Ramble Day 23: Writing Prompt

A writing prompt I found on the internet that I thought I would try:

"You inherit a typewriter that only writes in metaphors. What story does it try to tell about your current chapter in life?" 

Somewhere in a small forest, where the grass is deep green but too short and the trees too tall to let the sun's warmth in, their branches falling and meeting together to close in on the small mass of forest land, an imaginative, long-legged deer lived. The cinnamon-colored deer with her dreamy eyes longed to see through the knots of dark green that made up her sky, growing tired of the forest she had circled countless times. 

Every day, she would wake up to the greenery of her home that smelled like peonies and daylilies, chasing the scent that led her to her flower friends, with whom she frequently played, petting and pulling on their petals. Besides them, the deer's body was weary from home; the grass no longer hugged her limbs when she ran around, like the weeds once did when she was younger and smaller. The deer could not get used to the constant ticking sound she woke up to every day, either. Every time she tried to measure where the sound was coming from to hunt it down, she would end up in the exact spot she started. 

Worse than anything, though, was that the youthful deer who felt stuck in a body bigger than her home would hear sounds of distress coming from outside the forest, and, occasionally, hopeful voices that seemed to call her from the same direction, somewhere very distant. She would place her hooves outside her strip of forest upon hearing those calls and quickly take them back, feeling the desperation of helping a fellow creature and the paralysing fear of the outside world at the same time. This has become part of deer's routine now, jumping in and out of the borders of her home, and there was nothing that could frustrate her more than the invisible wall she felt was around her forest.