Victim of The Crystals [[Old Version]]

Getting Over The Past

Sirens were all Foxy could hear before he was passed by at least seven cop cars, the wind blowing madly at him by the rush. What the fox thought was a simple, peaceful walk to the corner store and back, was a complete difference from what he thought. One sound led to another and it had sounded like someone was shooting fireworks in the sky, just bigger ones.

Foxy contemplated heading home so his father wouldn't get mad, but the curiosity got the better of him, and now he found himself heading in the direction of where the cop cars were heading and all the sounds. He could care less about what his father thought, honestly.

'And here I thought I could just go home and get into bed..'  Foxy thought, really just wanting to get this over with.

As he got closer to what he presumed the crime sight, he felt a rush of wind almost bring him off of his feet.

"The hell?" Foxy steadied himself, looking around his surroundings. He was now in an alley way, it was barely lit and he could smell the sickening smell of blood from afar. He began to cough, begging himself to turn around and run away internally, but something in his mind told him to keep going.

There might have been someone in the back of that alley, someone in need of help. It could've been a trap, but Foxy was sure it wasn't, or was he?

He slowly approached where the sounds were coming from, until he could hear muttered talking. In that moment, he put his foot down, trying to turn himself around, but it was like his body was against him. 'What the hell am I doing?! No, I need to go back before I get killed!' Foxy tried to muster up all of the strength within him to turn around, but to no avail.

In the mists of the internal banter with himself, he had tripped over an object. Possibly a can or some type of bottle. The impact of the falling and the object sliding its way across the alley made a loud squeal-like noise, definitely bringing attention to himself.

The fox looked up, nervously chuckling when he saw two dark figures at the end of the alley.

"Guess you could say, I can be a bit loud" Foxy eyed the now can-like object he could see, and then the figures. Foxy awkwardly waited in silence, waiting for some type of response. It then resulted with one of the figures charging at Foxy with what seemed to be a weapon, probably a knife.

'Oh great, that person probably just got done finishing off that other person' Foxy mentally confirmed as he saw fresh blood dripping from off the silver, sharp, weapon that the person approaching him with was holding.

The teen fox scrambled to his feet hurriedly, getting a move-on and mad dashing out of there. Foxy then came to a halt as he went to catch his breath. "Dude, do you have anything better to do than to chase down a fox on TWO LEGS?" Foxy inquired between breaths.

The now confirmed man, only laughed as he came closer, sending Foxy into a near panic attack. "Great, so you're not verbal, eh?" Foxy tried to joke, glancing around for anything to slow down the man or something to use as a weapon. Foxy looked ahead again, but his blood froze there and then. It was like a flashback? Instead of the man, it was his deceased father.

He felt the same way he did all those years ago, like he was facing a skyscraper. He gulped, taking major steps back and panicking, tears pricking his eyes. "No!" Foxy cried out. "You d-died, you're not real!" Foxy continued to cry out in denial as he contemplated fighting back.

His father- the man said nothing, instead getting ready and taking a swing at the now seemingly weak fox. But.. Foxy countered, gripping the man's wrist.

"Ya' know, It's indeed true that I let my father hit me when I was five, I was helpless," Foxy put more pressure into his hold, slowly starting to bend the man's arm. "But I'm much older now, and I'm not gonna let a most likely homeless junky hit me, cause?.. well I dunno," Foxy chuckled, now seemingly confident. He then threw the man into the pitch blackness of the alleyway with unknown force that he didn't know he possessed.

He looked down to his hands, his hands slowly twitching as he stared down at them in disbelief. He shook his head hesitantly. 'There's definitely something w-wrong with me' even in Foxy's mind, his voice still quivered.

Foxy looked over, seeing someone's unconscious, bloody body laying against the brick wall that ended the alleyway. He jogged over, making sure to see if the person was still alive. He checked for a pulse, sighing a bit of relief when he found one. The fox frowned upon seeing all the bloody wounds on the person's body, which he now could tell belonged to a girl.

"Hope that man rots in hell for what he did to you" Foxy muttered, knowing she wouldn't hear him, but he meant it. Foxy could hear the familiar sounds of sirens and cars approaching. Foxy knew what he had to do, so he picked up the girl, bridal style, and started to carry her to get help. As he was nearing the end of the alleyway, he could hear the cops shouting.

Foxy only just picked up his pace, and the cops seemed to stop shouting when they saw him carrying the unconscious girl. Foxy stopped, handing the girl over to one of the cops. "Make sure she's okay, and get her back to her family" Foxy said, before running off. He could hear the shouts of the policeman behind him, but he ignored their shouts, running in the direction of his house on Towerberk street.
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He slowly cracked the door open, avoiding the aftermath sounds of the old door, and walking in. He kicked off his shoes, placing the cigarette pack on the kitchen counter for his father, and lightly treading up the stairs. He stormed into the bathroom that was connected to his room, stopping in front of the sink. He placed his hands on either side of the sink, balancing himself up as his body felt extremely weak.

He glanced up to look at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, and his fur was just filled to the brim with sweat. He sighed, twisting the sink knob with his already sore arm and closing his eyes. In that moment, all he could hear was the gentle noise of the water pouring out of the faucet in front of him. His vision filled with the red and blue flashing lights of the dreaded cop cars, and.. he could remember all the blood that the girl's body was covered in. God, it made him want to vomit on a deep level.

His eyes shot open to the water that was rapidly streaming down into the sink. Taking no time to think, he leaned in and filled his hands with water, splashing water in his face, hoping to god that it would clear his mind a bit. He let out a breathy sigh as he realized it only just made his face wet, not being able to cure the matter at hand. (no pun intended.) He really didn't think it could heal what he thought, so there was that.

He turned the knob again, and the water slowly cleared up as it ceased. The fox grabbed a towel and dried his face, before turning off the light and closing the door behind him. He slid off his green plaid button-up sweater, now just wearing his jeans and skull t-shirt. He fell on his back into his bed, staring at the ceiling for a good 10 minutes before finding it hopeless. He rolled on his side, still not comfortable, but he could care less in the moment.

"What the fuck did I just whiteness?" He asked to no one in particular, closing his eyes and letting sleep consume him.