Zootopia: Snowfall (CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN)

Chapter 18

AN: Got lazy/bored with story which resulted in a 7 month abandonment. I'm back though! I'm not dead! I hope you're not dead too with all the waiting you had to do. Also guess what? I'm a Senior now (which is another reason why I couldn't update sooner). I started this story in March of my Sophomore year. That's crazy. Lol it would probably be done had I not procrastinated so much. Anyway enough about that, here we go.

*Takes place after Chapter 16*

~Snow~

My body might have been clean, but my clothes are dirtier than I was and smelled worse than a skunk. And of course I can't do anything about it. I suppose I could wash them with shampoo, but that's probably not a good idea. There's a reason why there's soap for fur and soap for clothes. Also, I wouldn't want to wear wet clothes anyway. I can barely handle wearing wet socks let alone an entire outfit. A wet outfit would just drag me down. My own sore arms are already doing that.

Someone knocks on the bathroom door, making me jump, and nearly shriek. "Are you done, Snow?" Warren asked from the other side of the door.

"Almost," I replied, then finished putting on my clothes.

I smoothed down the wet fur on my head after my shirt ruffled it up, and then looked at my reflection in the rectangular mirror that hung on the wall. I stared at myself longer than intended. Who knows when I'll see myself again. For all I know, this could be my last time.

My eyes, still looking in the mirror, then traveled to the door's reflection behind  me. I know I'm not safe in this bathroom, but at the moment I feel as if I am. Opening that door and walking through it will only take me back to hell. And yet, at the same time, I know I shouldn't linger in here. Warren or someone else will break down the door to get me. I should be the one that confronts hell. Not the other way around.

That still doesn't mean I'm not terrified.

I put both of my white paws on the sink counter and lowered my head. My eyes were closed, tightly so no tears, which were starting to form again, would fall. My paws turned into fists, and I started to slightly shake.

It's either walk out there with my head held high, or let them escort me away. I'm not going to go with the latter.

I inhaled and exhaled deeply, wincing at the pain I felt in my ribs. Then without a second thought, I turned around and made my way to the door. I quickly lifted my paw to the knob, but I suddenly stopped and just stared at it, my whole body going stiff.

The knob was golden. Just like Mr. Small's very special gun. The gun I used to kill Mr. Smith.

I was too slow to ignore the memory, and as it replayed in my head, my mind decided to replace Mr. Smith with my father. The scene replayed again and again, but every time Mr. Smith was replaced with a loved one of mine. Each one killed by me; each memory killing me. The one that broke me the most was when I pulled the trigger on Lola. Little Lola.

"Snow," I hear Warren say, his voice soft but firm. "I know that you're right behind the door. You need to stop wasting time."

I quickly wiped the tears on my cheeks away, and did my best to compose myself. Without looking at it, I grabbed the doorknob, twisted it, and practically threw the door open. Warren looked at me in alarm, and opened his mouth to speak.

Words from him are not what I want to hear at the moment. "Don't waste your breath on pointless words." I tell him, then added: "Please." He doesn't deserve my mannerism, but I gave it to him anyway. He seems to be the only one who has a tiny piece of their heart left.

Warren nods and grabs hold of me once more, taking me back to the basement.

A teacher of mine once said that time is an illusion. Why can't all of this be an illusion too?