Homeless Fox
Hi people and thanks for reading my story. Feedback would be helpful. Good feedback. Not feedback telling me how much I suck. Anyway beware of bad grammar, and terrible spelling. Thanks for reading.
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Dammit. It's Monday again. Monday means waking up at dawn. Monday means moving my box to avoid the garage men. I hate Mondays. Mondays also mean the soup kitchen is understaffed. Of course the supermarket dumpster is still open but on Mondays it is usually fish coated in fish oil. I hate fish. Now a good reader would have noticed most of my complaints don't effect them. My logic on that is most of those people have money to buy luxuries like a "house" and "food". Yes, I am homeless. No, I'm not a druggie. No, it was not my choice.
Most people assume homeless people my age are just lazy and could get a job anytime they wanted. Well their wrong. Ever since the cheap otter labor invaded my fare city, I've been jobless and on the streets. Those otters work for FUCKING NOTHING. Yet they some how feed the families of 13 or however many fucking spawn they have. People like me, a once hardworking fox who lived here all their life, are now overpaid. Minimum wage is barely livable, not over paid. Those fucking greedy fucks just want all the money for themselves. Screw paying decent citizens, you could get two of those...
Sorry, I lost it there for a little. If I ever do that again just skip to the next paragraph. I have to stop eventually. Right? Well where was I? Oh right Mondays. I hate Mondays. Mondays are what sucks the soul out of everyone at the beginning of the week, so they are compliment the next 4 days. Just by the time your refilled of energy, you get a weekend to get rid of it all. Then another Monday. Another Monday. It's a cycle. A never ending spin that you repeat everyday till death. But... enough of this, I hear the trash men moving nearby.
My box moves from here to over there. Over there always looks prettier from over here. In reality its just two different alleys but to me it's special. Mommy always told me I was special. I wish I was special. But I'm a creep. I remember that song. They used to play it when I had a job. Damn I miss having a job. My job was useless. I moved mail in a building from point A to point B. The mail could have been fine at point A but the employers insisted it was moved to point B. I cursed that job everyday I had it. I shouted at my small apartment and my possessions. That was before I could store all my stuff in my backpack. It was when the otters took my job that I lost my apartment and everything I had. THOSE FUCKING OTTERS. WHAT DO THEY GIVE US? CHEAP LABOR? WHAT ABOUT THE DECENT PEOPLE OF THIS COUNTRY WHO NEED JOBS? WELL? WHAT ABOUT THEM? WHY THE FUCKING HELL DO YOU HIRE THE OTTERS WITH THEIR GOBBLYGUCK LANGUAGE AND THEIR BROWN FUR? WHY...
Sorry lost myself again. I really should write down whats happening and not what I'm thinking. Well scanning up I seem to have mentioned I moved my box. Well box has been moved. I moved that box bitch and nothing can stop me now. Nothing but my hunger. Dammit stupid hunger. Now readers you get to see what I do for money and food. First I find my can. My can is very important. My can is where the money go. I love you money can. In fact, money can oh, money can, how I love thee, money can. Right after my can I need my sign. Not the astrological symbol, but my money begging sign. Mine is normally standard fare, Help, I'm homeless. Under the words there is a nice big arrow pointing at my money can. If I'm lucky I'll make 5 bucks in change.
Today was not a good day reader, I only made 2.63. Now for the second part of my day dumpster diving. Now its not an Olympic sport(yet), but I take great pride on my dumpster diving. I find all sorts of things I can resell or eat. People are good at throwing out perfectly good things. I don't know why but people will throw out entire turkey halves. That's good meat. I wonder what otter me...
Sorry about that. Right so my haul today so far has been, one flower pot with an electric fan in it, one slinky, 3 fake rolex's, a corpse(but I left that one be), and 21 fresh but cold burgers. Last dumpster. Something at the bottom. It's long, shiny, and looks like a gun. It also smells of gun. My reasoning leads me to believe it is a gun. A long rifle type of gun, with the scope that lets you snipe people's tails from 3000 yards away. Next to it, what is it I spy? Clips of ammo. Lots and lots of clips. THEY'RE MINE. ALL MINE. I put all the ammo in the pocket of my backpack. The gun is resting next to me by the strap.
Now what to use this devious device for. I could get more money with it by holding up a store. I could sell it for money. I could take a hostage. Or I could get my revenge on those otters. Those damn filthy creatures that took my job. I'd be a hero. A hero for all those that hate the otters. Then I'd have a house and food. They'd pay me for taking care of the problem. Then I'd have money. Lots of money. Money, money, money.
I just climbed the fire escape of the nearby building. 10 stories up but I want to go higher. A running leap lands me on the next building. This is going to be a long journey. Roof to roof I go. Up fire escapes and ledges. I finally arrive where I want to be. The 13th tallest building in the city. I'm 23 stories in the air, surround by some type of ornate wall. Just enough room to stick the gun through one of the holes.
I'm set up and waiting. The scope gives me a clear picture of bellow. THERE. THERE IS ONE OF THOSE FUCKING BEASTS. I shoot. Wham, right in the stomach. I see some of his organs leak out. He's not quite dead yet. Still writhing on the ground. That feels good. So very very good. It stopped moving. ANOTHER ONE. Boom. Female, tore off her left shoulder. She's twitches on the pavement. The good feeling rushes through me. More. I must have more. Boom. Boom. Boom. Every 3 minutes or so I spot one. Rushing to help their otter friends.
Here comes the cops. Two cars. An otter. An otter on the police force. That fucker is going to get it. Boom. His entire pelvis area is missing. Let him bleed. Fucker deserved. Destroying the government. Oh shit here comes 5 more cars and a chopper. They know where I am. Wait what's that in the chopper. The pilot is an otter. I take aim. I missed and hit the engine. The chopper falls like a toy. Slamming into a building and tearing off the building's skin.
Wait they are shouting at me. They want me to stop. That won't do them much good. The gun isn't firing. I think I need to reload. This has been a good monday. Well it was good. Now I can't figure out how to reload this damn thing. Fucking hell that hurt. Is that blood? only time will tell. I will tell you this dear reader. If you are reading this it means that I'm dead. I've been recording this next to me the entire time. My gun which is now useless sits next to me. Can't figure out how to reload. Looked so easy in video games. Well good luck on all your future adventures reader. I get the feeling I'm about to d