them said, her voice tinged with anxiety. "They're talking about applying for food stamps... Maybe even hitting the soup kitchen next week. Can you believe it?"

Another girl shook her head. "My parents too. We're barely scraping by. I overheard them last night, talking about selling the house."

The human backed away, his mind whirling. The town felt like a memory—shattered, disjointed. He knew these streets, the shops, the conversations, but they were warped. Everything was breaking down, like the fabric of his reality was slowly unraveling. He continued down the alley, sticking to the shadows, ears attuned to the whispered conversations around him.