Why did he take that fox from his Mom’s house? Everyone else after the funeral was picking up shit - pens, lamps, pictures and all he could grab was a stuffed fox? That’s what he gets for starting with the bloody mary’s before the funeral then continuing with the margaritas at the wake. He started at the thing, staring back at him on his dresser.
“You are like, so dead,” he whispered to the fox.
“I know,” the fox whispered back causing him to fall out of his bed.
“what the...,” he said to the empty room.
Nothing answered back so he lay back in bed looking at the ceiling, counting the drinks he had during the day. Yep, a little too much in the alcohol category, but since he was a grieving son he could write that one off as a Mulligan for the family.
He looked over at the fox, and sat up again, had it moved? The damn thing seemed to be staring at him, challenging him. “She told me…” he heard whispered across his skin as goosebumps errupted.
“What?” He went over and turned the fox towards the window, “Go and look at everyone else.” He went back to his bed swearing that tomorrow morning he’d be tossing that piece of shit in the dumpster.
He lay again, his mind going to the soft touch of the fur, the soft touch of her skin, how both had that cold underlayer, his hands flexed under the covers, they were still a little sore.
“You did it, everyone knows…” he looked over at the fox.
“Did what? I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me to do,” he pushed the sheets away from his body as he started to sweat, he felt almost like when he was a boyscout and in the shower for the first time - naked, nervous, and knowing that he was being watched.
“I know, I was there…”
He looked back at the fox staring out the window, it was there, standing sentry as he helped her do what she wanted to do for 6 months. It watched as her struggles got weak then her hands went limp. It watched as he arranged the covers back on her, turned off the machines and lightly kissed her on the cheek.
He got up and picked up the fox again, walking to the kitchen. He didn’t realize that he was allergic until his throat started to close and he couldn’t breath. A’int Karma a bitch, he thought as the fox fell to the floor before he did.
The fox watched.
No comments:
Post a Comment