Vixen's Escape

One

     Vixen's eye snapped open. For the briefest moment, shorter than a second, a glimmer of hope appeared. But it was soon gone. He'd been in this prison for nearly four months, and every time he awoke he felt the agony deep inside him.

     His rectangular stripes, which were once different shades of fluffy, silky brown that stood out from his gray fur, were matted and grimy. His whole body was a murky brown color. The workers of this facility didn't have the supplies to wash him properly, and so, Vixen was a mess. The other assorted animals around him were equally as brown. Rabbits were commonly seen here, as were cats. Vixen snorted internally to himself, not having the energy to physically perform the action. He didn't have much pity for the cats that ended up here; the vile, mangy stuck-up brats.

     None of the mammal victims knew exactly what this place was called, but a range of human products were tested here, from the frequent shampoos and lotions to medical electronics, similar to the robotic arms used to treat amputation victims. Some had a tendency to... malfunction.

     Vixen shook himself, wishing to be rid of the fleas that burdened him. Bald spots adorned the muck on his pelt. His tail, which used to be about a foot and a half long and just as fluffy as a husky, was now only a third of its original length, and equally as matted. He was thin; thinner than in the forest but not so thin that his ribs tried to break free of his skin. Well, I have the abuse victims beat, he thought forlornly in a failed sarcastic attempt to cheer himself up.

     The workers of this hellhole came into view through a thick, push-able door. They carried bowls, spoons, syringes, and bottles with nipples into the room containing the animals. Stomachs rumbled as they entered, but Vixen couldn't help but note that none of the animals in the room looked eager to eat.

     He rose off the warm metal table—he wasn't sure how long he'd been lying on top of it, but it must have been a while, because he managed to heat up the entire operating table—and descended onto the floor and into the corner to sulk. There were no hiding places; no tight spaces, no tables low enough to crawl under, no other rooms to run to, and slow down the employees that came to snatch a creature up and take them away. Most likely to a tight box of a cage or a small testing room. Vixen paused and looked at the pale, red-haired lady that came near him. She appeared nervous, judging by the shakiness of her hand, in which was a bowl of mush including nutrients, antibiotics, and protein. She'd been assigned to him, he knew, because the rest of the humans were jumping from rabbit to rabbit to cat, trying to get any of them to eat. It became a lethargic game of chase.

     Vixen hadn't been paying attention to the curly-haired lady, who tossed a sheet over him and wrapped his paws up so they were useless. He growled, baring his yellow teeth. He was small for a wolf, but still just as dangerous. The snarls died down as his green eyes fell to her waist, where a sheath held an easy-to-reach knife. Yes. She had been assigned to him this mealtime.

     Vixen, feeling his energy and adrenaline boost at the same time, refused food. He fought to do anything they wanted him to do, and so the woman had a difficult time keeping him under wraps. His eyes were trained on her, and his paws, tipped with long, pointed nails, thrashed mightily. Finally, Vixen broke free, tearing the sheet in places. Most of the animals had been caught and could now be found either lapping up gruel from a bowl or having a syringe or bottle shoved into their mouths. If they didn't eat, after all, Vixen considered, they would become weaker and the facility would have to find replacements. Let's hope they don't have to go out of their way to find more victims, he thought spitefully. But yet again, the sarcasm helped nothing.