Freedom I Dreamt Of |15+|

Chapter 2.

Out...

Fundy wanted out again, but Wilbur would be back in a few hours and he was unpredictable when it was darker. He could come in right this moment, or take another seven hours to come and bring Fundy his dinner.

He hated that...

He still had the flower with him, twisting it in his fingers, softly touching the petals. It looked tired...

The head of the flower dropped to one side and the now brownish stem started to crumble into a sticky mush, which smelt horribly and tasted bitter. The fox boy couldn't remember the flowers name, even after looking at it for hours.

He wanted to know it so much, but just couldn't get it. He hated this.

Fundy got up from his bed and walked a little closer to a little bookshelf he had there, willed with kid stories. Wilbur put them there, when Fundy was 8 and complaining of boredom, but never brought new once, which would suit the now almost adult boy.

Looking at the dusty books, Fundy decided, that he would hide the flower inside of one them, so he took a story of a Mouse and a Lion and opened it on some page. He took a last glance at the darkening yellow of the flower and layed it in the book.

When he put the book back, he went to his bed again, dropping on top of it face down. The bed sheets smelled horrible and were dirty. He couldn't even remember, when was the last time he had clean sheets....

Wilbur did always everything. Brought him food three times a day, bring him clean clothes once a week with water to clean with, was his only company...

He heard a lot of people outside. Very often. But never seen them. He knew some of them by voices, such as Niki with a nice high set kind voice, or Tommy, his apparent uncle, with his annoyingly loud one.. He never saw them, tho... And if he did, he didn't remember.

Would they remember? Would they remember, that there was a fox boy, presidents son underneath his house? Or did they forgot? Do they not know anymore?

He sniffled. How long was it since he hadn't seen another human being, except for Wilbur?

It was years.. He knew that much. Not an exact number.

I guess that locked since 6 will duck you up, eh?

He wiped out tears, which started to sink into his fur.

"What are you thinking about?"

Fundy shot up from the bed, looking at Wilbur with wide eyes. He hadn't noticed that he came into the room. He had two little steaming boxes in his arms, with fresh clothing thrown over his shoulder.

"Did you remembers something?"

He looked to the ground, not wanting to talk to Wilbur right now. He had bad feeling that he would get angry at him again..

Wilbur layed the boxes with food on the little table and sat next to Fundy, who held his snout low. He softly touched his furry shoulder, slowly brushing some of the dirt, which clung to him. "You know you can tell me anything.." He said with tired voice.

Fundy took a deep breath and looked at his fathers hands, which were now both  in his lap. They were red, filled with painful blisters and small cuts stuffed with black dirt. Some of his fingers were wrapped in bandages, some had a band aid stuck to them. His face too... lots of small cuts, band aids and his neck was wrapped with bandage hidden behind a scarf.

When he looked into his father's brown tired eyes he looked away. "I want out..." He whispered and his head dropped lower than before.

Wilbur tensed and looked at him. "You know that I will not let you go out." Wilbur said and put his hand on his sons knee. "Do not ask me for that, please." He said, before getting up and dropping the clothes on the table and grabbing the boxes with food. He came closer to Fundy again, pushing one of them to him.

"Eat. It's still warm."

Fundy took the box and listened to Wilbur going up the ladder. No eating together today, I see... He sighed for himself and opened the box. Freshly cooked warm beef with a piece of bread and some beets. Water as a drink.

He sighed, taking a fork and taking a bit of the meet, sticking it into his mouth. He didn't noticed the taste.

It took him a tunnel, made in a spam of probably months to see the sky. Were other kids also held captive like him? He heard about some Michael, or so he thought... was he also held in a basement, not allowed out? Or did his father allowed him out? To play in the snow, collect flowers, bathe in the water up there?

He hoped that Michael could. That his childhood wasn't as dark as his own.

He glanced up, dropping the dirty box, now without any food in it on the table and going to the hole he made. He opened the mouth of it, pushing the dirt onto a pile on the ground, and than crawling inside, soon disappearing in the darkness.

Sometimes, he was happy to be a fox. He knew that Wilbur, as a mostly human himself wasn't able to see in the dark, or smell as good as Fundy, and surely he didn't have whiskers to navigate. He knew that Wilbur would get lost in this tunnel.

14 minutes. He reached out and grabbed into the cold wet grass, looking into the darkness of the night. He took a breath, wiping his mind clear of any bad memories. The fresh air of the woods made him smile a bit.

He got up from the ground, walking a bit away from the tree, where the fox hole was. He thought about going back to the dream and let the cool water clean his hands and feet for a while, but than looked around, feeling like exploring.

He looked to his sides, observing the trees. Than he spun around, glancing at the tree with the fox hole. Behind it was light. A lot of light.

He walked a little bit closer, leaning against the tree and watching the lands of L'Manberg. He couldn't remember for how long did he not seen it from a distance. It definitely had new buildings, a lot of tents and new walls.

Life radiated from it. He could hear soft noises like horses, music and sometimes even people.

It looked beautiful.

He felt a tear fall onto his cheek and slowly run on his whiskers down and than drop to the ground. He wanted to be there, but... outside... Not locked in his fathers basement, he wanted to walk on the little squares, walk into the houses and meet with people, talk to them. He wanted to know the names and faces of the citizens, not only vague voices. He wanted to see them... And them to see him...

He was full on crying now, holding his muzzle shut and muffling sniffles.

I want to be free.. I wish mom was still here and could let me out like always...

I want to be free....

He looked up again, glancing at the walls trough tears. He swallowed a piece of something, what was forming in his throat and closed his eyes, shaking his head.

Fundy slowly slid to the ground using the tree as a support. He hadn't noticed the footsteps behind him, nor the light of torch slowly creeping closer. Until a stick snapped underneath something heavy.

"It's too beautiful night for cries, isn't it."