Zootopia: Snowfall (CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN)

Chapter 19

*Warren*

I only halfway believed Walter when he said that Mr. Small was going to have a word with me. He loves to lie. But, when Mr. Small is mentioned, it's always best to be aware. Let's just say other members of the crew weren't being subtle in their "whispers" when they walked past me as I guarded Snow during her shower.

"He's so dead."

"Good riddance."

"It's about time."

"I don't know why Mr. Small even kept him for this long."

"I wonder if she even felt him when he fucked her. After all, he is a runt."

Their words were proof enough that I should soon be expecting Mr. Small. I had expected it to be as soon as I put Snow back in the basement. A messenger never came though. He didn't come until dawn.

Now here I am, walking down the dark hallway, tired and...afraid. Yes, I'll admit it. I'm afraid, but I know some of the others are too. A lot of us do the things we do out of fear. That's where some of Mr. Small's loyalties come from. Fear. Fear of death. Fear of harm to families. Just...pure fear.

Some of us were homeless, some of us were raised in the criminal world not knowing anything else, and some of us are living double lives. The ones picked up off the streets were promised a better life. A life of purpose. Half of the ones who were raised to be criminals don't know that the things they're doing are wrong, whereas the other half does and they genuinely enjoy it. Both are psychotic as hell.

The ones who live double lives are those who were bored, wanted excitement, and didn't know the consequences. I know a lot of them regret it, especially the ones with families. But there are those that are psychotic in this category too that enjoy it. No matter what your background is, there are those who enjoy what they do and those who don't.

The ones who don't enjoy it...do nothing about it. Some of the homeless never expected they'd be turned into criminals. Some of the criminals, especially the ones who had genuinely wanted to at least try to be good, the ones who had never killed or raped, never expected to become an even worse criminal. Some of the ones living double lives just wanted a little more excitement, not the threat of losing their families.

Some of us are actually good. We're just afraid to do anything about it. Is it cowardly to fear death? No. It's not cowardly to want to live. Sometimes when you've seen so much death...you become envious. It is only the ones who envy the dead that join them.

I'm envious, but not to the point where I want to die. I want to live. I want to live a life that isn't this hellhole. I don't want too be here. I want to be anywhere that isn't here. Alive too. I want...I want an actual family. The "family" here is not what I'm yearning for. For 10 years I had a family. Out of three, I was the only surviving triplet. My two brothers died and I, the smallest of the three, the one who should have definitely died, survived.

It's been ten years, and while some memories are dim, I still have some that I can remember clearly. My mother, a beautiful snow white wolf, was the most caring mother a child could ever have. My father however was the opposite. He never physically abused me--he did that to my mother--but he did abuse me with his words.

I have more memories of my mother than I do with him, and the reason for that is most definitely because my father was hardly ever around. Momma always said it was because he worked extra. I didn't really care. The longer he was gone, the happier I was. Neither of us, especially me, ever thought he would be in a gang.

It was a normal night for my mother and I. Everything was perfectly fine until these strange animals broke in and kidnapped us both. We were taken to Mr. Small and with him was my own father.