The Lost Fox

Introduction

            He could remember that day very well, he could. He had left them with the story, that fateful story of how he had come to terms with the past. It was impossible for him to do anything other than think of the past; and for this reason, the past chose to haunt him in the wake of its sadness and disturbing truths. Never had it released the poor man from its grasp as he traveled, aimlessly, wandering through the world he saw as the darkness. It followed him and embedded its very being into his cold, stone heart.

            Sore, homeless, cold and hungry. Still Beneth did not lose the sight of hope. He wished not to become one of the damned or disapproving. Still, he would press on through the wastes of the earth, the tall buildings that stood in his way like an ominous ruler ready to strike down on those unworthy ones below. Beneth had never liked the skyscrapers and buildings of the cities anyways.

            The people of the city did not take well to his trespassing of their territory either. They would glare and send dirty looks his way. Often times they would avoid him and take their own to another location for safekeeping as the monster passed by in its rolling abomination, too revolting and disturbing for the human eyes. Beneth, however, did not take a second glance; he would politely nod and say, “How are you, ma’am?” as all gentlemen did as a woman passed by. He would never hear the same question, no matter what he did. It was always with the same look of disappointment, as though he was not worthy to appear in public as an individual of the earth.

            Sometimes Beneth would go to the highest point of a tower, staring awestruck at the sky, lit with the adventurous blinking bulbs from below. Sometimes, even, he would forget that he was trapped to the machine that hauled his worthless body everywhere. Sometimes, if he was lucky, he felt himself rise from the wheelchair to dance among the brightly lit night that shone upon that roof top, the moon partaking in providing spotlight for Beneth’s neatly performed steps on the gravel beneath him, not even a single crunch of pebbles sounding. He would pretend to dance with those he loved most before his time of happiness had completed, and he was back in the cushions of his wheelchair.

            At times it was hard to bear the emotions. It was not unusual for him to find himself at the edge of a building, staring down at the sidewalk, the cars, and people below. All those walking people… It disgusted him to see so many people with the ability to walk. So many filthy, corrupted people. No one could hear him as he screamed atop the buildings. It wasn’t rare to see him writhing in a fiery rage on the edges of the walls, ready to fall and attack the ones below he despised so much, even though he had not met them.

            But most times he would sit and think through the cloudy nights. He would enter a state of absent mindedness, leaving the real world to reminiscence in all its beauty. Staring straight forward, it was these moments he lived to see; it wasn’t just the feeling of weightlessness or spiritual wellness that made him feel as though he was falling, but it was also the wind that blew through his long, grey and white hair blowing away his troubles until they were no more. It was these moments he lived for. They were the only sliver of happiness that was left in his life of crippled disparity.

            The daytime was a living hell for Beneth, ranging from people sending him dirty looks to radicals that would mutter, “What the hell is wrong with his face…?” Some would even tell him to go away and stop scaring the children. But was it ever his fault that his face was scarred from the memories that haunted him now? It wasn’t long before he began to think it was, and before long, he found himself once again dangling at the edge of death on those soul wrenching towers.

            Leaning over the edges, ready to spring to God’s awaiting arms, Beneth would wait for the wind. The wind was what always helped him, made him sit back down in his chair, and enjoy the sights of the well lit sky. Sometimes, when the lights were dim enough and the clouds had retreated to other parts of the world, Beneth could marvel at the sight of various stars and even the large, bright moon that lit up the earth. For the first time in what could be months, Beneath could see the world for what it really was under the safety of the moonlight instead of the artificial lights of the street and buildings that lit only what it wanted to light. To Beneth, it was a whole new experience to see the white reflections of the sky bouncing off the cars opposed to the yellow reflections of the day. Again, the feeling of weightlessness, and again, the feeling of happiness veiled him and showered him with love and understanding. Again, the image of dancing along the edges of the stone bricks that separated death from life flooded his mind. Everything was bliss, everything was peace. Once more he could see his love that danced along with him. Her smiling face, her beautiful dress, her natural, flowing hair swaying, laughing with him on the crumbling and cracked sides of that skyscraper. The feeling of holding her in his arms, safe and alive, blood flowing in those once blue, cold cheeks…

            And then he would awake, slumped over in his wheelchair, reduced to a bumbling, sobbing heap of his former self. Then, when the water had stopped flooding his eyes and had dried as stains upon his bearded face, he would turn and wheel himself from the tower top, as though nothing had ever taken place that night before.

            During the day, he encountered those who walked along the same path as himself. He was not entirely alone in his journey through an isolated life, as the population of the homeless greeted him with happy but closed arms. Had Beneth been shaking in the cold of night, they would have wrapped him in the warmest of their blankets. Most of the homeless that lived on the streets came to welcome Beneth as another member of their close-handed community, however they attempted to stay far from him. It did not change how Beneth felt. Some of those men and women did not deserve their legs, he would think. Some of them do not deserve to roam the streets freely.

            It was one of these cold but sunny days that Beneth had been out, rolling on the streets of the big city. He did not know which city – he only knew that it was one with lots of buildings to think upon. Wheeling himself through the slums and boxes of the forgotten and shelter-lacking people, Beneth examined each of their homes with a keen eye. Tin, cardboard, wood… Each home was pathetic in its own unique way. He shook his head sadly in the presence of such poverty that the people of the city lacked to see. Instead of taking his place among these homes, he traveled as far as he could from these people, arriving at a large, fenced in area.

            When inside, he stopped wheeling and turned his chair so he faced the road. It was empty, as was the fenced area. He sat still enough for a bird to land on him and nest in the rags of hair on his head. The air was cold and silent, and the wind did not blow.

            The hours lagged by as he stared forward at nothing, thinking of the past. Many people passed by, and many people left and did not mind. Many did not think twice of what he was doing, and nobody questioned why. None but a single child, as poor as the earth, stopped and stared at the magnificent display that Beneth showed to no one.

            It had been the first time ever that someone had dared to step foot inside the fenced in area. Beneth’s concentration was immediately broken as the boy’s foot hit the concrete, and he looked down with a questioning look. The boy stared at the old man for a long time before stepping completely inside the lot.

            “Hello, sir,” the boy mumbled. It had been the first time Beneth had heard another’s innocent voice for years. “But… what are you doing in here?”

            Beneth was at a loss of what to say. It was difficult for him to think of anything to utter at any moment unless he was enraged. Instead, he muttered, “I am thinking.”

            The child’s curiosity proved itself and the boy waddled a few more feet into the fenced area. “What are you thinking about?” he asked, fiddling with his tattered green shirt and dirty, faded, felt pants.

            Beneth looked to the left and to the right. “Where are your parents?” he asked in a dry tone.

            The boy shook his head. Beneth grunted in understanding.

            “My parents don’ left me, sir,” the boy said under his breath. “I ain’t got anywhere to go…”

            Beneth looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. “You don’t belong here, boy,” he mumbled. “There’s too many bad people down here.”

            The child hesitated before saying, “I… um… I heard that you tell stories sometimes.”

            Almost startled, Beneth snapped his head down to look past the child. “You heard what?”

            “That you tell stories, sir.”

            Beneth was silent for some time. “I do, sometimes,” he mumbled, wiping his brow. “Why do you ask such silly questions, boy?”

            Suddenly comfortable and completely confident, the boy sat down in front of the chair-ridden man. He scooted some before patting down his shirt and pants, settling in as though he were going to sleep. Beneth watched the boy in silence before finally leaning forward on the stubs of his legs.

            “Which story do you want to hear?”

            “Tell me the one about the boy and the girl that fell in love and got in an accident.”