Vixen's Escape

Prologue

     The first thing I feel is darkness. Most would say you can't feel darkness, but rather, you see it. This is wrong. I can feel with everything inside me that this place is shrouded in darkness. I imagine that only a horrible place can feel dark. I can't open my eyes, but that's not the concern running through my mind. It is humid here. It isn't terribly warm, but it isn't cold. The air has a painful, slightly metallic scent floating through it. My entire body is numb.

     I can only breathe, and even my breath is shaky and shallow; for what reason I do not know. I can only think, but my thoughts are wracked with worry and confusion. I feel as though I'm waiting for time itself to tick by.

     Multiple times I try to pry my eyes open; to twitch my limbs or gain some sort of feeling. My attempts are in vain. So I finally give up. I gather my thoughts and unwind my frustration until it is merely loops of red-hot anger sitting uselessly at the back of my mind. I can't remember what happened before this moment until I strain for a few minutes. Like a light, my memories flicker to life. I was an odd-colored, patchy runt as a puppy. Nevertheless, I was accepted by my mother and siblings. We weren't coddled and babied like the domesticated mutts in the city, though. There were always predators larger than us in the thick forest we were raised in. My mother kept us safe. Even when we couldn't see, we knew she was our guardian. She was always in reach; so close and familiar. Her scent was the ultimate safety blanket. My siblings were comforting, too, as they enveloped one another. We were a mass of clumsiness that never sat still, tiny jaws that opened only to squeal at each other, tails that never tired and tiny teeth that were underestimated. I imagine we were the most tiresome handful of children, yet there was always room for affection in our mother's schedule. As we grew, our games and wrestles became more focused on the prey that we desired. My litter and I became aware that due to the limited food supply we would soon be enemies rather than close-knit siblings. Back then, we did not have the capacity for names. We knew each other by scents. And while our jaws grew stronger and our stomachs hungrier, we began to fight—not a nasty, win-or-die fight, but violently compared to our puppy days—over the little food our mother could provide. After all, it was one wolf hunting for seven. It was that spring when our mother sent us away. We were hungry, and we didn't want to leave—it was all we'd ever known—but she growled and snapped and turned her jaws on us.

     I felt a sadness stirring deep inside me, like stirring cold water trapped underneath oil. My mind went back to "the good old days" of my youth as my consciousness slipped from me, and I drifted.