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Kitsunegari

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The distractions don't end anymore, the focus doesn't start.

And it plays. And it plays against his diminished functions. In his head while chasing asphalt on another motorcycle. And it plays. Courts said everything would be made up but it's alright this ain't his old Vulpon. Somehow doesn't feel it'd change anything if it was, wasn't some 67 Guide he overpaid for, what's out of tune and still everything Andrew can do not to lose him. The Wolf had to take his best bet to follow his friend, and if he's riding twice the CCs than he can get the hang of, they're not enough to keep a Fox in sight. He's just a squid somehow only just avoiding collision. But he's still a Junebug too buzzed and buzzing to really be aware of it's surroundings, not there enough to see how close either of them get to wrecking on a daily basis, to have mercy on this Wolf, the one chasing after someone that ain't...

...He's thinking too much. But it's Bib Burga season, anyway. And that one is smelling pretty good, before he's even off the Vulpon. It doesn't have time to land on the kickstand, he's already swooped off the bike while Andrew comes in too hot and in a rush to park not to drop his own. Too distracted to stop his friend, only watch him fly on an opportunity so fast, the Ram doesn't even know what's missing, before looking back down at what he don't got in his hooves. That the Fox from his left took out of reach to the right, has already spit the bite he took out and throws the rest of it at the wall.

Since when did Bug Burga start carrying cheese?

"You think I ain't weaned?!"

The hell was a Sheep even doing with a burger, anyway?

It's like this Fox can't even let him go without catching a breath, because it's always already too late for Andrew to do anything besides watch a trainwreck happen in front of him. This Jackal's livid for the Ram beside her, she's about to snap. He's always already gone off the rails by the time Andrew's got his bike back up and dropped the kickstand. Ashamed and scared, the Wolf has gotta act before she does, rushing toward the two of them with whatever denomination that bill in his paw is. It's hopefully enough, hopefully not a twenty but he don't even care beyond telling the Ram "I'm sorry." on someone else's behalf that isn't even. Maybe the money in his hooves will stop the both of them, before the Jackal he's with goes off on the Fox he's gotta get back on course. But what's become of him is never over. That crooked smile to "No cheese this time either, lambchop!" that rubs the insult back in before Andrew can plead with him to just shut the fuck up, but, well...

She smells a whiff of something on him, under that his unwashed musk from his unkempt fur. A whiff of what's got her asking herself "does he gotta wipe yer ass too, piece of-" like he won't pick it up, like he "Can't hear you!" when he has and "Owen would you PLEASE-" ain't enough. He wants to make it worse and see where it goes. Make her pull the sucker out her mouth to spit the venom off her tongue.

"I SAID YOU SMELL LIKE-!" Yeah, he don't wanna know who he is but "YEAH LEAST I AIN'T FULL OF IT ANYMORE AM I FUCKING RIGHT?!" is something to win an argument with, if he'll pretend he thinks he gets what he is. Lifting his shirt up without dignity but a grin to go alongside the manic leer, to show a stomach off as furless as a mange case. Where the skin contrasts against the colostomy bag hanging out of it, and all the lines of scar tissue where his stomach must've been ripped apart. And all that revealed, it really does end what she was about to start. Leaves the Jackal about as bug-eyed silent as that Ram she's with. Realizing why he's like this. Because he lost how to digest something on his own.

He needs help with it, now. Medical supplies. Medical prescriptions. What the doctor won't order and the pharmaceuticals don't offer.

Anything he needs, any money they'll take and however ugly it makes him. The attitude's in vogue, these days.

She still can't tell if this Fox is really him. Doesn't want to. Doesn't matter where he went wrong. He just has. He's just this. So she'll shut up the burger he snatched out of some Sheep's hooves. Let him think he won like he didn't. There's no arguing he's lost. That he could be at enough full tilt to make it physical if she doesn't just leave it at this. He can scoff like they'll let him out of pity. Mutter something else ugly under his breath as he turns around, if Andrew's gonna suggest it with a paw on his shoulder to just go up the god damn flight of stairs to Toby's building.

 

...Where I swear I think he sees my face looking back, in the reflection of the glass door.

 

Even if he can't recognize it through the self medication, for a moment, he feels like he looks like Forty Four by Dashing Buntings. He doesn't know why. He's not sure how, but he's seeing me in his head like it has someone else's eyes. Noticing strands of grayed out fur on our face without a mirror. I don't know why he's stressed. I didn't notice he was this angry. I don't know what for. This is just who he is, looking like myself while talking like myself but only on the surface, by the see-through gold leaf. From the way they look at him, it's like all these chemicals are foaming out of his mouth.

But it kind of hangs, even though Andrew's already opened the door and giving him a push inside. The way they stare is like he's rabid. And it's got me seeing it, too. That what they're looking at isn't me, anymore. When the cheapest proof of 151 fumes out of his mouth like the pill binges out his his brain and the barbiturate through his...

But the image kind of hangs, even though Andrew's already opened the door and given him a shove inside. Then it disappears, and the remedies take him back over. The Wolf behind him pulling it shut against hydraulic actuation. He's somehow thankful it wasn't worse, just still left hating that his friend is too far gone to even protest. Then it disappears, that he's ashamed of what's left of his friend, drifting in the last direction he was blown. How unrecognizable it is from behind, the way it shuffles from right to...

...There's somewhere inside of him to ignore. Something about a big pill that got stuck going down. Stairs take over on his mind. Even if Andrew's gotta hover over him, if he can't even go without stumbling up a flight of 'em.

He can ride a bike, though. He can say "Least I can go without dropping my bike." without knowing why he said that. What it even means.

The door, though. Some conversation going over his head while he lets himself in. How familiar this apartment looks, before turning around to recognize that White Tailed artist. Though "Toby?" is holding something back, before turning back to Andrew to let him in.

The radio is playing. This living room is pleasant. Surroundings enough to keep him occupied. Something on the speaker cut off to Andrew changing stations about how it's gone up because the gangs replaced the packs that were all broken up after...

This living room is pleasant, surrounding him enough to keep it occupied, and the bars are in effect. Toby asking something about...

Andrew saying it's like he's dealing with a bomb all day. Doesn't have to register what it means. The Fox can appreciate breathing for awhile. How air feels going in an out of him. The room going up and down every time. Even if it leads nowhere. Why Andrew's here with someone Toby can't believe, not knowing what to do with him, like the Buck would know any more than he does. He could've come by without him but he really couldn't, if he's always...

Just lower your voice. Talk around it. He don't even think about it now like I know what's there. Discussion droning in and out, in one ear out the other and if he's never doing acid again, the contrast is still going up. The definition of colors that he's grown to appreciate, if they're just real enough to drown out the rest of the scene. A slide show cartoon exchanging still frames of beautiful furnishings with every blink. Leaves it at feeling like a dream every day. A dream of a place that's easy to. It was real. He's not sure that those were xan he took, when Andrew woke him up calling. It shouldn't really matter though. Whatever's giving this is still a kindness. A placating. A little break in Now.

It came from wanting in the bubble to look at Now as it passes by. Bugs can be crushed and remain alive. It brings a different sort of thing to that. How his ears pick up he's got no family here. Andrew can't find his folks on his phone or anyone else. And he doesn't have to wonder why the Wolf's saying that. A knock on the door in rhythm to the beat on the radio. But if he's not imagining it, Toby or Andrew will answer and it's Toby that gets up to answer with an opening for a Fox to slip through. One that takes a moment for the Buck to...

Oh. It's another repeat. He's got consciously commit to reminding it's a repeat. Look back to where they sat down and Toby's still there with Andrew. It's all it is, is another loop thats got the Fox amazed at what a bastard this other one is. Projecting myself without feeling my self. They always find him passed out in an alley or on the sidewalk, never at the lease he rented or the group home. I can't help the feeling I could blow through the high, if I just turned...

Close the book on it, while he's at it. But he'll always remember this room and be inspired by that framed photograph or whatever. It came from being in the bubble and looking at things as they passed by. Looking at it like it's a dream with his eyes closed, I think all our ways just feel kinda the same but it licks that our vision is dissonant. This isn't seen for what it is, but it's obvious, it's real and not even that can kill this vibe he swore he'd chase until I was dead. This has been like he's been raised from the dead. He felt the roads were paved with gold. That's what my father said, first time I walked in on him with a needle. The sweet thing like cinnamon that I can understand him taking, now. How he could laugh about the sheriff beating his head in, trying to steal the pcp he didn't have, never even tried.

He never was the same after that, but I'm happy I got to make him laugh, the one time he wasn't screaming at me or my mother in between trips.

He's glad he can laugh out of nowhere if it still scares the hell out of Toby, because it's god damned hilarious how they used to ask if I was high. Somehow it got easy to fast forward.

How Fabienne Growley didn't have the heart to release the footage from his own interview.

No cop even tries to even touch him but Lucifer.

Sometimes he's just happy he doesn't care.

They find him, call him in to Lucifer and he takes over from there. Everyone tries to ignore him but him.

There was a time I moved someone else's work instead of taking it.

It's hilarious because he needs it to be like a fucking dream I'm living in.

Neither of us even knew how hard life was and he don't even think about it now because...

But he can still laugh that prey are still furious about how easy they think we all got off, still saying we're out of control, out of their control, out of...

Out of...

Who?

Who was it like me that didn't care how hard it was?

No.

No this is still working, they're not killing this high, it just needs more time, it needs more popped.

He tried committing him then keep committing and he does, he takes a little bag out his shirt pocket and he swears to god he does but they won't make it stick, the plastic sticks to his pawpads and he can check out any time then he's going to voluntary centers, he's taking whatever he's shaken out the bag but they keep saying he's not related, not bad tasting going in, not a married relation or they could make it so he couldn't just... ...What are they talking about, again? Write it out of the book, right there. Whatever it takes for him not to read the present, the past and a future without... ... When something keeps coming back, I'm doing that thing someone hated, and as long as he doesn't know what it is, it's only reminding him time to pull out his little bag of pill for some reason robitussin's wearing off against.

Before I can make it worse.

Still in his paw and sure, he just swallowed one but sure, fuck it. But it already is. He spends every day nauseous on no options against all the ones the Fox has and keeps taking. Just play it safe and shake another one out. Fight it down with that dried out mouth of his and "You see?! You see this fucking shit I gotta live with?! I said we gotta talk around however you can help me and he still figured it out to go an keep TAKING THAT GOD DAMN CRAP LIKE IT'S GONNA..."

The fake plastic relief that wears him out.

It's suddenly become the last thing on his mind.

"Change the station."

A song just started and it's the last one either of them could deal with this Fox hearing.

Toby hasn't been around him to watch what Andrew never wants to again. He doesn't get it, that's got him looking at Andrew like what could be wrong with Take Me to Your Best Friend's "JUST CHANGE THE STATION!"

Going around this roundabout, oh, yeah, that's finally got Toby on his toes and his hooves on the remote, Take Me to Your Best Friend's House and Toby's trying to "CHANGE THE DAMN STATION BEFORE HE HEARS-"

But I was Late for ThisLate for ThatLate for the Love of my Life.

Life.

Eva.

Love of my life.

Eva, my life.

My past life, Eva.

Life.

Eva.

Eva is Life.

Eva.

And When I Die aloneWhen I die AloneDieI'll Be On Time.

What a Deer doesn't get and a Wolf knows is coming.

Because Eva means Life.

This is when it connects.

That's where I'm going back to.

A fact that Ferret girl named Eva was the love of my life. Past Tense, Has Been, Was, Will Never Be Again BECAUSE WHAT HAS BEEN HAS COME AND LEFT AND IN THAT ACTION OF LEAVING HAS RETURNED TO SOMETHING THAT ISN'T BECAUSE IT ISN'T OCCURRING BECAUSE IT OCCURRED BECAUSE IT IS NOT NOW BECAUSE IT IS GONE AND LIFE IS GONE BECAUSE LIFE WAS IN A GIRL NAMED EVA THAT I LOVED IN THE PAST TENSE AND CANNOT LOVE NOW BECAUSE LIFE IS BECAUSE OF LOVE AND LOVE IS LIFE AND LIFE IS GONE BECAUSE MONTHS, WEEKS, DAYS, HOURS, SECONDS AGO, MY GOD FORSAKEN LIFE WAS TAKEN FROM ME BECAUSE MY LIFE WAS IN A FERRET NAMED EVA BELETTE AND IN THIS HOLLOWED OUT PIT THAT IS MY BODY MY MIND HAS NO FUCKING SOUL TO FRAME IT LIKE THE BONES ACHING UNDER MY MUSCLES UNDER MY ORANGE FUR AND WITHOUT THAT SOUL THERE IS NOTHING TO KEEP MY MIND IN MY BODY SO OUT OF COURSE BECAUSE I HAVE NO MIND BECAUSE THERE IS NO SOUL AFTER THERE IS NO LIFE WHEN I GAVE MY LIFE TO HER AND THEY TOOK IT FROM ME BECAUSE THEY TOOK HER FROM ME AND...

And...

...and...

I Can See You From The Dark With You Above Me.

The efforts of thousands of chemical formulas, hundreds of researchers, decades of work, billions of dollars, a half dozen pharmaceutical conglomerates will all come crashing down, now.

To the chorus of mournful angels.

Now, they will do nothing.

I'm coming back to where I didn't want to be.

But I'll play the part.

As the emotions I took their products to freeze solid will boil over and wash over my walking corpse.

My palms will tremble as they raise to the sides of my face.

Every hair on my body will raise.

This carpet bomb stampede  that're my deconstructed feelings will blot out the sun and decimate my land, now.

Every hell of every religion will take me, now.

My mouth is wide open. There is screaming. My ears hear it centuries after the fact that I am screaming, now, I am howling at the top of my lungs and reeling in the most agony I've ever felt and clutch at the sides of my head.

The ceiling revolves around the blades of that fan I'm looking to.

I'm spinning. Rolling forward from Toby's sofa and reeling into a spastic thrashing curled up ball in the death throws of my body and mind and soul without life.

My fists pounding into the sides of my head, Andrew springs forward and comes over me, holding at me and "OWEN, OWEN HOLD ON, LET IT GO! LET IT FUCKING GO!"

Hold on.

Let go.

My body springs out. Eyes bulging. Explode. My limbs like a roach's when it's dying on it's back. Like a sun explodes. I have exploded into a bellowing wail on such a scale that a nebula will remain long after I'm gone from here. Future generations will see it millions of years from now. After the fact. Without paws and hooves grabbing at me there like they are here, where my teeth sink down the soft soil of flesh to press into the frame of bones.

Hold On.

A crying out.

Andrew reeling back and for that one moment, I see eyes filled with so much hurt from that betrayal.

That I've bitten him. Without an instinct for anything else but to run.

Let Go.

To run, and run, and run, and to run the door, and to run from the threats, and to dodge two sets of hooves and slip through the crack and to run down the hallway and to run from the chase and jump down the first flight of stairs to fall and to get up and see two frightened pair of eyes lunging for me and to bolt and run on all fours down the next flight and clear the next jump and to run through the lobby and fly out the exit just given to me by a prey girl I've frightened so bad she's fallen down backwards with me climbing her and running down the sidewalk and running to my bike and jumping on...

Until I've suddenly realized everything I just did. What I've become. How much of a savage I am, that I just bit my best friend staring back at me. At a full sprint. Because after all I just did...

He's just trying to save me.

That he's helpless to, with my foot slamming down on the kickstart so hard it gets the engine fired up on the first try.

Because I can't stop my other foot from kicking the clutch up to first.

This paw from twisting up the throttle.

And I can't stop my one chance to get away from happening.

It's automatic and it's instinct, flying me forward as I look into Andrew's eyes for the last time.

And I couldn't say sorry any louder with my mouth than I am with these eyes. With all of my guilt in them, looking to him and not the source of the blaring out of a horn.

I'm swerving myself out of a head on collision without even seeing what I nearly crash into.

It's automatic and it's instinct and a place for the end I wish was here.

I've swerved myself out of a head on collision without haven seen what I nearly crashed into. An arm and my bitemarks and a knowing how undeserved it was and a wish I was already dead. But I left the scene. I've left the help Andrew was just trying to get me.

The last person I had that hadn't given up is a mile behind me, already.

Two miles.

Five.

The City's going past me that fast. All these buildings, mammals gone with the wind. The wheels will guide me and the engine try to distract, but it won't. It couldn't. Nothing can. This is just a moment of clarity. I could try to take enough not to wake back up and it wouldn't stop it. But I could try to use it while the traffic tries to dodge me. I can try to tell myself it's alright, it's ok, it's alright, it's ok, turn it 'round, it'll be right, it is, I believe it is, I want to be, I can make it...

I can't...

I can't undo what's come to me in the middle of an apex I'm sliding out the rear wheel through, in the middle of fishtailing so hard I should have been thrown off three times in a row.

I should have died three times in less than a second and it can't be ignored: How could I let myself turn into this?

I can't stop asking it. I can barely see through how hard I'm crying, everything is so loud I can barely hear myself screaming out how.

I can't stop telling myself I didn't spend a whole red light howling it out to some big cat in a Taxi I scared bad enough to make him climb out the driver's seat to the front passenger's because I did.

I'm still seeing that look on his face. The look on hers. I can't undo it. The face of the last friend I had left that was still trying to help me. What I became. What the muddied blur of everything around me is now, leaning to the asphalt beside me in the turns and sending the front wheel airborne in every straight.

She's fucking gone and left what we imagined together.

If I'm still running red lights and somehow dodging one front bumper after another, the rear wheel's sliding at every one I'm not and burning out to green lights.

I can't tell what I'm doing but I can see it now. I dove too deep.

I went so far I couldn't even see that ewe in the dark. I think my right paw's sore from breaking a mirror off a car but I can't unsee them. I can't get the ghosts of everyone past me out of myself. The front brake lever must've broken my pinkie.

These drugs have never worked. I can't stop seeing that last look she gave me.

I can't get out that the DA should've been more than thrown out of office for making them make it her and not me they saved and just for another fucking term of office.

I can't stop seeing her face.

I can't stop thinking and I can't stop wishing that it'd get me killed already but I don't even know where I'm going. The blur that goes from gray to green. It was unfair, the game cheated and I didn't even have a say in playing it.

It just happened.

She just died just so they could have me for a trial that never happened. They didn't have the heart.

How am I the lucky one?

Why the hell can't I just find the blue tulip extract that no dealer will even touch just so I could be mindless? I'm already savage and I just want it official.

They got excited. They got excited over a false flag and they already don't owe me what I'm experiencing and it makes it not even matter if they still own me. I bit a friend I never deserved then I ran away and the facts have nothing else matter but the one: I don't wanna be anywhere. I don't wanna know how Downtown's already behind me and I'm in Rainforest. I don't even want to remember. I dove too deep to even see Bellwether right in front of me. See what I should've seen, seen with everything Espada told me I shouldn't have forgotten if I had the chance to do a damned thing about it all and I can't stop seeing Eva through these tears through these eyes through this fucking sprinkler rain I'm going too fast that I'm still not hydroplaning over.

I was too there in the present. The game wasn't fair.

I'm still there in her eyes and under her skirt and it licks that pred is a brand but it clicks that noone saw eye to eye but her and we shared visions and kisses but I guess it's something Bellwether meant that a pred is a brand, not a mammal and it means that the feelings and the present has dissonance against all the facts.

This is a mental breakdown without a conclusion. I loved and I'm no longer. She left me here. The front wheel stayed straight inspite of the scrape of the left handlebar across the whole passenger side of the minivan. All the dope in the world hasn't been enough to stop me from doing all that thinking she hated. This truck just swerved into the shoulder instead of letting me back my face through the grill and through the radiator. I shouldn't be out of breath but I shouldn't be here and I shouldn't be breathing, I shouldn't be thinking and I should already be under the bike and on the road and ran over into a pulp a hundred thousand hundred thousand million times already. But I can't have a god damned thing. Not even the death I've been looking forward to for days like weeks like months like years like decades.

I was dealing with too much and it licks that I wish I only had as much now. I want it back, I want 2015 back because her fear was a collar but our love was unchained but they made her do it, Bellwether made them make me become what I became without Eva.

They made her leave and there's no going back, no taking back, nothing to give in exchange. I'm free and I don't want the experience anymore. Whatever this is that's come after life but before death. I can't stop trying to scream. It hurts. I think I asked it before but where? It all just hurts. Where can I even go from here?

We didn't see eye to eye and we've never seen eye to eye to make it seem that we don't appear that we could ever be seen or seem eye to eye.

We don't see eye to eye. The system's still in place. A summer didn't stop it, a flower reinforced it and the reveal didn't end it and it licks that a pred is a brand and the definition is dissonant.

They can't even take a look at what they've done. What they had left after they took the rest from me.

It couldn't be known and it couldn't be studied and love like ours could never be defined and it can never be felt again because I'm trapped here, my body is free and a cage for a girl that came too late that I never got to marry, who I didn't get to hold enough that I didn't spend every moment fucking and kissing and hugging and loving and and and and

and

AND

and

AND

and

AND and AND and AND and AND and AND and AND

AAAAAAAAAAA"AAAAAAAANNNNNNNN!"NNNNNNNND

...And I've lost it so hard, the rear wheel's locked down on one stretch of tread going up in smoke to the asphalt under it.

To the fishtail sliding I'm not correcting toward the foregone conclusion.

This is a cliff and that is a guardrail.

Let this be it.

The less of me, the merrier.

Let me highside, let the wobble throw me off and let me fly into the guardrail let me wrap around that tree let me bounce down the cliff let me let me let me let me just for fuck's sake just let me...

Let me...

 

 

But I'm not in control.

 

 

But the reflexes kicked in and this god damn bike didn't Guide me like the name implied.

I can imagine it and wish it all I want.

I'm not dead.

I'm only screaming.

I'm just not alive.

I want a bar, I want a club, I need a room full of people that can just beat me 'til I die.

I want a blue tulip you can't even buy anymore.

I need a crash that'll kill me.

They took it off the flower shop market and they kept it for themselves, this body's so disconnected from what I want it won't even let me make it stop functioning to just let me go already because she kept her name, she kept my life, she left me to lose my mind and I don't know why she abandoned me.

She didn't have a choice.

It's not her fault.

That's the part that hurts the most.

Leaves me with all I've been left with is wishing it was me, wishing fate had let me give my own damned body and hadn't leave me to slam this Vulpon through the Meadowlands to hope and pray the next lean into a corner kills me.

Like every corner before it should have already.

Like tearing my own stomach back out after they put me back together should have.

Like trying and taking every last thing I could get my paws should have done me in.

I'm not even moving. I rolled a whole mile with the right paw off the throttle because I've been pounding the top of the tank with it.

I haven't been moving. I haven't moved for a whole year.

I can't.

The scenery and the folks in it just moved around me.

I'm out of breath. I can't feel my fist pounding on the tank.

But I don't even want to fight it, anymore.

I'm just looking at a gas tank's cap and knowing I could huff all the fumes I want 'til I pass out or die.

It's not gonna change this. This is just this. Nothing's gonna change all of this.

The dope's only stopping me from feeling how broken my pinkie is.

Didn't matter if we had souls. If I ever had one. If Eva still has one to mean that she existed and still continues. If the whole reason we could get high off of music was because we had something only the ethereal could touch. We could've all been just like them and it wouldn't change their world.

They didn't know it. They couldn't see it. They'll never get it.

I can't even hate any one of them that did this to us. To every last mammal they could to have it cost every last thing it was going to just to try and bring the past back around.

They didn't want to know me and they never could.

He tried.

They made us so strange and foreign from the world we just wanted to be a part of, noone else could see me but Eva but they'll deny what it meant.

Andrew tried. He gave it everything he could.

I just had to go become what they always wanted out of me. The only thing they were comfortable with me being. The confirmation of all they were ever told. The dismissal of everything I was. I've become the only thing that ever mattered to them.

I'm not a person, anymore. They wanted a minstrel.

This doesn't even hurt like I thought it would. There ain't enough of me left to feel it.

If it's really better now, then the world's still somewhere I can't feel a part of. They took my part of it.

They'll keep us separate and they'll keep their hate. She could still exist and she'll be waiting on someone I'm not. They can keep their hate. I've clinched my teeth so hard, I think one of the bad ones finally cracked. You keep your hate.

Everything I'm high on is only doing their jobs. They can't help me stop thinking. I don't even want to fight it, anymore.

I want to light it, I want to light it, wanna light the gas with a match and I don't have a box so what's the point?

 

 

 

I won't get rid of her like that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

...

 

 

 

 

 

 

...But maybe she's still out there.

 

 

 

Maybe I can find her.

 

 

 

Maybe this whole time I've just been told something else and the reason it doesn't fit is that I only have to cross that one bridge, or round that one corner, or walk through that one door. And then I'll see her, right where she's been this whole time.

 

Waiting for me.

 

 

 

...

 

 

...This second wind ain't the pills or the needle or the bottle kicking back in.

Doesn't matter how delusional I am.

She came back to me before, and I remember what that Polecat told me.

All she needs is to know where I am. Ain't nothin'll stop her.

I can smile without needing medicine.

So I'll ride this Vulpon and I'll try to go there.

She's just gotta see me.

And in the meantime, I'll go to a gas station and buy a lighter. If I still gotta die by then well then I will. Maybe douse myself at the pump and ride the bike a safe distance from everyone else. But it's like how I always had to blackmail my father: You can put it off. You can always put it off and see what happens next.

I'll look for a place for the end, either way. I'll just look for her, too.

I'll know it when I see it. It'll happen it's be meant to, when it does, as it should.

But I'll look at how bloody my knuckles are right now, and somehow find a way to laugh it off.

And I already got it. I already am.

It's alright to see a ghost in my head, in the meantime.

It just means I've found her there, next to me, like a song.

And That's all the proof I need about us being real live mammals. That's all the reason I need to take this banged up paw and gently lay it back on the throttle.

I'll let what comes next happen and I'll appreciate it, this time. Anything after that is all me.

 

 

...The scenery is moving around me. I won't stop it anymore.

 

 

This road is beautiful. Nothing like it was before.

Everything's coming to me like a music video. The moment doesn't need anything I've taken to make it any better than it is by itself.

I could overdose a Horse with a blood transfusion but the pills aren't doing this.

Moving on forward has happened on it's own.

So I'll take over from here.

I'll ease my left paw off the clutch and give the throttle a twist like I'm learning how to ride all over again. Put my feet back on the pegs and my toes to the shifter and rear brake.

 

There's somewhere ahead of me and I'll accept it, now. It's not Zootopia and I wanna see what it is. As the treeline above opens up and lets the sun out. While the cliff side starts to level out and the guardrail starts to end. There's a place ahead of me I've never seen. Like a magnet that beckons my metal toward it and I need where this Vulpon's guiding me so much closer. To let this matter. To make that count. I've wasted enough time. I've wigged out like I gotta tell myself never to, ever again. I'll ride this bike and I'll appreciate it, this time. I'll let it take me back to how I'd imagine this when I was a kit, years ago. Remember how I always saw something like I'm seeing here when I heard it through the house.

 

As dark as it always was to save electricity. He'd play that Almond Brothers song about Foxes bearing sorrow, having fun, as the needle moved his dealer's work up his vein. I'll let it be a happy memory. I'll remember worshiping those stories about his easyrider days in Zootopia, instead of him telling me to do as he said not done, in spite of all that yearning he had to do it all again. Go back when it didn't matter to him if Prey didn't even like it when their own rode motorcycles, or whatever excuse a younger pred like him could give for getting on one. I grew up wanting to relive him. Even if wide eyed, with a future slow, my father tried to get me to change my view. I still saw the rot that had led up to that final fight he had with my mother to convince me not to get like him. How bitter he became.

 

That's why I left for Zootopia. I don't regret it. It's just that I was in love with a place in my mind, where it's not welcomed anymore. Doesn't matter where it went wrong. If it was ever right. If the tree line over me is starting to end with the cliff side and guardrail to my right. If I've become something else that's still like my father... I think I'll run it to it's course. Just do it better. See it through to the end like he didn't. I'll do it right, blow through the asphalt like I blew threw the settlement and let it give me something better. Because it's not gonna replace anything. But maybe it's gonna prove that I ain't gonna need nothing else, in the meantime. Might even take me back home to her. This could still end with us having everywhere to go.

 

I'm still high. Done things today I'll be better off to never remember.

I've made a lot of mistakes. I'm still seeing her and I don't mind.

She's just there.

It just happened.

I'll try not to sing out of key again. I'll try to make my own peace. I'm thinking too much but I'm doing it right like she wanted me. With the right narrative. I'm crying in the way I ought to be and smiling like I ought to. Taking what I need from this to be haunted the right way. To take this road at a strawberry swing pace. Gliding down the straight like I'm not waiting on anything else to happen. That's a three way intersection ahead of me. Not sure why it's got a Yield sign instead of a Stop.

But I'll stop for a moment. I need to get rid of nothing and I owe it to address something. That I can never pay Andrew back. Won't ever undo what I've done. But the least I owe him is a text that says I'm leaving, thanks for what he tried, but I'ma sort myself out and here's to hoping noone's gotta hear about me again. All things I hope he'd know if I didn't say as much.

 

First things first, though.

 

Reach into my shirt pocket with a right paw too banged up to have the dexterity I need for this. Prove it to myself, before I can tell him I'm going to. Remind myself it's alright. I'll commit to it. With my eyes closed as my arm winds up. I've made a lot of mistakes. But it's alright. This isn't a waste.

If I've done this before, it will be the last time. I won't need this, next time I see her. So I'll hope to be worth it to make it worth giving this throw my all.

I won't miss this chance to live, I've only started to enjoy it again an I've already done it...

I've thrown it as hard as I could...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...I think I lost something. I think I'm losing something...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...That's rodknock I'm hearing from the engine.

 

I rode it so hard, so violently, that all those stock internals from forty eight years ago are about to fly through the block.

When's the last time I checked the oil?

The rattle is bad enough, I don't think to flick the ignition off.

I think this is it. It's not coming back if I turn it off. This thing is going to die. And I don't think I care.

So why am I starting to panic?

Nevermind. I don't have to mind, if I don't want to.

I can invent something.

I can try to find somewhere where I can just remain, try to stay at peace about it and I think tonight, if I haven't for a year and I never will again, I'll try to do just this one time: I'll let the ghost sleep tonight.

I think I'll try to let it happen, for once. I'll let her sleep, just to shut her eyes and burn the past and burn our life away.

I threw it, so why am I even looking for it?

Because I threw it as hard as I could.

...It just slipped out my grip to land a little closer than I'd like...

Nevermind.

I don't want to pick the bag up... I really don't.

Nevermind I can pick it back up, this isn't me that wants it back.

If I ain't got the bike for much longer then I still got roads. I don't need to pick it back up. I need to get away and I can text Andrew when the motor blows up.

 

I don't want it, I just... I'm not dead and I'm not alive. I've just been looking for something.

 

 

 

 

And that's when I realize it's found me.

 

 

 

 

That's when I feel it.

 

 

 

 

What's haunted me my whole life. That's here now that I'm here, too.

 

I'll know it's there to the left and just outside of my view. Because without needing to turn my head to the the left, I feel it's gaze on me looking down like the sun.

 

I look anyway. To a black and white car with a Sheep driver and a goat partner under a light bar and behind a bumper guard.

 

It knows me. They recognize me. I know what this is and what it looks like.

This isn't gonna be an arrest, but what it's come down to: That thing Andrew told me not to do, last year.

 

They're waiting to bag me. I could give them an excuse.

 

They don't care if I'm going to or not. If I'm stone cold faced to letting it end, to what I've been made to have happen, waiting for what's been coming since I was born.

 

To have my last sight be pairs of hateful eyes.

I told myself I'd know it when I saw it, and if they've been with me my whole life... Then they could be a kindness, this one time.

 

A Fox's life is a hunt and it means that I've had to give in, someday.

 

They've got their minds made up, anyway.

 

A Fox's last look is that softest knowing smirk to someone else's plot.

 

So I'll let it happen.

 

 

I've waited here for this.

 

 

Because if she still exists, if cloven hoof clinching, plastic creak to steering column flex, if shoulders hunched, eyes leering forward, thought laid bare, if fate culminates, with brake pedal pressed to a shift from park to drive, hoof to the gas, to RPM building up and if button pressed, disco light flashing will bring me back to her, then I will do just that much.

 

With my earnest smile, I'll let them know with one last twist of the throttle and a repeat.

 

How do you like me, now?

 

Hats off to my second birth, this rev to launch, a lurch of steel against the brakes, rear end hunkered down, bullguard forward climbing to strike my leg between motors, red and blue LED cycling, behind a grill, over a roof, a screech of tires, a puff of drivetrain smoke, to loose suspension creak, pistons screaming, heads moaning under tired block straining, for differential whirring under load.

 

 

I'll let the hunt's ghost have it's exorcism.

 

 

I'll die for them and if she's behind a wall of breath, that swells 'round the soul whose meaning can be touched, I got myself on Fire with hope she'll Be there and I'll See her, I've got my bet against the doubt I'll feel her feelings crackling, that I will See her and I will Feel her, for every cubic Inch of motor, they're going to make me Mean it, with every single Ounce of hate, they're going to make me Dean it, with every single Drop of blood, they're going to Make me mean the words I'll sigh.

 

 

 

 

 

"...i'm glad it's you..."

 

 

 

 

 

Fast forward VHS distortion, frame cycle repeat, eyes locked on the driver's, and it comes on the front of a deadly weapon's bullguard raising, the goodbye I was bound to with the front of a squad car lifted up by the torque and at a swallowing angle while the Bullguard sinks into my left leg, to see me on my bike forced down under an undercarriage, against the moving parts and bone crushing weight. Bike and body as one, smashed together to make a goodbye where there is cracking, pops and limb by limb, by torso, by face, as adrenaline does what no pill, no designer, no nothing else ever could: Let me not feel anything at all. As what's merged to become me catches to lift the law off it's back wheels.

 

 

With what's left of me and that bike catching the plastic rear bumper to pry it off. Their rear wheels land on the grass past the shoulder. Like a pound of the stick on the drum the cymbals follow, the sliding roll of tires against the wet earth, as the front cascades into the pond at the end of the slope. The big country echo of everything that just happened reverberating with me looking at me.

There, when I can't move... I can't move.

This disconnect. This home. I've been trying to find it for a year. That swell of bittersweet violin.

It's finally here.

With everything broken. Something pouring into my lungs. Anything my heart can do to pump without rhythm. And nothing left for me to do but stare...

It's a big hard sun. Reflecting in my eyes. Beating to a better tempo than my spilled blood flow.

This is me smiling like I haven't for a year. That's whooping and hollering climbing toward me. The bumper between me and the bike's wreckage.

"Boy I tell you, that's a Dead Fuckin' Pred I'm looking at!"

Gasoline's leaking out the tank.

"You Fucked that Fox right up!"

There's wires exposed.

"That's roadkill if I ever seen it! I got his fucking ass!"

Ignition's still on.

"We gonna call this piece of shit in, sir?"

And they're gonna ignore all that.

"Not until he's done breathing now shut up, just watch this fucking junkie pred die with me... I wanna savor this."

But I don't need karma, if I don't believe in it.

I'm drowning. They can watch. My skull's broken. They can point at where bone sticks out and the fur was peeled back.

Everything is bleeding out.

 

 

It beats fast.

 

 

And I'm grateful.

 

 

It beats faster.

 

 

He told him I left with brain hemorrhaging.

 

 

The heart, it beats and builds up beating.

 

 

I don't want revenge.

 

 

It beats without rhyme or rhythm.

 

 

It was fatal from the multiple ribs that punctured through my lungs anyway.

 

 

It only beats just to have that last drop of reason to hold me back with.

 

 

The took.

 

 

To beat, just skip tempo and beat, and build up the pace of itself to beat and beat and beat.

 

 

I know this, because it's in the autopsy report.

 

 

To beat itself against the collapsed ribcage, to drown the lungs, to flood my brain.

 

 

I don't a cycle of revenge.

 

 

And beat and beat and beat.

 

 

I was there.

 

 

Beating and beating to beat, to throb and crash and pump and shake and falter...

 

 

I am back here.

 

 

The taking, and the beating.

 

 

I don't want to fight anymore.

 

 

And the beat.

 

 

On the ground.

 

 

And The beat.

 

 

Took.

 

 

The attempt to beat.

 

 

I am smiling, I'm almost laughing.

 

 

To try and regain pulse.

 

 

I don't want fighting.

 

 

To try and beat.

 

 

I can feel the blood pooling up in my mouth and in sudden fit of coughing, puked red into the white wool'd face of that stupid looking Sheriff and I am now crying.

 

 

To pump that last drop.

 

 

Taking.

 

 

To shutter.

 

 

I am feeling the tears of joy washing over me as he kicks me, curses me, and fails to understand he's given all I asked.

 

 

And give way like the rest me.

 

 

Wouldn't stand anyone to shed unless they were mutual.

 

 

To silence with no sound left to hear but the wind.

 

 

I'm happy and full of drunken song because it's over, it's over, it's done and I don't want revenge, the pursuit, the fighting, the repeat, the cycle of revenge, I don't want to fight this death or these last two prey I had to share my life with.

 

 

 

The road.

 

 

 

Don't need anyone to dare shed a tear over this ending because I'm glad and that I've got better things, now.

 

 

 

The water.

 

 

 

I'm just glad, so don't argue with the narrative.

 

 

 

The grass.

 

 

 

The observation that the land is for the weary, the sea is for the end, and I don't even have to try now, I'm swimming whether I want to or not but I do, I want to and I don't got no mind, no body, no spirit to fight something I don't want to fight.

 

 

 

 

Blow away.

 

 

 

 

Cause it was a bittersweet symphony, that life.

 

 

 

 

Look down.

 

 

 

 

That revenge, our fighting, their taking, and I'm just done with it.

 

 

 

 

Turn away.

 

 

 

 

I have other songs I want to hear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Get gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

All my life, I got carried away. I held on to this as long as I could.

I was a Fox.

Livin' ain't a concern anymore. I'm back in love, again. Now that it's over, we'll be good as married forever again. Inside a universe made just to be seen by our eyes, here.

All over again.

We don't have to be defined by anything here but the narrative we choose.

So don't pity the dead. Because when you get Here, it heals pasts that futures never would. The reconciliation wrapped in the inevitable. Leaves me open to choose to tell you about that life like the present because I lived in the moment so much, I guess it shouldn't surprise you that I still feel time all the same now, just so much more Objectively Fucking Literally.

I just got a choice, now. Which means I can go back to the start. I want a repeat and I'm gonna have it. Like a chorus.

I'll cross over, she's been patient, and we'll be again. Like a never ending song.

Friday. Beautiful, beautiful day. The traffic is frozen still in time, because there's noone in these cars for me to dodge, to infuriate, there's noone here that doesn't get me. Noone to derogate or deride me. Define or dismiss. I'm back here, how I wanted it. And I'm running down the yellow line of this Downtown street, in between the empty vehicles like I'm never gonna run out of breath. Because I'm not. For a motorcycle it's size, that Ranger had such a perfect song. Like a Hoggley but better. The same snarl, but in a higher tone and more soul. Sure, the thing was loud. That was the point: I Loved every last decibel I could get to drown everything out, back there. But I don't need it here.

I want to hear everything, now.

It's not like I could've found happiness like this in any other way, except in the arms of my one true life. And that's where I'm going. To her. To Eva. She's waiting for me, in that little cubbyhole of good memories of friends from before. Marula Park. She's waiting there for me, now. Without worry, no need for patience. She still wants me and I'm coming over to meet her. Won't have to tell her I'm sorry, if that word's for the living, now. She'll know how lovely she is, and I can tell her she is. Without need, now. Just to tell her for other reason if it's still obvious. Now, going back to the start for good memories we didn't get to make together before that Friday night. We're gonna make them, now. Here, in this city that's a ghost town that we got all to ourselves. We're beyond that conspiring, now.

We're free, now. We'll lie awake forever, now.

We're gonna dream this escape until the end of time, now. Now. Now will last long after we get tired of storming through neverland. After we settle down, like we never got to settle down until Forever Now came along. We'll remember and get to see what we wanted to be, now, until there's nothing left for us to do but turn around, see the view, and see the distance we tried to run from everyone. I know this sounds weird, but that's your problem now. I don't have to water this down. What I'm after, being what I'm finally getting. I'm just haunting you because... I'm not defined, anymore. I can't be filtered. But you wouldn't get that, right now. Nobody but Eva ever got it, before I got it too. On the roof of a train station. By a shipping container. In a hallway.

And it's times like 8:43 on the sun's position, that for a brief moment where time stands still, I can feel so pure and free from weight, from a past life's burdens and the trouble with living. I'm done with you and the living. And because of this, now that it's finally begun, I have a smile on my face. I do a pouncing somersault, roll back onto my feet and just keep running. I feel like a bird, and for now, finally, for all time, nothing new and nothing other will ever again hold this music back as I fly past a familiar truck. Running up and down the sides of cars and trucks, taxis and vans. So many songs, all at once. You don't even know how it feels to hear all of those songs that touched your soul all at once. To feel them through the ground and the air and see them in the morning sky and the buildings and to just...

To become.

But one still sticks out over all the others. On the razor's edge of this yellow lane strip I'm running over. Where the lyrics resonate over and over and over to the beat of my feet. I couldn't live it, then. But I've become that, now. Running through the intersection of a city with no other sound but the echo of her singing getting closer. That song they wouldn't listen to and the radio wouldn't play. I'll sing it with her, now. Let her know I'm coming from the bottom of my lungs to the top of my heart. We're gonna be anything we wanted that never had to be challenged. I got it and I'm gonna give it. We're gonna live the only way to last after the fact. And if you still don't understand, it's alright. You'll get there. But if you like it, you can still sing along.

So say it with us:

Take the weakest thing in you,

And Then Beat The Bastards With It,

And Always Hold On When You Get Love,

So You Can Let Go When You Give It,

Give It,

Give It,

Give It,

Give It,

Give It,

Give It.