FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

1

Never has a rickety wooden picnic table been as tense as it was in that moment. Not that

the wood was rotting away in the bright sunlight. Not that the bolts and rope holding it all together were rusting or molting. The three occupants upon the built-in benches weren't doing much to harm the table neither. It was the glares that each of them spared at each other, prodding deep into one another's souls.

Two of them were placed on one side of the table, and the last one, the one with the frigid

fur and who was staring interestingly at the center of the table, was on the other side. This one made a show of not looking at the other two directly into the eye. Eyes can be seen as the window to the soul. Robert Greyheart could be said as having no soul. The two sitting across from him would agree. It was a stigma, for Rob was a racoon, donned with his slick grey and black fur in stripes and a black mask around his eyes as if trying to shield them. He was dressed as appropriately as any guilty man; his weathered white shirt and bright pants stood out against his dark colored fur.

Directly across from him was the man named Hal Brightpath. His brown eyes were

peering with the most anger and detest at the table, aimed directly at the racoon who wouldn't meet his gaze. Never trust a man in all white, they used to say in the village. They do that to try to show they don't have any dirt on them. Hal's casual clothing consisted of his jean-made overalls that most of the field workers wore. The straps that looped over his shoulders strained a little at the buttons, his round belly getting in the way of a slim fit. His brown fur brightened with a golden glow in the morning sun. Hal was a bear, one of the stronger ones at that. No one in the village has ever been able to take on a tussle with him and come out on top.

Seated between the two men, as if placed there to keep them from mauling each other,

was Hal's neighbor, Bea. Unlike the two larger and older men, she was a lot smaller. Sitting upright, she can barely reach Hal's shoulder. Rabbits are the smallest species of the bunch that live on this side of the Ohio River. What they lack in size, they make up for in numbers, for every four out of ten residents in the village had floppy ears and a nub for a tail. Bea had on a bright pink tunic and her mother's necklace that was given to her as a child. She had the pendant gripped between her fingers, begging her mom to get her through this dilemma. Her eldest child gotten through the awful sickness that swept through last Winter. Even the pain of those memories couldn't keep her from shaking. Her heart was beating fast, even for her kind.

The sooner this meeting is over with, the better.

Nature gave Bea a signal, casting a soft rush of wind that rustled the trees and the green

grass below them, so she wouldn't have to make the first noise. "Look," she said, her voice raspy from getting over a sickness herself, "if none of us say anything, we will never be at peace with what has happened."

Rob finally looked back up, acknowledging his tablemates for the first time in the past

hour. "'At peace'," he said, testing the words out. "At peace from what? It wasn't our choice. If that brat wanted to get help, he would have, but he didn't. None of this has to do with us."

There was a flash of anger in Hal as he looked over at Rob, his eyebrows coming together and he snarled. "You don't want it to involve you," the bear growled under his breath, "but it does."

The table began to fall back into silence. Bea would not allow this to be so. She focused her attention on Hal. "Why do you believe Toni would send us these?" she asked, picking up a small envelope that looked rumpled and placed it on the table. "Did you two reads the letters as well?" Bea didn't need to read into Hal too much to know that he did. Rob, on the other hand, rolled his eyes and set his papers down on the table right next to Bea's. Hal did the same. Rob's envelope was the only one with the seal intact.

Before either of them could comment, Rob sat up in his seat. "What does it matter whatever is in these? Toni's dead. Gone. Nothing is going to change that."

"You're just afraid that whatever's in there is going to make you look bad," Hal interjected. The racoon closed his mouth, not daring to utter another word. The bear's intense size pinned him down into the seat. If only someone else had gotten that third letter. Hal turned towards Bea, having to look down to do so. "What did yours say?" he asked, if only to move the conversation forward.

Bea's ears flopped back down behind her in disappointment. She sighed. "He talked about a day when he stopped by to see my daughter's birthday. Such a sweet boy. Something happened in the woods behind my house that night and... well, maybe you should take a look for yourself." Without meeting his eyes, Bea handed the letter to Hal. It was several pages long.

The bear took his time to skim the letter through.

2

Dear Ms. Witherton,

_ I wanted to thank you for letting me come over today to see May turn nine. It only happens once in every person's lifetime, you know? I needed the breath of fresh air. As you know, and I'm sure the rest of the village has, the loss of my mother has been very tough on me this past year. This, of course, does not excuse any of my actions that took place on your daughter's birthday. I take full responsibility for that._

_ I never told my dad where I was planning to go that day. I wasn't even planning it myself. That morning began as it always did; me sitting out on the front porch, watching the sun come up over the horizon like God was saying good morning to the world. I had my mother's favorite mug placed between my paws and I was sipping on water, truly the only thing worth drinking around these mountains._

_ As I pressed the cup to my lips and about to take a gulp, I heard a creak behind me. I whipped around and saw my dad. I wasn't expecting him as he's not usually up so early. I dropped the mug. The cup shattered into four big chunks, water splashing everywhere. I took a good look at my dad. He wasn't wearing a shirt. Coal dust was smothered all over his chest, turning what was usually white a sickly-looking brown. His eyes were bloodshot. I thought I smelled something in his breath. It was a pale, unusual smell._

_ "Dad?" I asked. "What are you doing up this early?"_

_ He looked me once over, as if acknowledging my presence. His tail lashed behind him, smacking into the doorway with a loud thump. "Don't you think about going anywhere," he muttered. I almost didn't hear him. "You already cost me a wife."_

_ Dad always blamed me for the death of my mother. Believes that I contracted some virus when I was playing near the River one day. Those rumors weren't true. I never even seen the Ohio River, just a bunch of its creeks. I would love to see the River someday. I heard it was big, blue, and beautiful, just like my mom used to say about me. Foxes aren't really looked up to in this country, but one with blue fur is a rare gem._

_ I stepped back on the porch. I heard a crunch under my boot. One of the mug's pieces became dust._

_ "Dad," I said out loud. I showed off my paws, letting him know there was nothing hidden between the padding of my fingers. "You're not right. You need help. Let me go down to Donny's house and he can take a look at yo-" His fist came out of nowhere and struck me in the muzzle. I fell back through the railing. Pain lashed up my spine when I landed on the ground. I scrambled, my toes of my boots shoveling up dirt as I got to my feet and ran._

_ My dad yelled behind me. I didn't care what he had to say. I held my muzzle with one paw, hoping there was no blood to find. There wasn't. It would hurt like hell later on._

_ I had no clue where else to go. It felt like there was no one for miles. There never was whenever my Dad became like this. My heart felt with dread. I was eventually going to have to go back. Home was where my things were. He could destroy them all._

When I gathered enough courage to walk back to the village, I passed by your house, Ms. Witherton. I recall thinking about your family; the biggest one out of anyone for miles. There was some screaming and sounds of children giggling from inside. I crept up to the house, afraid of being seen. I must not have done well for by the time I was at the door, you were coming outside to see if there was any mail. Eight smaller bunnies rushed by me through the door out onto the front lawn. The last one, May, was still by your side. She wasn't partaking in the other children's outdoor activities.

"Toni!" you said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" I will never forget the enthusiastic look on your face. You reminded me a lot of my mother. She was caring and strong-willed as well. Before I could get a word out, though, you reached up and tilted my head to the side. "Oh dear, what happened to your face, son? It's all bruised."

I didn't sweat my answer. "Oh. I was out in the woods earlier to take a walk and I tripped and landed on a tree stump. Guess it hurt more than I realized." Those words had two meanings, but you didn't know then.

_ "Well, come on in. I can take care of that." I stepped over the threshold of the door and watched you gather some things from your cabinet: a rag, and a small bottle with a purple image on it. You took me outside so you could keep an eye on the little ones. The smell of the bottle tingled my senses first. I knew I had smelled that same scent before, strong and tangy, but I couldn't place my paw on it._

As you carefully placed the rag over the lip of the bottle and poured some of the liquid out, one of May's younger brothers came up on the porch. "Come on, May, have some fun!" he squealed. He sounded clear for a five-year-old. She shied away, sticking close to you. More of her siblings came up to the door, egging her on to join in their activities. I'm pretty sure two of the youngest were simply digging up dirt.

"Now hold your horses," you told them as you finished dabbing on the sore spot. I felt better and worse at the same time as the medicine sunk in.

Once the bottle was away, I could sniff the air a little easier. It was a little cleaner. I felt bad for May; she probably doesn't enjoy being the only girl in a pack of boys. I could tell how her brothers influenced her: she stood straight at all times and she always kept her paws near her stomach as if ready to defend herself if necessary. Hell, if I had eight little brother's I'd be on edge a lot as well. What May really needed, I decided, was to be able to run free. Let go of herself if just for a moment.

That's when one of the littler ones with the blue shirt came up to the porch. "I want to play Hide-and-Seek, Mommy!" he squealed.

You placed your paws on your hips. "Now, little George, the last time I allowed you kids to run off and hide, it took until dark to get you all back. I was worried sick."

"I'll play," I volunteered. Perhaps it was the child in me talking at the time, but in that moment, I felt sorry for those kids. I got up from the seat onto my two feet. "Only if May will be the one finding us."

The young ones were quickly on board with that idea. "Yeah! I want Toni to play!"

"You'll never find me, sis!"

"Maybe he's got a few good spots!"

I remember you letting out another sigh, Ms. Witherton. There was conflict in your eyes as you looked between the kids, your daughter, and myself. Finally, you relented. "Oh fine, but don't stray past the creek or I'll make the sheriff come down and drag you kids out!" you said firmly. The word "fine" didn't come out and eight pairs of feet scurried out towards the woods.

May looked up at me. I offered her a smile and said, "Good luck."

I turn around and ran after them as I heard her start to count backwards from fifteen.

I dashed into the tree line. I picked up speed with each step, my feet snapping through twigs and grass. The trees began to melt together until I knew I was far in. The air whipped past my ears, brushing against my warm fur. I didn't even feel the pain in my muzzle anymore. I prefer running over walking. I felt free, like I could leave my body and my life behind and be nothing more than a fox trotting in the woods.

I was determined to obey your words, though, Ms. Witherton. When I reached the creek, I shifted direction. Instead of crossing, I ran along down the bank to the east. I made sure to not step on any mud or vegetation, lest May easily pick up on my trail. Rabbits are fast, especially when they're young, but I was determined to outrun her.

My heart was beating hard. Blood was rushing to my ears. The world slowed down. I heard the occasional giggle from my right and I could tell without looking where some of the others were hiding. Then the sounds changed; I heard the laughter increase and a few shouts of "She got me!"

Something in the way this was said clicked something in my head. I didn't process the noises until much later that night. It sounded like screaming to me. I panicked. Was my dad out here in these woods? I tripped and skidded across the ground. The noise was getting closer, I could hear the trees rustling behind me. Oh no. It sounded like his footsteps. Please don't let him get near me! Was that his smell? I sniffed and that traces of his breath were nearby.

I had to hide quickly or I would be found. Nearby was a large bush with a few berries beginning to sprout. I scooted over behind it and stayed still.

If I didn't breathe so loudly, I wouldn't be found. Please don't let me be found. I clapped a paw over my mouth. Forced myself to breathe slowly. My heart was hammering loudly. Were they gone? I didn't dare look around the bush.

Footsteps came closer. Not rapidly. These couldn't be May's feet approaching. Something made a branch come down loudly. Too loudly. Oh god, I thought. It was him_. No. No!_

Please!

The bush moved. It was dark. When did that happen? A figure loomed above me. One with piercing eyes. For a blink, it looked like dad. He found me instead.

"No!" I screamed. I drew back my paw and shoved the figure out of my way. Fear gripped me by the throat. I made to my feet and started to run.

Then May's cries stopped me where I was and I turned around. On the ground, the nine-year-old was lying on the ground, with both her paws wrapped around her knee. There was a scuff mark on her face. Teardrops gleamed in the moonlight.

The world stopped. What have I done?

"Oh, my goodness, I'm so sorry," I tried to say. When I reached out to survey the damage I had done, she fought to get away from me. Once she was on her feet, she was gone, carrying her screams of fear into the trees.

My chest felt heavy. In a way, I saw more of myself in May than I did back at your house, Ms. Witherton. I knew, though, that I would have to eventually face you if I was to ever move past this. On the other hand, I thought as I trudged back through the forest, you could see that it was clearly an accident. I'm not the type of person to go and hurt someone for pleasure.

Breaking through the tree line again, I saw May in the same seat I was in hours prior. You held the same bottle in your paw as you did for me only this time, I could see the label clearly: "rubbing alcohol". When I made my way to the porch, it was the son with a blue shirt that spotted me first. He tugged on your shirt and pointed at me.

When you looked up, I never saw more fury in two pupils before.

I didn't even get to explain. You lept off the porch and smacked me on the arm. I didn't console my sore arm. "How dare you!" you shouted at me like I was a monster. I suppose I was. "If you ever try to touch my daughter like that again and you'll end up just like your mother!"

My ears folded back. And I ran. As fast as I could in any other direction. Tears were streaming down my face as I ran, but you didn't see that. Everything hurt; my head, my muzzle, my paw that struck May.

My heart.

I hope that you truly didn't mean those words, but if you're reading this letter now, then I suppose you got your wish, Ms. Witherton.

_ -Sincerely,_

_ Toni Q. McAlister_

3

When Hal put the letter down, his eyes hurt. He didn't blink the whole time, assuming if he did the words would disappear without a trace. The bear felt a strange connection to Bea right then. She lost a husband before and now she lost someone whom she thought of as a child. Her ears were drooping and she was sniffling. Her teardrops glinted in the daylight. "I... I shouldn't have yelled at him," she managed to choke out. "May told me he was acting strange when she found him."

Hal rested a paw carefully on her back and rubbed slowly. "You were worried about your daughter's safety. There was no way you could've known about this." He held up the letter and gave it back to her.

"Are we sure there wasn't anything wrong with the boy himself?" Robert asked. Hal was reminded again that the raccoon sitting across from him was there, sadly. Rob had his elbow resting on the table, holding his head up, and his eyes looked a bit exhausted.

"Robert!" Bea gasped. "That is no way to speak of the dead."

"Oh? Because speaking ill of Maggie McAlister was okay to do in front of her own son?" His words took the train of thought out of Bea, Hal saw. Robert sat up straighter, his tail lashing against the ground. "Why are we bothering with this at all? Toni McAlister is dead, you hear? Nothing is going to bring him back; not these packages, not these strange objects or these stupid letters."

"So, what was in yours?" Hal asked.

Robert snapped his muzzle shut. Both of their eyes darted to the small box sitting in front of him with Rob's name scrawled in lazy penmanship. Before Hal could spring from his seat, Robert swiped the package from the table and leaped over his seat, charging the other way. Hal jumped up, banging his knee on the table as he ran after him with Bea calling out for them to stop.

Hal's feet pounded on the earth. For a big bear, he was quick. Robert was quick on his feet too. The raccoon made it almost to the tree line. Hal leapt and grabbed Robert by the waist. The package flew from his paw and landed a few feet away. Both men struggled on the ground. Robert tried stomping out Hal's paws, but they were too strong. Hal elbowed him at the base of his spine and he stopped squirming. "Don't fucking move," the bear growled. Sweat was dripping from his forehead. He was panting fiercely, only disappointed because he couldn't kill him. Instead, he moved forward so his body weight kept Robert from getting up.

Bea managed to catch up to them. Her eyes were mostly occupied by the spilled contents of the box. A letter was there, but there was something stuffed between the pages. As she walked toward it, she heard Robert struggle under Hal's grip. "No. No! Don't touch it! You don't understand!" he yelled. Hal's muscles strained to stop Robert from getting to the letter.

Bea carefully plucked the pages off the ground, looking for whatever it was causing the strange lump in the pages.

It was a photograph of a familiar blue fox. He didn't look happy, though.

Then she saw what was intended to see, and she screamed.

Both Hal and Robert stopped struggling. Bea had a look of horror on her face, her nose twitching and her eyes threatening to tear up.

"What?" Hal asked. "What did you see?" He held his paw out. Bea didn't change her look as she turned over the picture to him. The bear got a good look at the photo. In it, Toni was standing shirtless, the frame cutting off at the torso. His chest and stomach fur were white like snow. That's what he was supposed to see. Instead, in the picture, there were four dark brown slash marks going from near his chest to his shoulder.

Anger flared in Hal like pouring kerosene in a fire. He shoved the photo in Robert's face. "Did you do this to him?" The words were fired off as harsh as bullets. Hal tightened his arm around Robert's neck. His head was pounding with fury. When the man didn't bother answering, he growled, "I SAID DID YOU HURT HIM?!"

Robert panicked as his throat was cut off from air. He pulled at Hal's arm to get the words out. "No, I didn't!" Robert let out a series of coughs as Hal loosened his grip. Bea sat there looking disgusted; at him or at the photograph, Hal couldn't tell. "I didn't lay a finger on Toni, ever! You know as well as I do that I'm not one to resort to violence." Robert threw a nasty glare at Hal.

"Then what happened?" Hal started to calm his breathing down, but he wasn't letting go.

Robert sighed and closed his eyes. Without looking at either of him, he relented, "Just read the letter."

Bea looked down at the pages and began to read.

4

Dear Mr. Greyheart,

_ You're a moron._

_ You are a_ selfish moron.

And I'm going to explain why because someday, if this letter somehow goes down in the history books, people will want to know how a part-time pastor and field worker came to be one of the biggest idiots in the village.

The morning I went to talk to you, I was sitting in my kitchen eating my favorite breakfast: two biscuits cut into four halves. Right as I finished eating one of the four halves, my dad came down the stairs with that strong tangy smell on his breath. And after visiting Ms. Witherton not long ago, I found out from one of her bottles with a purple label on it that the smell was indeed alcohol.

He came into the kitchen and took a sweeping glance at what I was doing. "Are you eating my biscuits again?" he asked. He had that tone; the one where it only goes down from there.

At that point, Mr. Greyheart, I had a lot of time to think about my life and what has happened ever since my mother d. Dad constantly smelled like alcohol (moonshine, no doubt), and he was always coming after me with violent threats and outbursts. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together and realize that he was abusing me. I didn't think it could even happen considering I'm nearly a full-grown man. But that was my hard reality: I was being physically abused.

And you know what I thought about it? I had just about enough. A few days ago, she shoved me through the railing on our deck and shattered my mom's favorite mug while I was using it. That was a big sign to me that something was very wrong with him.

Every push, shove, punch, and word hurled at me went through my mind as he stepped closer to me. My fist curled up. I looked at my dad straight in the eye and said, "Well, maybe if you laid off the drinks every night, you'd be able to wake up and get some yourself."

He was taken aback. His whiskers twitched. "What did you say to me?" He took a step closer.

I stood up. I was shaking, but I wasn't about to let him put his paws on me again. Technically he didn't: in one clean sweep, he lashed his claws over my chest to my shoulder. I cried out and fell back in my seat. Blood was soaking through my shirt. I could only feel pain. He went in too deep. I could see red on the tips of his fingers. His teeth were bared, ready to bite me if I got up.

I was already in fight-or-flight mode. Before he could make another move, I took the plate my biscuits were on and hurled it at him. I got him straight in the stomach and he fell to the ground, clutching himself. I jumped over him as I ran into the living room. On the mantlepiece was a framed picture of him and my mother standing together. Mom told me she had that picture taken when they first got married.

When dad stumbled around the corner, I didn't even think. I took the picture off the shelf and smashed it across his head. Glass shattered everywhere. He snarled loud enough to rattle my ears.

I didn't look back. I found the nearest open window and threw myself onto the back lawn. Once I was on my feet, you should've seen me running: I ran faster than I ever had. There was one place that I thought to go to. Dr. Donny. I would've gone back to Ms. Witherton, but at this point, she was still upset at me (she can tell you why).

Donny's house was near the middle of the village where most of the people congregate for church or other activities. Still grasping my shoulder, I ran up to his front porch and pounded on the door with my other paw. "Donny! Donny! Open up! I need help!" I cried out.

I didn't stop until he opened the door up. I had to look up at him when he did. Tigers are very tall when they come to be adults. His bright orange fur looked like fire through the sunlight. "Toni, what are you doi-" he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the blood seeping through my shirt. "Shit!" He escorted me inside his home and sat me at his kitchen table. I watched him rummage around the kitchen. Apparently, Donny only wears a white t-shirt and grey striped boxer shorts to bed. Not something you'd imagine a doctor wearing.

Donny eventually found what he was looking for: a pair of scissors. He gently cut my shirt open and peeled the fabric off me. I didn't notice that I was soaked in sweat. Some of the fur on my shoulder came off where the blood started to dry up. "Jesus Christ," Donny cursed under his breath, "what happened to you?"

I didn't answer. I knew that Donny was a close friend of my dad's. If I told him the truth, he would simply deny it. Instead, I went on some made-up story of a hiking incident. "That's how I injured my muzzle a few days ago. I keep slipping and falling near the creek."

"Probably best to avoid that spot, then." Donny took some rags and ran them under warm water. He took a good minute or two gently washing the blood out of my fur until there was only four deep red lines running across my chest left to see.

He then took another bottle out of the cabinet. One with a purple label.

"No!" I protested.

Donny looked at me confused. "Toni, I have to use that, it helps keep your shoulder clean." I didn't care. The stuff in that bottle brought nothing but trouble. I simply refused to let him use it on me. When Donny finally gave up, he wrapped a long bandage around my shoulder and taped it down. "Just see me again if it gets worse, okay?"

"I will."

If you're reading this, Mr. Greyheart, you'd know that I never will. The last look I ever got of him was the tiger waving goodbye to me in his draws. Charming.

At that point, there was no way I could go home. I'd delivered a blow to my dad's stomach and broke his wedding photo over his head. If I ever went back, he'd probably kill me before I ever walked inside. I needed to go somewhere else. But where?

It was just my luck that I was wondering around and happened to find the Baptist church that you sometimes volunteer for. I was hesitant at first, Mr. Greyheart, because my dad also had some good terms with you. What made you different from Donny was that you were more willing to see reason.

At least I thought.

I walked up the front steps to the chapel as people were walking out. Most of them were elderly mothers wearing fancy suits and large hats. I never understood church attire. When I reached the top of the steps and looked into the room, you were there, standing at the front of the room. I recall you were closing the big book that rests on the podium. Remembering my manners, I knocked on the door as it was closing.

"Mr. Greyheart?" I asked. It almost sounded like I was pleading.

You looked up at me. Just like Donny, your facial expression contorted from being pleased to see me to pure horror. "Toni? What happened to you?" You stepped down from the stand up front and walked over to me. There was real concern in those grey eyes of yours.

You sat me down in one of the pews in the back row. I started all the way from the beginning: how my mother really died, how my father started being aggressive with me and how I only recently found out that he was a sad miserable drunk. I poured my heart out. It felt like I was breaking the wall to a dam. Everything I ever felt since my mother left me. I was shaking long before I was done, but I finished with the story of what happened that morning with the biscuits and the picture frame.

When I finished my tale, I dared to look up at you. You simply sighed at me and shook your head. There were gears turning in your head. For a moment, I had a flash of hope, that there was a chance something in my life was going to change.

Then you said, "Are you sure about that?"

Five words. That's all it took to make my heart drop, Mr. Greyheart.

"What?" I said back. Almost unsure of what you said to me.

"I mean... there's no way your father would've attacked you out of the blue. To me, it sounded like you provoked him and he reacted."

I couldn't believe the words coming from your mouth. I waited for you to tell me that you were only joking at that of course you were going to get me some help. That didn't happen. You kept your serious look trained on me, as if waiting for me to confirm his statement true.

I shook my head at him. "No," I choked out. My lip was quivering, tears threatening to rush back to my eyes. "Are... are you joking right now? My dad has tried to kill me at least two times this week and you think it's my fault?"

You stammered for a minute before answering. "Well, Toni, I can see why you would think that this is abuse, but you have to understand that your father lost his wife. And you trying to prod him when he's trying to grieve isn't the best idea for-"

"'Prod him'?" I yelled. "He's been hurting me_! I haven't done anything to him!" My head was pounding. I wanted to grab you by the throat and make you feel exactly how I felt._

That's when your raccoon attitude began to show. Your eyes darkened as your eyebrows came together. "Now, Toni, making excuses for yourself is not how to move past this. I know your father; he would never hurt the people he loved let alone drink to the point of being dizzy. Don't you see? This is all a ploy for attention now that you don't have your mother. I'm willing to bet there isn't even anything under those bandages."

"But-"

"But nothing. Now please leave, I have to lock up now." You got up without saying another word. I was left heartbroken. Not only did I not have anywhere to live now, but now you had this idea in your head that I was somehow an attention-seeking brat.

Well, Mr. Greyheart, the reason why you're a moron is because you were wrong. And if you still don't get it, I feel sorry for you.

I managed to get a photo of my scars by borrowing a camera from a close friend of mine in the neighborhood. I hope you take a good look at that picture for the rest of your life and realize what a mistake you made. You took someone who was in need and tried to reach out for help and stomped their hopes flat in less than three minutes. Because of this, I hold you equally responsible as my dad for the decision that I made on my life. You're going to read this for the rest of your life and you'll be reminded over and over of what you could have done.

-Goodbye

Toni Q. McAlister

5

When Bea finished reading the letter out loud, Hal was mortified by what he read. His hatred for Robert resurged to a whole new level. He looked down into the raccoon's masked face. "He reached out to you," he growled, "and you do absolutely nothing to help him? What kind of pastor are you?"

"Part-time pastor," Robert retorted. "And Eric McAlister wouldn't hurt his child, I've met him several times."

"Was this before or after his wife passed?"

Robert didn't answer. Instead, he pulled his arm free until Hal grabbed ahold of it, trying to keep him in place. He was so full of rage and anger and confusion that he couldn't see why on earth someone like Robert was allowed to walk on Earth. Bea eventually broke her silence. "Let him go."

Hal looked up at her confused. "What?"

"You heard me. Let him go. It's clear he doesn't care for Toni and there's no point in keeping him here any longer." While Bea may seem very passive about this, Hal knew there was no point keeping the raccoon on the ground either. Slowly, the bear let himself up and assisted Robert to his feet.

Robert brushed the grass and dirt off his shirt, leaving brown and green smears in the fabric. "You sir have a lot to learn about manners," he said. Before either could respond, he snatched the photo and the letter and stormed off towards the village. Hal watched as the grey figure disappeared among the fray of wooden and cement buildings. Once or twice, the bear thought about going after him and dragging him back by his collar but then decided that it wasn't worth it.

He wasn't worth it.

Hal and Bea walked back over to the wooden table where the other two packages remained. A chunk of wood was missing from the end where Hal bumped his arm when he got up. The two sat down next to each other. In the brighter daylight, Hal truly began to see the size difference between them. Both of them were overcome with emotion. Toni had reached out for help and was simply pushed aside like garbage.

"You cared for Toni, didn't you?" Bea asked, halting Hal's train of thought.

Hal looked down on the ground. "He was a friend. Almost like a son that I never got to have."

Bea reached out. Her tiny fingers disappeared in his bigger paw as she sat there holding it. She felt great sympathy for the bear. They both lost something the day Toni died. "There's one thing I don't get. How did Toni even take that picture? I don't know anyone from the village that owns a camera."

Hal let out a long sigh. Because he knew the next part of the story and it was too close to home. His home. "Me. The camera was mine."

"So, he went to you after he went to talk to Robert?"

Even the sound of his name made him want to punch his way through the table. "Yes," Hal said. He grabbed his package off the table and held it over to Bea. She took it in her small paws and looked inside. There was a letter - of course - and a pack of cigarettes with no cigarettes. "I haven't even read my letter yet. Because I knew exactly what was going to be in it."

"You were afraid you were going to see what you could've done. To prevent all of this." Bea said it like she knew it was already a fact.

Hal nodded.

"May I?"

Hal nodded again.

6

Dear Mr. Brightpath,

_ I want you to know that this will be the hardest thing I will ever write in my entire life; like trying to write a eulogy for a close friend, only in this sense_ I'm the one going in the cold ground.

_ I don't want you to blame yourself for what happened. I made this decision on my own. I will be forever grateful for you taking me in the day my shoulder got scratched. And if you're reading this letter by now, you know the reason why._

_ Unlike Ms. Witherton and Mr. Greyheart, you never pushed me away. When I showed up at your doorstep that one night, I was scared, I felt like everyone else in the world was against me and I didn't know where else to turn. I was beyond relieved when you told me, "Come in, are you okay?"_

_ I told you I was fine. Maybe I was hoping you'd see past my façade and see that I was not. Once you sat me down in your living room, it was very awkward and quiet in the room. Your house smelled like the inside of an oven. Next to your armchair there was an ashtray sitting on top of a small stand. "Can I bum one?" I asked. It felt like some other part of me was taking control._

_ You gave me a strange look like I was crazy (or maybe I am) and said, "Sure." There was doubt in your voice, Mr. Brightpath. I took one cigarette from a golden pack and you lit it up for me. One breath and I coughed and hacked up the ashy taste._

_ "Are you alright?" you asked. I said I was fine. "First time smoking?"_

_ "Mhm." I took another breath and puffed out a small cloud anyways. Another part of my brain switched on in that moment. My muscles relaxed, and the world was much smaller. I knew that my dad would kill me if he found out I was smoking. Some part of my mind was nagging that I wasn't going home, remember?_

_ "How does it feel?" he asked. I'm sure you were expecting an answer along the lines of disgusting._

_ Even though cigarettes are in poor taste, they helped me relax a little. "It feels like I'm expelling demons," I answered. Neither of us spoke much after that._

_ There was an unspoken agreement that night between us. I could sense it. I stayed in your spare bedroom for the night. (Did you know you snore, Mr. Brightpath? I'm sure Donny could help sort that issue out. Unless that's natural for bears.)_

The next few days were slow, but for me, they were the best in my short life. I stayed in your spare bedroom. During the day, I went out to the wheat fields to help you work. I like giving my paws something to do. I suppose that's why I'm writing these letters in the middle of the night. On day four, we both sat down on your front porch, sweaty and exhausted. I was wheezing a little, but Donny always told me to drink a little water and I'd be fine.

After my breath was caught back up, I reached for that golden pack that I kept tucked in my pocket. It was nearly empty by now. There were four left in mine. We both lit up and took turns trying to puff up a big one as the sun set. Your house has a beautiful view of the sun setting over the horizon. I love it too when it bounces off your fur and makes you look golden, like you're a hero meant to save someone. You certainly have the build for it with biceps like those (yes, I noticed).

"I'm going to go use the restroom for a moment," you said and got up to go inside. I watched you leave. At first, I didn't think much of it and went back to smoking.

It was right after I finished off that cigarette when I heard the sound of grass crunching behind us.

I turned around and there was dad, his head bandaged and his eyes bloodshot.

I stood up from my seat, fear settling into my bones. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "This ain't your home."

"So, this is where you ran off to?" Dad asked. I smelled the moonshine on his breath and it was bad that time. "Off running around with that bear? I didn't want to believe it when the fellers at work told me about you two, yet here you are. And what is that in your mouth? Put that out and get your ass down here." His words were slurred, and he couldn't stare at me straight in the eye. His shirt was covered in soot and he was wearing his mining helmet.

Oh god, he went to work drunk.

I heard my heartbeat in my ears. The only thing I could think was that this was a dangerous man and that he was here to hurt me.

What was taking you so long inside?

He took one step closer to me. I was afraid to step back. "You know what he does to young men like you, right?" he asked. "He likes to play nice with them and lure them into the bedroom. That's how your mother got sick: some whore got to her, pulled her in and took her from the inside out."

My mind snapped and the world seemed to narrow solely on my dad. I saw sparks on the edge of my vision. They were as furious as I was. I jumped off the porch and screamed, aiming a punch directly on his muzzle. He didn't see it coming and he fell to the ground. I pounced on top of him, gripping him by the throat. "YOU! FUCKING! LIAR!" I shouted at his face as I delivered blow after blow. His nose cracked under my fist. "MOM GOT SICK BECAUSE OF THE FLU AND YOU KNOW IT! STOP MAKING THINGS UP TO FEEL SORRY FOR YOURSELF! AND LEAVE! ME! ALONE!" I emphasized those last few words by dragging him up by his collar and kicking him in the stomach.

He landed on the ground a few feet away. Blood trickled down his nose and dripped onto the grass. My whole body was on fire. Have you ever felt years and years of aggression build up inside you and have it unleashed in under a minute, Mr. Brightpath? I have.

It was nice.

As soon as what was left of my dad looked up at me, he had a wild look in his eyes. He had grabbed a fistful of grass and looked as if he was ready to fight me again. Instead, he stood up and pointed his finger at me. "I'll kill you," he muttered. His voice was still slurred. "I swear to God I'm going to kill you and you can go rot in hell where you belong." The scary part was that his voice was low when I expected it to be loud.

When you finally came back outside, he was gone. I was shaking hard from the adrenaline pushing its way through my body. You took me back inside and told me that it was okay, whatever had just happened. I simply sat there in your arms, my face pressed against the side of your gut, imagining that it was safe there.

But I knew it wasn't. I was never going to be safe. No matter where I go, or what I do, he was going to find me. I didn't have the guts to try to kill him first. I couldn't tell you either. After what happened with Mr. Greyheart, I didn't want anyone to be forced into my personal hell.

Right there, snuggled on your lap, was when I made the decision to take my own life. If I was going to go down, I wanted it to be on my terms.

When you told me to get some rest that night, I did the exact opposite. I started planning my suicide and what I wanted from the world once I was gone. It was too late to have a will written out for me and my dad sure as hell wouldn't care what it said. He would destroy my things anyways. No, instead, I wanted to leave behind some mark. Some way for people to remember me by after I was gone.

As I'm sitting here, writing on the desk in your spare room, I'm thinking about my life: what it could've been and what it is now. There may be no escape from the things life throws at you, but at the end of the day, everything you do is your choice.

I just hope that you accept mine.

I hope you don't mind that I took a few empty boxes from your kitchen. You'll get one of them back eventually. You never know; sometimes things find a way to come back to someone. Perhaps you'll be seeing that very soon.

Once this letter is done, I plan to send the boxes to their respective new homes, and hope that they achieve exactly what I want. Then, using some rope I found in your shed, I will go out for one last run into the forest where I shall find the biggest and sturdiest tree to leave myself hanging. At least you'll know that I died happily and feeling free. I know that you may be a bear, but running is fun; it makes me feel alive.

I hope that you don't read this and start crying, because that's sad to think about. No matter what happens, you were a great friend and I will always hold a place in my heart for someone like you. Keep being yourself, Mr. Brightpath, and I'm sure the world will repay your kindness someday.

Yours with great love and respect,

-Toni Q. McAlister

7

What Came After

Fog rolled in from the mountains one day, blanketing the village in cold and wet. The temperature was reaching towards the extremities. June tended to bring out the worst in the region; work days hotter and cold only came by when the people were trying to slumber. The weather made everyone sluggish. That's why no one even saw the fire until the house was completely ablaze.

It was around nine o'clock in the evening when one of the houses on the outskirts of the township became its own version of inferno. Flames licking up the gutters to the second story, charring the brown oak wood black. Smoke and ash fumed into the air and the eyes of those who gathered around to watch it burn. It was fascinating, fire: it can be made from a single spark and can decimate acres in a matter of time. No one made any move to put the fire out. They figured that eventually, the dried grass around the house will keep the fire from spreading and that will be the end of it.

Bea Witherton held her nine children close, not letting any of them inch any closer to the fire. Next to her among the crowd was Dr. Donny and Hal Brightpath. All three hundred villagers had no idea what the cause of the fire was or whether or not Eric McAlister was still inside. In a matter of hours, it wouldn't matter. The last trace of the McAlister family line would soon disappear into oblivion.

Behind the house and into the woods, a lone figure stood out of reach of the light. The cover of dusk and the dense trees provided enough shelter for the man. The only indication that he was there was the patch of moonlight showing off his grey fur and masked face. He held a cigarette up to his muzzle and took a long puff. The deed is done. At his feet, the empty canister felt warm despite him having already emptied out the kerosene all over the back deck. He didn't wait to see if anyone would leave the house.

Tucked in his back pocket was another note that was in handwriting similar to that bratty fox's:

Robert,

I know exactly what you did to Toni and I'm very upset with you. First you helped spread malicious rumors about my sickness and then you deny help to the only other person in the world I care about. You know exactly why I couldn't come back to the village after the shame you placed upon my head. And I called you a friend. Things have changed since I left; I've changed. After suffering at the hands of my husband, I was determined to leave and find a place for me and my son to go by ourselves, but you couldn't keep an eye on him for me like I asked. Turning your back on a suicidal person can place someone even in your position in a spot just like mine. Unless you want to end up out here like me: alone, abandoned and hated by everyone you knew, then you will do one last favor for me, and if I don't hear about it within the next month, I will know you opted out and I will make sure you pay your price.

-Maggie McAlister