Chapter Text
A small mobian fox sat in front of a door.
He’d been trying to get it open for the longest time.
Instincts took over first, telling him that if he wanted the door’s attention he should cry at it. So, he whimpered. When whimpers didn’t work he tried yipping.
No good. The door didn’t budge. Perhaps it couldn’t hear him.
Next came scratching. If the door couldn’t hear him, he’d need to get it to notice him another way. Touching for attention worked great. He knew because whenever the others didn’t react to cries, prodding at their legs always got them to look down.
The others had left through this door, that’s why he needed to get it open.
There were two others. Both often went in and out of this door but when one left, one would always stay. Neither of them were here currently though which was odd. Also, whenever one would go out they’d be back before darkness overcame the sky, but the darkness had come and gone many times without either of the others returning which was even odder.
The fox needed to bring them back.
They were just on the other side of the door.
But the door wouldn’t move.
Scratching wasn’t working either.
He wasn’t nearly as stubborn as the door and had to stop when his paws began to hurt. Huffing to himself, he wondered what to try next. The others had opened this door so many times; he’d never imagined it’d be this hard when they’d always made it look so easy.
Well, what did they do when they opened it? The fox craned his head all the way back to look up at the knob. Sunlight from a nearby window made the metal gleam a beckoning beacon as if to answer his question.
That’s right! They always touched that part first when opening the door!
Gripping at trim with slightly numbed fingers, he pulled himself into a wobbly stand. Leaning on the wall for support, he stretched his arms as high as possible but couldn’t reach his goal. Dangerously, he chose to teeter onto the tips of his toes and got closer but to no avail. The little fox was just too little.
Falling onto his backside with an ‘oof’, he pouted grumpily for a second before getting up to try again.
Fine! If the door wanted to be that way, then two could play at that game! Slowly crawling up again and back onto his tippy-toes, his twin tails started to twist around each other. They spun harder and faster without getting tangled until he wasn’t on his tippy-toes anymore. He wasn’t on the ground at all.
Outstretched fingers just barely grazed the handle before he was back on the floor. The fall this time hurt quite a bit more than the last, but he’d done it! He had beat the door, touched the knob, and now he’d get to be with the others again!
But the door didn’t open. The fox was still alone.
Staring in disbelief, tears of frustration made their way down his face. It wasn’t fair! He’d done everything right! It didn’t make sense!
His fit lasted until the golden gleam of the doorknob that had once held all the answers faded with the sunset into a mocking orange. All that crying had made him thirsty and with one last wet sniff towards the door, he resigned himself to another night alone, turning away to do something else.
Crawling on hands and knees, he shuffled to the bathroom. Crossing the rooms’ boundary, his tails thwacked at the new door crabbily as if this one had been the true offender that brought about his bad mood. Luckily, when the others had gone out, they’d left nearly every door in the house open.
The baby fox had plenty of different places he could go even if going outside, the one place he wanted to go, wasn’t an option yet.
That’s right, wasn’t an option yet. He had no intention of giving up. The door had won today but that just meant he'd be back to try again tomorrow. By then there would be new ideas to try, he’d have more energy for different attempts, and the light of day to work with.
As long as he kept trying, that door was going to have to give in eventually!
For now, he slid into the tub and faced the three handles it had.
After the first night of being alone, he had a lot more freedom to explore the house and all its mysteries. This place was one of his discoveries.
When he thought of water, he used to think of sinks. It’s where the others used to pull from to get him something to drink and the place they would set him in when he needed to be washed. The unfortunate part about sinks is that he couldn’t reach them. Not even his twisty-tail-trick that’d got him to the doorknob could get him up that high.
This place had water like the sinks but wasn’t so impossible to get to.
Turning the left handle would make the faucet spit hot water. The hot water could be good to have for bathing, but he’d never considered such things before. It didn’t taste good so he left it mostly untouched. Turning the right handle brought cold water. Much more refreshing and currently his only source of the all-important beverage.
There was also one handle that he eyed warily. The middle handle didn’t do anything on its own, but when turned with one of the other two, it started the shower. Long story short, it had made for a very shocking learning experience back when he was experimenting for the first time.
He twisted the right handle and stuck his snout under the stream until he was satisfied before turning it back off. Though he didn’t understand why the water shouldn’t run if he wasn’t using it, it’s how the others had done it so he’d do it too.
Climbing back out of the tub and working towards the kitchen, a trail of water drops was left in his wake.
He paid no mind as he sat down in front of the pantry. There were shelves of food stacked high above his head, yet only the bottom two were accessible from his spot on the floor.
That was fine. There was plenty of stuff on the bottom shelves.
How much of it he could actually munch on was still up to question, but the fox wasn’t worried because he was sure he’d get the door open before the food ran out.
The things he’d found that could be eaten on the bottom shelves came from a bag of rice, a sack of potatoes, and a small crate of onions. None of them tasted all that great: The uncooked rice was the easiest to eat but painful to swallow, the potatoes were tough and starchy which made it take a long process of licking and biting before he could get anything out of them, and while the onions were softer to bite and easy on his throat, they tasted bitter which made him avoid them most of the time.
Having no patience for potatoes and not feeling up to the task of stomaching the onions, he sat in front of the rice. All the door experiments had taken the wind from his sails. Not bothering to try and scoop out bits and pieces with his paws like normal, he planted his face straight into the bag and chewed whatever fell into his mouth. Even when he was done, he continued to sit there with his face buried in the rice.
It was surprisingly comfortable, or maybe he was just sleepy. Feeling himself starting to doze off, he sat up again to resist the urge. Yep, sleepy. Honestly, he could just stay there for the night, but he knew he shouldn’t. The others always had him sleep in a specific room. It was important to do things as they had. When they came back they’d be so happy to see what a good boy he’d been, following all the unspoken rules.
If they saw how good he was, maybe they wouldn’t leave him alone again.
Maybe they’d take him with next time.
He’d never got to go out before. The thought of it was very exciting.
Dreaming about that happening, he dawdled his way to the staircase situated in the short hallway that separated the bathroom from the kitchen. Up the steps and to the right, he entered his final destination for the night.
It was a quaint sized room with very little fanfare. A pair of windows with cute curtains, a large circular rug to hide the cool wood flooring, a dresser of sorts that held nothing of interest, a small chest next to it which carried a variety of soft toys, and in the center of the room stood a lonely wooden crib.
He knew that sleeping in the wooden crib was also one of those important unspoken rules, but it was far too difficult to get in on his own. He’d managed to pull the blanket out through the gaps in its bars, but that was his limit. Making use of the next best thing, he dove into the toy box and nestled inside.
It was plenty comfy so he might as well enjoy it while he could because tomorrow he’d get the door open. Tomorrow the others would be back.
Tomorrow he’d be sleeping in the crib again, snacking on squishy fruits and pudding, drinking sink water from sippy cups, and pulling at pant legs whenever he needed something.
Tomorrow would be better.
He continued to gnaw on the last hunk of potato as he examined the door knob.
The rice had already run out a while back and the remaining onions had started to smell weird. It wasn’t too bad of a situation though.
More recently, he’d realized that using the dining room chairs could help him get to higher places. It was a bit difficult to move them at first but once they were in place he hadn’t needed to move them again.
The first chair was next to the kitchen counter so he could climb up.
From there he had access to the sink, cooking utensils, and the fruit and bread that was stored there. Sadly the fruit and bread smelt even worse than the onions by the time he’d gotten to them. He had tried to eat some anyway which his stomach made sure he deeply regretted for days on end. He knew now that stuff smelling that funny had no business anywhere near his mouth.
He’d had more luck with the higher shelved foods inside the pantry that could now be accessed thanks to chair number two.
Dried noodles, raw beans, and a lovely assortment of colorful jars. The jars had been a highlight to his meals ever since he’d learned how to open them. Savory sauces, pickled vegetables, and sweet jams. It was like a fun surprise because he never knew what kind of flavor he’d be getting. This newer food selection made his days feel brighter.
The last chair was a bit different since it was the one to which his special seat had been attached. While meal times used to be regulated to this spot back when the others were around, the fact he was eating there currently was more happenstance than anything. This final chair was delegated to sitting in front of the door he’d spent weeks trying to get open.
With it, he’d been able to reach the door handle no problem. Now if only opening the door could be that simple.
Unlike his first assumptions, merely touching the knob did not in fact mean the door would open. He’d already tried pushing and pulling the knob in various ways and directions. It felt like it was something he could turn, but no matter which way he twisted the knob would only give a little before stopping dead in its tracks.
Not knowing what he could be doing wrong, tactics changed once he’d taken notice of the small screws that adorned the metallic mechanism.
The baby fox recognized that he’d seen screws before on other furniture and things like the onion crate. Circling around to check them out, he noticed they were all placed in ways that helped hold things together.
He summarized the screws must be holding the knob to the door and that the doorknob was what held the door closed. Remove the screws, the doorknob detaches. With the knob gone, the door would open and it'd be mission accomplished.
Despite his brilliant plan, he wasn’t all that sure how to remove the screws. Poking them in with his fingers didn’t seem to do anything and his little claws weren’t powerful enough to damage the metal like they had to wood.
Thinking of how the chairs had helped him do new things, he remembered that his hands weren’t the only thing at his disposal. Perhaps there was something else in the house that would help broaden his options.
He’d settled on using a knife stolen off the kitchen counter to mess with the crevices ingrained in the screws. It was the only item he’d felt was flat and stiff enough for the job.
A misplaced swivel of the wrist sent the knife sailing out of his grip. He hissed and instinctively suckled the small bloody gash it’d left on his palm.
The salty taste in his mouth slightly relieved a headache he hadn’t known he had.
The fox ignored the subtle signs of his ever growing biological need for protein in favor of gawking at his newest achievement.
When he’d started, the screws on both sides of the knob had a line that went straight up and down with a second line intersecting going perfectly right to left making a ‘+’ shape. The screw he messed with now laid out like an ‘x’.
These tiny pieces of metal could turn!
The fox’s tails waved excitedly; he wanted to know more! He needed to try again!
Looking down at the discarded knife while licking at the wound it gave him, he considered finding a different tool before giving it another go.
Slowly getting down from the chair, he came to eye level with the scarred mess that was the bottom of the door.
The fractured wood was remnant of a previous attempt to hopefully dig through it. He’d spent days on end trying to make a breakthrough and if his doorknob analysis didn’t bear fruit it was the plan he was most likely to turn back to.
In spite of the busy thoughts in his head, his short attention span was disrupted by a minuscule shadow on the ground. The squirming black mass bolted across the floor and made his mind light up in a different kind of excitement than the turning screw had.
Emotion vibrated down into his bones as instinct trumped his judgment. Play! He wanted to play!
An energetic pounce flew him towards the other creature. On closer inspection he was sure of what it was. He'd found a new spider friend.
After the others disappeared, many different creepy crawlers had moved in. There were beetles in the bathroom, moths upstairs, flies in the kitchen, and spiders in the living room.
He liked the spiders, he didn’t like the flies. Noisy, annoying, they always attacked his face in swarms. Flies started popping up around the same time the kitchen started to smell bad. Which happened first though?
Did the stink bring the flies or did the flies bring the stink? He may never know.
He’d watched how the polite spiders got rid of the mean flies so that’s why he made sure to be gentle as he scampered around playing.
He would catch the spider only to let it go so he could catch it again. After its fourth release, the spider escaped up the wall to safety while the kit collapsed in breathy giggles.
From his spot on the hardwood, he looked to the windows.
He had once considered using them to escape the house in lieu of the front door. It hadn’t worked out though. All the windows on the first floor had been barricaded by planks of wood from the outside.
All the windows on the second floor were too high to leave through safely. He knew that those planks weren’t always there, but he doesn’t remember when that changed to only being able to see the light streaming through mismatched boards.
The hue and angle of the rays told him there was a good amount of time before the day ended, so he ought to get back to business.
Sitting up, he tottled to his feet.
While he still relied on crawling more, he’d been adventurously testing the waters of walking on two feet like the others used to. If he keeps practicing, he’s sure he’d be a pro by the time they’d meet again.
They’ll be so proud!
He knows they won’t leave him behind again when they see him walk!
His two tails stuck out stiffly as he focused on balancing, starting to leave the living room when he halted upon hearing a strange noise. Turning back around to look for the source, he scanned the room.
The living room also acted as the main entry room to the house. It was a wide and cozy. The most notable feature, besides the front door, was a stone fireplace which the sofa and a couple of arm chairs circumferenced.
Another batch of noise had the foxes' ears perking curiously. It definitely came from the fireplace.
He bobbed his way back over to the sound.
It seemed as though he had some new neighbors besides the bugs.
He hoped they were cool like the spiders, but there was something more important to think about.
This thing (things?) sounded bigger than a bug.
The bugs were so small they could fit through any crook or cranny so it wasn’t a mystery as to how they’d gotten in. But if this was bigger, how did they get in? Could he use the way they got in to get out?
He was burning to know.
Carefully, he stuck his head inside to peer up the chimney. It was pitch black.
Was there really a way out through here? Maybe he misheard where the noise came from.
Still, he felt he should check first. Taking a brave breath, he did something he hadn’t done in what felt like a long time.
“...ewwoh?” a tiny voice echoed up the skyward chasm.
It hadn’t come out quite right. Perhaps he’d need to practice talking again like he was making sure to practice walking. But his point had gotten across as he heard the mysterious chirping again followed by the startled flapping of wings.
Before he knew it, the darkness had fallen down straight onto his head and plumed out into the living room.
A surprised yelp was all he could muster before his body jolted away from the fireplace’s mouth as he hacked and coughed uncontrollably.
He tried to huff, spit and wipe it from his face but soot danced ceaselessly around the room.
Blindly stumbling in retreat, he escaped up the stairs as a sneezing tantrum took over his aggravated lungs.
Skulking into his bedroom, he pushed the door till it was only a sliver open in hopes of dissuading more of the disgusting dusty blackness from following him in.
It was a while before he was breathing semi-properly again.
Reflexive tears that were trying to clean out his eyes had mixed with the soot on his face leaving a sticky muck-like texture, but at least he could see again. Well, kind of see.
His vision was still super blurry and it stung whenever he squinted his eyes open so he left them closed.
There was no way he’d be able to get anything else done like this. He guessed he’d made enough progress for today anyway and decided to go to bed early while taking note of what new information he had.
1. There are small screws on the doorknob that moved, but he’d need to find something that can get enough leverage to twist them without hurting his hands.
2. The bottom shelves of the cabinet were now out of edible items. This meant there was less than half of his food stock left considering he’d already started eating from the top shelves.
3. An escape through the chimney wouldn’t work. It’s too blocked up by soot and he should avoid angering whatever was living in there if he didn’t want to get bombarded with the substance again.
4. He hoped the spiders were okay.
He’d learned a lot today even if it ended on a rough note. Not minding the current mess he was, he curled up into his toy chest with his blanket and waited for the embrace of sleep.
The little fox dreamed a dream that was more like a fading memory.
He was sitting in the kitchen.
There were no flies, no bad smells; in fact he thinks it smelt especially nice that day.
All the chairs were tucked in around the table where they belonged instead of being strategically strewn about the house.
Sunshine warmed the room nicely from the window by the sink without being dispersed by nailed-in boards.
Currently strapped into his special baby chair, a serving of fresh apple sauce rested in front of him with a bottle of powdered milk.
But he didn’t pay any mind to the treats he’d missed because one of the others was there.
A woman. She had her back turned to him as she stood by the stove tending to breakfast in a hot pan.
His heart ached as he reached out to her. The infant cooed and made soft barks asking for her attention, to please turn around, but she remained undeterred in her task.
He pouted silently. He was being ignored again.
It wasn’t long before a heavy set of footsteps strode down the stairs. He turned his head just in time to catch the torso of a man as it swept by into the closest seat.
The baby babbled at him too but was walled out as the man quickly opened the day’s newspaper in a way that blocked his son from view.
That’s fine. He liked looking at the outside of the paper anyway.
They sat like this every morning when the sun came up.
That assured repetition had led the little fox to create a game.
Like clockwork, once the woman set the meal on the table, the two would greet each other and then the man would read out what his paper had said.
The small scribbles were too hard for the pup, but the bold headlines were easy to see. After so many examples of hearing the man pronounce what the shapes sounded like, it wasn’t hard for him to figure out the pattern.
While he might not know the meaning behind the sounds and their corresponding letters, that didn’t matter for his game; he just had to guess what the words would sound like before breakfast was served.
He leaned closer and concentrated-
‘M-e-c-h-a T-e-r-r-o-r T-a-k-e-o-v-e-r S-w-a-l-l-”
“Good morning, dear.”
“Good Morning.”
Ah phooey! He lost again. He hadn’t won even once yet but was getting closer each time!
As the woman transferred plates to the table, the little fox recalled the idea he’d had back in that moment.
He theorized that the reason he was ignored was because he didn’t talk like them so they couldn’t understand what he wanted. If he learned to be a part of the conversation, then everyone would be happy.
Wanting to start that new project as soon as possible, he knew he’d have to act before the man began to ramble about the newspaper. Once he began, the man wouldn’t stop and after breakfast they’d only spare him a minimal amount of time until he was abandoned in his crib for the night.
“goo-mahnan” he slurred out.
It was a mere sloppy imitation, parroting what they had said last, but the fox thought it was a good start. After all, they finally looked at him!
Sadly, even in memory, their faces had gone foggy to his mind.
What did they look like again? What kind of facial expressions did they have in that moment?
Such truths had been lost to the void, but the memory faithfully continued on course regardless.
A beat of tense silence before plates slipped from the woman’s grasp and crashed to the floor, ruining breakfast.
But this time the plates didn’t make a clashing sound, they collided with a-
BANG!!!
The fox kit was flung awake as the entire house rattled with deafening noise!
His breath turned fast and shaky while he whimpered out to the storm. Rain bustled relentlessly against the roof as another strike lit the room.
Spring had brought about thunderstorms that started to rage more and more often.
Trembling from the sound, he sat up and tried to relax his breathing. Sure it was unpleasant, but no matter how loud it got nothing actually scary happened.
This was manageable.
The reassurances calmed him enough to analyze his surroundings.
Besides the occasional clash of lightning, the room was draped in the shadows of night. If anything, the sudden bursts of light made it harder to see by interfering with his night vision. Standing up, he waddled over to the long window drapes and pulled them shut.
He hadn’t been sleeping in his bedroom.
The room with the crib was stationed right above the kitchen which had begun to reek so awfully that its stink penetrated any adjacent room with pure stench. He couldn’t breathe in the kitchen without gagging and he couldn’t sleep in the room over it without wishing he had no nose.
The living room was still full of soot and the bathroom was too close to the kitchen.
His room wasn’t the only room on the second floor though; there were two options.
The first was the master bedroom, it was where the others used to sleep.
Ever since the chimney incident, the fox hadn’t yet thought of how he needed to take a bath. Hence, traces of soot still clung dully to his fur, everything he touched was marked, and the entire house had his little paw prints trailing throughout.
The master bedroom was the others’ special place.
He wasn’t allowed in there.
If he went in now, they were sure to be livid with how dirty he’d made it when they were back.
So, there was one option.
Right across from the master bedroom was the study. It had a giant desk, a cushy leather chair, and thick books lining the walls in ceiling-high shelves.
He had transferred his army of soot stained plush toys and blanket onto the desk chair where he’d been peacefully curled up before.
Another thunderous crack mockingly told him that he wouldn’t be making it back to dreamland anytime soon.
He rubbed his paw pads soothingly over the embroidery of his blanket, wondering what to do.
When his stomach twinged painfully, his gaze drifted towards the corner of the room.
His sleeping set up wasn’t the only thing he’d relocated. What remained of his food supplies had been saved from the kitchen and dragged into the study as well.
Two boxes of macaroni, 3 handfuls of beans, one glass jar of pasta sauce, and an unopened container of peanut butter.
There wasn’t much left so he’d started trying to be conservative when his progress with the door had slowed.
He was still trying to undo the screws on the door knob but hadn’t found anything suitable enough to turn them with.
A flurry of forks, knives, spoons, toothbrushes, spatulas, pens, and other things littered the entryway where he’d discarded them upon failed attempts.
The poor screws had been so abused that the original shape of the indents were being lost among newer slashes.
Acknowledging that he was in a tough situation, he kept experimenting with other ideas too. None of them showed results so on days when he couldn’t think of anything to try, he’d continue working on digging through the door.
A splintered crevice about half an inch deep had formed from his efforts which was impressive but overall inconsequential. The front door was heavy, solid oak. Even with how far he’d made it into crafting the supposed tunnel, he wasn’t a fourth of the way through.
He turned away from the food corner.
If he kept delving into his stash willy-nilly whenever he was hungry, he’d definitely regret it later.
Eating was for the morning so he could focus on working.
He wasn’t working so he shouldn’t eat.
Considering for a moment on whether to look for some moths to play with, he decided he wasn’t in the mood.
Slinking over to one of the towering bookshelves, the fox plopped down next to his own collection of cardboard baby books. Selectively choosing one, he began to practice reading out loud while gently tracing the large letters with his fingers.
His sense of desperation to find the others had faded into the back of his mind as the things he could remember about them mercilessly slipped away the longer they were apart.
Occurrences like his dream from earlier used to light him with determination. He’d try his best each and every day grasping at any straws he could to see them again.
Yet now, all that remained was a silent wistful feeling, a sense of loss and melancholy.
He couldn’t understand why though.
It was as though a part of his mind had already acknowledged something that the rest of him couldn’t understand. Directionless grief hung heavy in his chest as he tried to remember the last time he’d actually seen the others. Not in dreams or in the scenarios imagined up to quell lonesome days.
The real, living others.
The man had left first. On a dark night just like this, it happened so suddenly that the little fox was left with no idea as to why.
The woman stayed around longer. She’d left him alone at the house a few times after the man disappeared but always came back.
He couldn’t tell what was so different from those times to the time she left for good. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. There was something that stood out that day.
He’d been sitting on the living room carpet, examining the exact same book he was flipping through now.
The times he would only read letters without understanding the words were days of the past. The cub had been putting forward his best effort in linking words to their meanings and these chunky books had been of great help in connecting some of the simpler things together.
Clattering came from upstairs as the woman marched between rooms, not bothering to close any of the doors as she went about picking up different items. All the things she collected were being neatly crammed inside a leather case.
She didn’t seem to be in a huge rush, but stomped across the floorboards like she was on a mission.
The fox hadn’t gotten very far into the new book yet. It was about family and different kinds of relatives.
He wouldn’t really be able to decode most of it due to his lack of experience with other hypothetical family members, but he could tell what this first part was saying.
Three different figures adorned the page. A man, a woman, and a small character that was labeled ‘Baby’.
The similarities between the trio and reality clicked instantly.
He was Baby.
If he was baby then the woman must be-
He wanted to check first to make sure he’d gotten it right.
A shadow loomed over into the patch of sun that had been lighting his spot. Glancing up, the woman had already placed her suitcase by the door and was now at his side.
“mahma?” baby asked. She responded by leaning down and cradling his face in her hands.
He must have gotten it right! She’d never touched him in such a way before. It felt nice. Her hands were soft and warm even through the gloves she wore. He gleefully returned the favor.
“mahma!” he purred giddily as he lifted his own paws to clumsily place them on her face. His lack of coordination made them land on the side of her mouth and chin respectively, but it was the thought that counts.
Then, she was gone.
Taking her case, she walked out the front door and closed it behind her.
He wasn’t worried though, she’d come back. She always came back and he was a good boy, so he would be patient.
If he kept learning, then she’d caress him again. His tails danced blissfully, happy to keep pushing his limits and looking forward to talking to her more!
She would come back soon, and tomorrow would be even better.
The food was gone.
He’d tried his best to preserve the last of the peanut butter; taking smaller and smaller doses just to avoid admitting that there was nothing left, but now, the food was gone.
The small tub had been licked so clean that not even the ghost of its sweet scent remained.
Spiraling in a cycle of hindsight, he cursed his choices that had led to this.
If he had thought of using the chairs to access the counter sooner, the fruit and bread would still have been edible.
If he wasn’t so picky and stopped avoiding the onions before they went rotten, he’d still have some of the food with longer shelf lives now.
If he had controlled his portions from the beginning then food running short wouldn’t have been a problem for another month.
But there was nothing he could do about any of that.
His stomach ate a hole into itself convincing him that he’d need to expand his horizons on what classified as ‘food’. Making a list of qualifications, he narrowed down his choices.
1. Something he could swallow without choking. It was the bare minimum rule that if he wanted to eat something, it had to make it to his stomach.
2. Eating it shouldn’t make him sick. It had happened a few times already where the wrong thing would push back days of work while he laid in agony.
3. It’d be good if there was a significant amount. Maybe eating something like toothpaste would keep him alive for another day, but longer term solutions would be better.
There was only one thing he could think of that would work.
It’d been four days now since the real food ran out. He added another complaint to things he should have done.
Back when he had the sauces, he could have spread them out to make them last longer by using them as dip instead of eating them straight.
If he’d done that, then at least the paper he ate now wouldn’t taste so bland.
Ripping another page of the book he’d grabbed from the study, the fox nibbled on the corner. Once he’d chosen to dine from the hardbacks he’d learned early on that hungrily shoving the entire page into his mouth would only result in it congealing into a firm, unswallowable clump. So, he patiently nibbled in spite of his body’s pleas for more.
After eating paper for the last few days, he wouldn’t say it made him feel sick, but he certainly didn’t feel any good.
He'd become lethargic, sleeping in longer than he’d like without the satisfaction of being well rested afterwards. Even his head was in a dry spell which he made excuses for to no one in particular. Maybe he had no new ideas because he’d just already thought of everything.
Due to this mind-drought, he spent most of his time half heartedly digging deeper into the door while zoned out.
Despite sitting there for hours on end, he’d hardly made any progress. The only thing that changed was now a fresh coat of red streaks adorned the door too.
As for the doorknob plan, he had hit a dead end; searched every nook and cranny of every room for items. He’d even made attempts with unconventional objects and things he didn’t think would work just to say he tried them.
At his breaking point, it was time to cross a line he had previously never been willing to.
The master bedroom.
He didn’t want to be bad. He really didn’t. Despite moving, using, and ruining the rest of the house, he had left their room alone just like they’d have wanted him too.
But this wasn’t about being good or bad anymore. He needed to go in. Out of respect though, he’d try not to disturb too many things if it could be helped.
Standing antsily in front of the barely ajar door, he sucked on his injured fingers.
It was becoming a bad habit, but the metallic taste of the blood always helped clear his mind with the nutrients paper couldn’t supply.
Feeling sharp again, he took a deep breath. No more stalling. It was time.
Pensive, the door creaked open as he gently nudged it wider.
It was dusty.
Extremely dusty.
He wondered if the others would even be able to chastise him for making it dirty when this was the state he’d found it in.
After living in soot, he was wary that entering this room would disturb the dust and then the dust would disturb him.
Turning around, he went to grab his blanket from the study and used it to cover up his face.
Now protected, he wandered into unfamiliar territory. Not knowing what he was looking for, he carefully examined everything, trying to think of how he could use them to help his situation in any way.
A bed with yellowing sheets up against one wall, a built-in wardrobe with sliding panel doors across from it, a tall mirror, a dead plant next to the window, a stand that held shoes;
No matter where he looked, it felt as though he already had similar items which made any possible aids in here redundant. He did fancy a belt he found in the closet though.
It wasn’t until he searched under their bed that he uncovered something game changing.
There he spotted a metallic chest. It was about half his size but extremely heavy.
Struggling to pull it out, the box dragged painfully across the floor into freedom. Unlatching the top, the chest was full of gizmos he couldn’t recognize but one thing stood out to him the second he saw it.
A thin metal rod with a bright red plastic handle on one end. On the other, the metal had been pinched into a shape so familiar it’d been burned into his retinas.
He felt his heart stop as he hesitantly took it into his hands.
Holding it so softly as though it could disappear and then gripping it deathly tight to make sure it wouldn’t.
Its pointed end shaped into a ‘+’ which when turned to the side looked like an ‘x’.
Bolting out of the room with the phillips-head screwdriver in hand, he half haphazardly skidded into the hallway wall.
Not bothering to take the stairs properly, his tails spun to quickly glide him over the steps and onto the main floor.
Blanket still wrapped around his head, his mad dash kicked up a storm of soot in the living room as he ran over it.
Through his tunnel vision, he wasn’t able to slow down in time before he body slammed into the front door.
Blind to the pain in his shoulder from the crash, he shakily fiddled the screwdriver in his hands, testing out how he needed to hold it.
Lining up the screwdriver’s tip onto the screw, he felt it subtly click into the grooves.
Giving it a hasty turn, the two puzzle pieces slipped from their alignment. So he tried again. And again. And again. And again.
It wasn’t working.
NO! No No No No No!!
He wanted to throw the screwdriver across the room! He wanted to kick and pound at the stupid door!
But he knew why it wasn’t working. It wasn’t the screwdriver’s fault. It wasn’t the door’s fault either.
It was his.
All of his different attempts to move the screws with the wrong items over countless days had stripped the screws' heads. The once perfect ‘+’ indents had worn away from his botched methods.
The screwdriver couldn’t work because the spot it was meant to fit into wasn’t there anymore.
The kit’s head rested against the door with a thud as he slid to his knees.
He noted how oddly silent it was today.
He couldn’t hear the flies humming in the kitchen or the chimney creatures chirping.
All there was in that empty house was the sound of restrained hiccups as he tried to resist his disappointment.
If he hadn’t blindly flailed at the screws, they’d still be working right now.
If he hadn’t been so stubborn in imagining that he could please people who weren’t even here anymore, he’d have found the screwdriver weeks ago.
Finally pulling his blanket from around his head, it slid off him as he thought-
What now?
…….
He needed a drink of water to cool his head.
Screwdriver still loosely in his grip, he stumbled his way to the bathroom and plopped down in the tub.
Turning the right tap as always, cold water snuck out and down into the drain. He dipped his head into it for a long drink before giving in to his need to breathe.
He wasn’t thirsty anymore, but he didn’t want to go back out yet. In place of the misery he’d wanted to escape, an overwhelming numbness had taken hold.
Despite knowing he needed to keep moving, he didn’t really want to.
He couldn’t just stay in the bathroom forever yet the numbness held him in place.
He pinched the old wounds on his fingers in his mouth, breaking open the barely healed skin to try and snap out of the funk he was in, but it didn’t help him out of the fog this time.
Dully, he thought a jolt to his system would help. The sound of lightning and thunder always made his heart race, but there was no such thing to startle him right now.
Looking in front of him, he realized that wasn’t necessarily true.
Way back when he first found the bathtub, the sudden shower he’d gotten by accidentally turning the wrong valve really gave him a spook.
Maybe it wouldn’t work so well this time because he knew what was coming, but it was worth a shot.
He shifted his hand to the middle handle and gave it a twist.
Ice poured into his skin as the shower rained across his fur. Despite wishing this upon himself, he stiffened drastically as goosebumps plagued his frame.
Well, he certainly was awake now! It felt like someone had stuck a popsicle right into his brain.
Despite his discomfort, he stayed under the spray until growing used to its chill.
Thoroughly drenched and plenty conscious, he turned off the shower before running his hands across his face to push the drooping fur out of his eyes.
He hadn’t intended to wash properly so he wasn’t really clean, just really wet. That kind-of-clean state didn't stick around for long either though as he swamped back out to the living room where the chimney soot didn’t hesitate to cling to his moppy appearance once more.
Grabbing an already half eaten page, he sat down in front of the door a few paces back.
Nibbling, he tried to look at his current problem as its whole.
The doorknob was only one part of the door.
Sure, he’d tried other things, but he’d always felt that the doorknob was ‘Plan A’ because that’s what the others had used.
Now, the doorknob strategy wouldn’t work. It was locked, it wasn’t coming off, and it was going to stay that way.
Suddenly, realization struck. When he took his first shower mere minutes ago, he'd forgotten about the left handle that made the water come out hot.
He had completely ignored a significant function of the shower because he was so used to only turning on the cold water to drink.
Like turning his attention from the right tap to the left, he turned his head away from the knob to the other side of the door.
The hinges. Three of them lined up the wall and from previous inspections he concluded they not only allowed for the door to swing ajar, but also held it to the building.
If he couldn’t open the door, why not just remove it completely?
It wasn’t that he’d never tried messing with the hinges before, but the thick pins that held them together were much tougher to deal with than loosening the doorknob.
He listed the reasons again in his head as to why he’d given up on that method-
1. The pins wouldn’t budge when he tested pulling them by hand and nothing he’d had was sturdy or slim enough to help.
2. There were three hinges. The first he could reach on the floor, no problem. The second was a bit higher up, but using a chair bridged that gap. The issue was the last hinge. It was close to the top of the door and while he’d been getting better at flying with his tails, he could only hover for a few seconds at a time which wouldn’t be long enough to tamper with anything.
3. Well, there wasn’t really a third reason. He guessed that, at the time, he was so smitten with the doorknob idea that he’d dismissed the hinges pretty early on.
However, he had something now that he didn’t have back then.
Looking down at the screwdriver he had yet to let go of, he thought of the metal chest back in the master bedroom and all its peculiar contents. It’s where he’d found the screwdriver that was made to be used on things like the door.
Before, he’d only had whatever random objects he could find around the house to work with; now he had a kit of specialized tools.
He just had to learn how to use them.
TING! TING! TING!
A metallic noise rang evenly.
TING! TING! TING!
The entryway was an absolute pigsty. The rest of the abode looked barren in comparison due to nearly every item the house owned having found its way into stacks piling high against the front wall. A section of the items had been cleared away to make a spot where the assortment of official tools could lay without being swallowed by the clutter. They’d all been carried down by hand as the metal box they came in was too heavy to get downstairs. Spread out in side by side rows, the fox kept them organized so he never lost any on accident.
TING! TING! TING!
The special baby seat that used to be strapped to the chair in front of the door had been removed and set to the side. In its place, a spiraling stack of thick books had been brought from the study. The largest and widest of them sat as the base with the stack slowly transferring into slimmer books the higher it went.
TING! TING! TING!
Adorning the top was the little fox looking worse for wear. Fur clumped awkwardly, tails hung limp, ears drooping forward, and a frame so skinny that a concaving stomach betrayed his other child-like features. Rough paws littered with thin scars trembled in defiance against his best efforts to keep them steady. In spite of all the trouble he’d endured, his weakened state didn’t cloud his eyes. Strong and unwavering, they stayed locked to the subject in front of him.
TING! TING! TING!
A hammer in one hand, a flat-head screwdriver in the other; they were positioned carefully so hitting the end of the screwdriver with the hammer caused a chain reaction to inch the door hinge pin up further. This kind of task required someone far stronger than a sickly pup, but he supplemented that strength with copious time. Two of the three pins laid already defeated on the floor. This last one proved more challenging as the door twisted from lack of support and gripped the top pin even tighter. It had taken a decent amount of experimentation to prop the door back, ending with items wedged at all different kinds of angles underneath to hold it up.
TING! TING! TING! - CLACK!
It barely registered in his head when the pin popped out and fell to the floor. Looking down impassively from his perch, he could see it bounce and roll, quickly hiding amongst the mess.
Absentmindedly staring at where the pin had vanished, he nearly overlooked the freed door starting to fall inward.
What seemed slow at first soon had the door quickly collapsing to the ground, knocking over his chair and taking the stack of books with it.
Before his mind could properly react, his body did first, tails spinning to keep him airborne as his tower crumpled. Gently lowering to the ground, his eyes stayed locked to the door.
Seeing the other side of the door for the first time, he poked at it with his toes curiously. Made of the same solid wood just as the inside had been, it was comparably more clean but had its own damage too.
The inside of the door had been damaged with scratches, dents, and dirty soot pawprints. The outside had some dents too, but the fox took note of the weathering.
Chipped and faded paint had given way to the sun and rain, but the most interesting part was the way that erosion had formed. The door was segmented by crooked, thick stripes. Lines of protected clean paint clashed against their washed out brethren.
The light caught his attention next.
He had yet to turn around but had an unpleasant feeling brewing in his gut.
Rather than a curtain of late afternoon sun engulfing the room like the upstairs windows, it came in triangular sections and thin streaks. It was comparable to how light entered from the downstairs windows.
Finally allowing himself to look at his achieved prize for endless days of hard work, he couldn't help but wonder where all the feeling in his body went.
His view of freedom was obscured by very familiar looking wooden planks.
Apparently, the ground floor windows weren’t the only areas that had been barricaded.
Realizing his mouth had gone dry, the kit broke away to go get some water, remembering how stepping back for a bit helped last time.
He’d go get a drink, maybe take another shower, and come back with the next plan.
Pulling and scratching at one of his ears distractedly, he went to the bathroom and turned his favorite knob.
Nothing.
Confusion hit him for a second as reached and turned the other two.
Nothing.
Climbing up to the bathroom sink, he twisted both handles inward.
Nothing.
Cautiously, slowly, he soundlessly walked to the kitchen and climbed up onto the counter. Unprepared to face what he already knew was going to happen, he turned the last set.
Nothing.
The water was out.
Yet another storm had crept across the sky. They’d been coming less and less frequently, a sure-end sign to spring.
He reminisced idly on how he always couldn’t wait for the storms to stop only for that prayer to do a complete turnaround.
The raindrops made funny little sounds as they splashed down on metal and porcelain. While there wasn’t enough room for the fox to squish under the barricaded doorway, the gap was tall enough to slip bowls and pans underneath.
There, he sat tending to his rain collecting; pulling in the dishes and emptying what had been caught into a larger pot, then setting them out again to repeat the cycle and ensure he got as much water as possible.
Storms were never a certainty, so he needed to take advantage of them when they came.
He dozed contently with his chin propped up between an opening in the boards, letting his snout stick out the other side. It was a bit cool with the breeze but the fresh air smelt nice.
Fingers toying with the tips of his tails, he tried to stay awake.
The constant pull towards sleep that enveloped him these days could spell disaster if allowed to sweep him away while doing this important task.
Deciding casually that it’d be a good way to distract himself, he chose to address the elephant in the room.
For quite a while now, it felt like someone had been watching him. It wasn’t from the outside though; no, he was fairly alone there. He didn’t mean from inside the house either.
If he were to describe it, the change started small; just a flicker in the back of his head. After a while though he felt a kind of secondhand sadness.
It wasn’t that he was sad, but standing in the same room with someone who was.
Then, given some time, that secondhand being grew distinct. He could feel someone else besides himself looking out of his eyes and thinking with his brain.
He wasn’t all that concerned.
In fact, he felt relieved at the prospect of having someone to talk to. It was just a bit awkward trying to find a way and start a conversation with himself.
Luckily, he already knew some good opening lines-
~Good Morning~ he thought clearly, figuring he didn’t need his voice on this occasion.
-.....- the other stayed silent. He knew that he heard him because they were the same person and he had heard himself… if that made any sense.
~The weather is nice today, huh?~ he tried again. He had been a bit nervous to start the exchange. Perhaps the other him was feeling shy too.
-It’s well past noon and the weather is terrible.- the other answered.
A small burst of energy tingled down his spine. It’d been so long since he was with anyone. This was exciting.
-You're not with anyone. You’re alone.- the voice reminded him, sensing his emotions just as he had the other’s on many occasions.
~Well, you’re here too, aren’t you?~ he chirped back, licking away stray raindrops that landed on his nose.
The other him fell into silence again, not wanting to continue that topic.
He hummed thoughtfully, what else could they talk about?
Leaning back, he looked down at his progress on the current project he had; the barricade wasn’t going to break itself after all.
There were no mechanisms like knobs or hinges to meddle with, so his only option was brute force.
It wasn’t only claw scratches this time, he’d also been chipping at it with the screwdrivers when his digits were too sore to continue. Seeing how little he’d gotten done compared to when he was digging at the door was a bit disheartening.
Not only was it like he had to start all over again from scratch but, with his arms at the weakest they’d ever been, it was taking longer than the first time.
-It’s not going to work.- the other piped up again.
He didn’t see why it wouldn’t though? It would take some time but when compared to fighting the door, this was the better situation.
This wood was softer, not as thick, and he wasn’t trying to make an entire hole; he just needed to break away enough of the bottom so he could shimmy underneath. If he kept consistent with how much he was getting done currently, it’d only take a little over a week; significantly less time than it took to take the door down.
-You don’t have a week.- he spoke somberly.
Why didn’t he have a week?
-.....- the other went silent again. From their shared bond, he could tell that the other meant what they said.
He had less than a week. He wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Following his intuition, he swiveled his head towards the kitchen.
It didn’t smell so bad anymore. Maybe opening the door had let it air out, maybe whatever had been stinking it up was now gone, or maybe the fox had just gotten used to it after living in it for so long.
That wasn’t the only thing that changed about the kitchen.
He could still hear buzzing from the few odd flies left, but most of the epic swarm they’d once been now laid motionless, dotting the floor and counters.
His chest clenched just a bit.
He knew the other him was keeping secrets, he probably had a better memory too.
The pup was sure he could figure everything out if he thought hard enough; they did have the same head after all.
Knowing he could figure out what the other him noticed if he were to pursue it, he stopped to wonder if he wanted to know.
Maybe the other him always sounded so down because what he had learned had made him sad.
Maybe the reason the other him won’t say anything is because they didn’t want him to be sad too.
The thought gave him a fuzzy feeling. He could feel the other mouse away a bit at his conclusion.
They were trying to protect him. Despite sounding so gloomy, the company he had made was kind. The fox smiled happily.
Alright then! If the other him was trying to be nice, then he wouldn’t pry. He trusted that the other would say something if it was important; after all, they were the same person.
BANG!!!
Thunder from the storm erupted the house in light! It had quieted down for a bit only to burst back in full revenge.
That was the loudest it had ever been, making the small fox’s ears fold in pain.
Dazed for a second, he looked forward and realized one of his pans had filled while he was distracted. Gently pulling it inside so as to not spill precious cargo, he poured it into his big pot before sliding it back under the barricade.
Once the ringing in his ears died down, he felt like there was an extra noise now compared to from before the latest thunder crack.
It wasn’t the buzzing of the few remaining flies. It wasn’t the wet sound of rain touching down. It wasn't chirps or flapping from the chimney creatures.
It crackled. What was it? He couldn’t tell if it was something he’d heard before.
-We’ve heard it before.- the other confirmed.
A flash of memory materialized in his mind almost as if the other him had directly handed over a picture. In that image, something bright and colorful danced in the mouth of the living room hearth.
Glancing over to its spot not far away, nothing seemed different. It squatted there looking dark and drab as always, caked in fallen soot.
No color, no brightness.
The crackling noise must be coming from somewhere else.
Checking all his bowls and pans first in case they needed to be swapped out, he moved to stand on his feeble legs to go investigate the crackle.
A few steps away from the door, his legs gave out and sent him to the floor. Trying to untangle himself from his mess of limbs, he excused it as just sitting for too long.
-.....- he could feel his other self staring sadly once again.
Getting to his knees, he figured crawling would be fine. Just this once. He hadn’t crawled in for what felt like forever. What could he say, walking was just that fun.
He checked the living room more thoroughly before moving on.
In spite of his best efforts, there had been a handful of accidents with the chimney creatures throwing soot down. Cushions from the couch were displaced from a time when he believed they would pass as a good mattress substitute. Perhaps that would have been true if only he could clean the grime off of them. No matter how much he’d patted them down, soot had woven into the cotton centers which puffed out angrily whenever the surface was disturbed.
Next was the bathroom.
Although its only useful attribute as a supplier was gone, he had tested the taps daily in case the water came back. Due to the room’s off-white tile, his sooty leftovers had made it a contender as one of the dirtiest looking rooms in the house. The dark gray paw prints gave impressions on all the places he’d stepped, leaving very clear indicators as to how he had maneuvered over the months.
Peeking his head into the kitchen, he was thankful to see that the new noise wasn’t from there.
While the stench had faded, going into the kitchen now required stepping on the grounded flies. Just imagining the feeling between his toes solidified that even from the afterlife the nasty little bugs always found ways to upset him. The last time he had gone in, he had left all the cabinets ajar and bare. While only needing to grab rain collecting supplies back then, he decided to just move everything so he’d never need to brave another trip.
Climbing up the stairway step by step, he checked his crib room to the right.
Dust was starting to gather in the abandoned room. It wasn’t nearly as thick as the master bedroom's, but seeing how it was decaying in a similar way gave him a complicated emotion. Sure, the problem that had once pushed him out of his room was gone, but he never made the effort to move back in. Sad to say, most days he didn’t have the energy to make it up the stairs and just slept on the cool ceramic of the bathtub.
Turning through the upstairs hallway, he heard that the crackling was definitely getting closer.
Ever hesitant about the last room, he checked the study first despite knowing the noise was louder in the adjacent chamber. The drapes hanging closed left the room dark, leaving all his old blackened toys to play hide and seek within the shadows. The once orderly shelves appeared almost broken from how the books now splayed in unbefitting ways; the shambled perfection a reminder of when he was choosing the best pieces to build a stack and reach the final door hinge.
Although he had already stepped into the master bedroom before, he kept his intrusions limited to his first trip inside and a second swing around just to get the tools.
Approaching the door, he couldn’t help but notice smoke slinking out from underneath. Upon pushing it open, a wave of heat, light, and wind hit forcing him to look away.
Mustering the willpower to keep his eyes open, he could see fire that had already engulfed a third of the room was nowhere near as harmless as the stunted flames in his memory.
Embers and smoke swirled aggressively as the all consuming light crept ever forward.
Watching how it swallowed everything in its path, he could sense the danger. It would eat him too if he let it.
Yet, the other him had stepped forward and stolen their shared fear for himself.
Instead of being dragged under by imminent doom, the gears in his head slung to life with the sudden burst of perilous adrenalin.
The roaring blaze didn’t strike fear into his heart, only caution. What he saw in front of him wasn’t an uncontrollable beast of nature, just another tool.
He had an idea.
Finding the strength to get to his feet, he hobbled back downstairs and into the bathroom.
Wasting no time, he took to the shower curtains and used the force of gravity to his advantage to pull the entire thing down. Barely dodging the pole that had been holding it up, he took the rod and spun its adjustable ends to make it shorter and easier to handle.
Leaving the shower curtain behind, he took the pole back upstairs.
Before heading back to the master bedroom, he went to the effort of grabbing his baby blanket and wrapping it around his head again. The smell of smoke had started to bother him, not to mention the dust that still ruled what was left of the master bedroom.
Fire now halfway through the room, the queen sized bed was unsalvageable.
Quickly as possible, he shuffled the closet door open and snagged an old blouse. Tying the shirt around one end of the pole, the improvised torch he had crafted was still missing something. The cloth slid around loosely, daring to fall off even before it had begun its important role.
Searching fast for something to hold it on better, his eyes landed upon the leather belt he had liked. Begrudgingly, he fastened the blouse tighter to the stick with the belt, watching out of the corner of his eye as the fire snuck ever closer.
Steadying his hands, he pushed the clothed end of the shower rod into the heat.
Now picking up speed, the fire owned all but a corner of the master bedroom.
Watching his contraption take hold of some flames, the fox backed out as the fire moved to chase him.
The kit took slow, even steps despite the urgency of his predicament.
Not being fast enough would be bad, but he didn’t want to trip while rushing and let the fire spread even faster. Only once he was past the stairs, did he chance a look back to see how thick the smoke clung to the ceiling.
Trodding over to where he had started, the wary kit stepped around many items that had amassed in his pathway.
Now within reach of his target, he adjusted the pole in his hands before setting the blazing blouse onto the lowest panel of the doorway’s barricade.
Seeing the fire transfer over, he began to pause too deep into his act.
Sure, the fire ate all it touched which meant it made a great asset to take down the barrier, but he hadn’t thought about anything past that point.
There were now three separate fires and he had no plan after achieving his first goal.
He didn’t need to turn around to already know that the biggest of them had nearly taken the top floor.
Seeing the glow of thrown shadows reflect off of his rain water pot, his head cocked in inquiry.
Fire was hot and weighed less than nothing, water was cold and heavy; with the two being opposites, would they cancel each other out?
He hummed hesitantly. Even in this life and death scenario, he was reluctant to do anything that could sabotage his only drinking water.
The scorching heat acted as a constant timer to his decision, temperatures escalating mercilessly.
-It's scary to have nothing to drink, just like it's scary to have nothing to eat- the other him spoke from their shared trauma.
-but if you don’t act now, you’ll never have the chance to eat or drink again.- he encouraged.
The other’s reasoning brought back his conviction to do anything necessary and survive.
Refusing to lose all of it, he shifted his blanket-mask out of the way to dunk his head into the water and take a mouthful for himself.
Appeased with the middle ground he’d found, he plunged the hot end of the pole into the pot afterward. The torch fire hissed and bubbled before swiftly dying. It worked.
Pondering the largest inferno briefly, he knew there was no way to save the house. His pitiful pot would never be up to such a task.
Directing his efforts to the doorway fire, he prodded at the charring wooden board with the opposing end of the metal shower rod to make it break faster. Once he’d deemed it brittle enough, he threw the pole aside and grasped the water pot's handles.
The fox struggled to hold up the liquid’s weight, feeling embers licking at his fur as he tried to lift it high enough. In more of a stumbling motion rather than a tossing one, the water hit its mark.
The floor was soaking wet as he kneeled down to check the latest state of the bottom slab. Still too hot to touch, steaming like a kettle, and not yet broken down but considerably more frail than before he’d lit it on fire.
Not thinking too deeply, he took the pot still in his hands and pounded at the wood with its bottom.
Panting like crazy, he put all the force he could into each swing he took, listening as it splintered away.
Unable to see much from smoke starting to block his view even so close to the ground, he coughed while trying to tough it out.
After a particularly large wind up and blow, something snapped and he was head over heels before he could even tell up from down.
Splayed out, he landed on his back.
Remaining motionless for a good minute, he was left thoughtless because he couldn’t believe what had happened.
Basking under a cold shower, all that came to mind was how squishy mud was and that grass was softer than it had looked.
-Get up! We need to go back in!- the other warned.
Why should they go back in? He was outside! Or, at least he’s pretty sure he was.
The fox had never been outside before, so he wasn’t an expert. That was besides the point.
-The house is still on fire! Anything left inside will get eaten. You’re right. We’ve never been outside before, but we will be for the foreseeable future. Neither of us knows what it will be like and having things we already know how to use can make all the difference!- the other explained as he tried to gather back any energy from the fading sparks of adrenalin.
He was right, it wasn’t time to rest just yet.
Crawling back into the burning building, the kit knew it was going to be a long night.