text: No one appreciates the little things. Everyday cars drive by the lifeless bodies of racoons, cats, dogs, possums, and anything else unfortunate enough to experience the harsh reality of rubber and asphalt. The driver just assumes that these things work themselves out, and some manner of scavenger, road worker, or something else not worth the thought takes care of it. They'll never understand her labor. The collector has lived in the woods beyond this stretch of highway since before the pavement came. At night she creeps out from her humble workshop and looks for the forgotten critters. Sometimes it can be difficult. Heavy vehicles create a "pop" effect that leave next to nothing salvageable aside from a tail or skull. The best outcome is a simple side strike which normally leaves the pelt in pristine condition. She gathers every carcass, regardless of condition, and brings it back to her abode. Whatever can't be used traditionally is tossed into a composter and used for her garden, her single tribute to the living world. Whatever could be used, however, was used with honor. Bones formed miniature chandeliers, muscles and tendons were dried into fibrous strings and tethers which were used to stitch skin into itself, forming bags, hats, and anything else that leather could substitute. Her larger projects ranged from skeletal mosaics to reddish-brown self portraits. During these projects she would get excited and double the ground covered on nightly scavenger hunts. However, when traffic was a little too light for her demand, she would improvise. The collector loved these animals. Life was cruel and meaningless for a forest ecosystem damned by transportation, why not save a few from such a useless death? In the tree-line, she baited snares with whatever compost smelled the most foul. Using an improvised stone and rope system employed for automated fishing, as an animal tripped the line it would be grabbed, hoisted, and slung into a nearby tree. The strike was fast enough to elicit the same fatality as that of a vehicular side swipe and only rarely did death require further motivation. She always made sure to place the traps within a few hundred feet of the road, therefore the odds of death were high regardless. After all, what seems more fitting, a distracted driver mindlessly killing an animal or a caring soul saving them for something greater? Besides, it wasn't like anyone would notice. The drivers paid no mind to the seemingly homeless woman walking the road at night and their radio combined with her bicycle reflectors kept them from thinking too hard about what was in her bag. She keeps supreme confidence that while others may feel disgusted by her work, the contributing creatures would certainly be proud of it. Even if they will never know it, those that live nearby and use the road shouldn't concern themselves with lost pets or dug-up graves. After all, if they buried their companion in the woods or let it get that close to the road, do they really care? The streets stay clean and she stays busy. Whatever beast is forgotten or misplaced should be left as such, all payment for the collector.