Empty - Chapter 1
Okay... deep breath...
Moving on from pain is never easy. I certainly isn't for me. Through all the hours of sitting at my keyboard, writing this chapter and the chapters that follow, trying to fully articulate what it was I was feeling, I suffered from so much self-doubt. This is a long road, and a difficult on. There have been times when I wanted to just give up on ever getting back to were I was before, and... I almost did give up... In the most final way. But, I found others, others that so selflessly extended a paw to help me along, gave me the strength to keep going. They are my friends... my guardians against the dark...
This goes out to you, my amazing friends... I love you with all my heart.
- OC
The two years of loneliness were beginning to get to him. It had started out as a tickle at the back of his mind. A mild feeling of unease. Of wrongness. Then again, nothing about the situation was particularly right, so that was understandable. But as the months progressed and he went from merely surviving to living this new existence, the feeling grew. He began seeing things out of the corner of his eye. Caught scents that weren't supposed to be there. Couldn't have been there. He started getting paranoid. Like all of this was some kind of colossal prank, and he was on the receiving end. Hearing voices. Snatches of conversation. Whispers in the dark. It made him want to tear his fur out in frustration.
No. Stop, he told himself. This isn't a prank. Nofur was playing a joke on him. This was all real.
Because he was the only one left.
Still, he began taking precautions, none of which made sense. Locking his door at night or when he left to stock up on supplies. Began carrying a rifle he had liberated from a sporting goods store with him wherever he went. Rigging alarms around his home. Always watching over his shoulder, looking for somefur that was never there. He was even beginning to consider moving to a more isolated area. Somewhere safe.
He shook the thought away. He was being absurd. None of those things made sense.
Because he was the only one left.
The only one left.
All at once the reality of it came crashing back, just as it had those two years ago. His knees unhinged under him, dumping him unceremoniously onto the asphalt the grocery store parking lot he had been standing in. The strap of his rifle slipped off his shoulder, and the gun went off with an authoritative bang when it hit the ground, the .308 round shattered the window of a nearby car. The smell of cordite hung in the air.
But he noticed none of these things.
He covered his eyes with his paws.
He began to cry.
*~*
Late afternoon.
The house was quiet, and that unnerved him.
He shook his head. Why shouldn't it be quiet? Nofur was in there.
Still...
He had unshouldered his rifle without being aware of it. He looked down at it, held tightly in his paws, the stock slick with perspiration from his paw pads. His paws were shaking from anxiety. Abruptly, anger clouded his mind. Suddenly everything that was going wrong was summed up by this damned thing. He whirled and flung it away from him, realizing as it spun away that throwing it probably wasn't the brightest thing he could have done. But the rifle clattered harmlessly into the street and came to rest in the far gutter.
He stood there for a long time, staring accusingly at it, mind still swirling with his blind anger.
Finally, with a snort of disgust, he turned and walked up to his front door. He pulled out his key and was about to unlock the door when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, in the yard next door. He spun, searching for the source.
But nofur was there.
He stood stock still for a moment, then his vision went red. He screamed at the empty yard, an inarticulate roar of mingled rage and despair.
He screamed until black dots swam against the red and he started feeling light-headed, and then fell quiet. Drew in deep breaths until his mind and vision cleared.
Now calm, he caught a whiff of copper. Confused, he looked down at his paws. They were clenched, and crimson dripped from the gray fur on his knuckles. Slowly, he opened them, wincing at the creaking of his joints and tendons. The key tumbled from his right paw and clanked to the concrete step. He brought his paws up and examined his palms. Four small holes in each pad. His claws had punctured deep, and blood was flowing freely from the wounds. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, but not from the pain.
From sorrow.
His brain was betraying him. He was losing his grip on reality. Going crazy. Seeing, hearing, smelling things that weren't there. Paranoia, unease, nervousness. The feeling of being watched. The loneliness.
For the second time in as many hours, he fell to his knees and broke down crying.
The sound of his heart wrenching sobs echoed and re-echoed off the surrounding houses, filling the air of this new version of hell.