Victim of The Crystals [[Old Version]]

Once an outcast, always an outcast

Violence warning
———————————-
The lovely town of merkswood is what they called it, glorious for its age yet hated for its stories. You'd think it was a quiet town, yet it was not. Most neighbours would either be arguing or staying up all night with their sickening parties, filled with drugs and common things you'd see at parties.

But Foxy Talon, a young fox that happened to live near these parties, wasn't a victim to any of that. He himself at the age of five was capable of doing many things, including taking care of himself. But it wasn't like his parents ever even owned up to the idea of taking care of him, so he basically learned himself.

It was another day of work, well, for him at least. His parents made him do many chores. For example, they'd make him deliver things and do things around the yard, kinda like he was their personal slave. Whilst Foxy never knew what was in the boxes he was delivering, he just wanted to get it over with and take a long needed break.

A shop, going by the name of 'Clark's rare things' was the destination that Foxy had soon found. The place looked abandoned, but Foxy knew better then to go back home to his parents with that very box that was in his arms. So, he hit the awkwardly placed bell as soon as he walked into the mini shop. The store had shelf's all around the store, filled with what appeared to be jewelry and other expensive goods. Foxy felt slightly intimidated, but that could have been just him.

He set the heavy box onto the crusty front desk, making a creaky sound as the box hit the surface of the desk. He waited for what felt like countless minutes. He wasn't a very patient person, but it was rather this than a brutal beating. A few more minutes go by as Foxy looked past the desk to see a grandfather clock. It was almost 5:30, and Foxy wasn't quite ready to piss off his parents just yet.

The young fox turned around and began to walk, quickening his pace so he could get home at a reasonable time. Until he heard footsteps, and a scruffy voice.

"Leaving so soon?" The scruffy voice called out.

Foxy turned around to meet eyes with an old man, wearing a grey, dusty sweater, and a odd looking baseball cap that looked like it had tears in it. The man looked around to be in his late 50s, clearly running the shop as his name tag read 'Clark'.

"I need to get home, or I'll be in trouble.. big time" The young fox gulped, his sky blue eyes with a tint of brown in the middle, never left eye contact with the man that stood before him.

"Fair enough, but make sure to come back sometime soon" Clark said, taking the box along with him into a back room.

It had already been 5:34 and Foxy was panicking on his way out the door. The glass door swinging open and closing roughy as Foxy raced for his life, quite literally, down the road. The town wasn't as big as people thought it was. The shops made up for what little the town owned at the time.

He ran by tiny parks, shops, houses, until he stopped by a familiar cabin in the woods. A much more menacing fox, taller in structure, waited in frustration as Foxy slowly but shamefully walked into the door yard. In Foxy's overall perspective, sacred was just an understatement. Foxy felt he was about quiver, shrink into a bunch of tiny pieces, run away, or even vomit. At this very moment in time, he felt like all was about to end for him.

"Didn't I say for you to be back by 5:10?!" The older fox asked venomously.

Foxy began to shrink, his world feeling like it was about to crash and fall around him. He knew talking back to his father would only result to him getting a far more brutal punishment then regular. So he stayed quiet in hopes of Reynold, his father, maybe walking off.

"Well? Are you gonna say something or look like a pathetic fucking moron?!" Reynold spoke harshly, getting utterly out of patience.

The young fox shrunk more down in his position, to the point where it felt like he was facing a skyscraper. Granted, he wasn't tall anyway for a five year old, but still.

Reynold and his girlfriend, Kathy, would always abuse Foxy. They always used his fear to their advantage to get him to do whatever they wanted. And it worked since he was three to be exact. If they were in public, they'd always lie about Foxy's weak posture. Saying things on the lines of, "he has a disease," or "we're taking him to the hospital". But if they honestly cared they wouldn't have to make Foxy walk the whole way, so what was the whole point in the hospital fib?

As it seemed Foxy went completely blank, Reynold dragged the young but now terrified fox to the back yard where all his usual punishments would take place. It was because Reynold apparently feared people would see what was going on, the sick bastard was practically the devil. Foxy was roughy shoved to the ground, landing on a brick pile and immediately wincing in pain.

From there on, Foxy was full on abused, and hit on the back with a rusty axe handle. If Foxy thought it could get any worse, it did. Soon he was laying in a puddle of his own blood, laying motionless on the thick grass next to a also bloodied pile of bricks.

It felt like his vision began to blur as he also began to feel numb but yet still aching. He knew he was going to go out like this, but he wished he went out a lot sooner.