FSE

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A fire extends beyond our reach, and you stare at it, seeing nothing but a challenge. You believe you could conquer the raging death before you and stand a chance at holding it back. The fire does not even notice you, and you are engulfed in an inferno of rot, destruction, and, above all, apathy.

The smell of rug invaded Rye's snout as they awoke. Groggily and with little awareness, they rolled over onto their back. They must have fallen out of bed in their sleep again, Rye thought as they rolled onto their back. Upon doing this, Rye misjudged the distance between them and the bed, slamming their elbow into the post, which left their arm without feeling for a spell as they sat up. Slowly, the memory of last night makes its way to the front of Rye's mind, causing their heart to sink. Geez, if the best part of my life is school, you know it has to be shit.

Rye swung around to look back at Felix as they stepped off the bus, sticking their tongue out and making a goofy face as the bus's checked-out driver clicked the button to close the doors. Rye almost thought they got a smile out of their new long-eared friend, but through the smudge and grime on the mirrors, it was too hard to tell.

One day, I'll make you smile, Rye made this promise in their mind, softly purring as they watched them slowly drive off.

With the sun setting and the bus marching away, Rye was now left to find their way home. They recognized exactly zero things around them but knew that the bus had at the very least started in the same direction as Rye's home, but after a while, they had stopped paying attention and got lost in their lighter. Might as well start walking, my house isn't find itself!

Rye began walking with a false purpose in an attempt to keep the eyes of others off them, figuring that they would likely have more luck recognizing something if they started retracing the path of the bus. As Rye is walking, they find their thoughts gravitating back towards Felix. What was it about that damn bunny that was so interesting to them? Like sure, he was weird, but if Rye wanted to hang out with weirdos, then they had a vast selection from classmates alone, and they'd probably have a much easier time figuring out what they thought of them. Perhaps it was that enigmatic nature towards his emotions that was compelling. Felix felt almost like a puzzle; in a world full of bozos who were a cakewalk to read, he gave Rye just enough to know that he enjoyed the company but left them wondering about the nuances. What was a quiet rabbit like him doing with drumsticks? Why was he so quiet in the first place? Nothing about him seemed worth hiding to them. And above all else, why didn't it feel like he immediately clocked Rye as a troublemaker? Why did they almost feel… comfortable talking to him, like he wasn't just tolerating them until he could get rid of them. It was weird, uncomfortable even, but not bad.

Rye had made it to the main road by now. Nothing looked familiar, but Rye figured they'd find something eventually. A car whizzes by, causing Rye's fur to blow back and making them squint. Jeez, that guy was driving way too fast. Rye shuddered, being quickly reminded of how dangerous cars were. Rye was a lot of things, a rebel, a loudmouth, an instigator, but they were no adrenaline junkie. Even climbing trees required their full attention to stop from shaking the whole way up. Cars in particular, though, were especially terrifying to Rye, nothing but metal killers on wheels in their mind. They wondered if, when they were finally trusted behind the wheel, they would conquer their fear, or would they have to make do by riding buses and getting rides from friends, if they had any friends by then. Another car flew by, this time at a much more reasonable speed, but still scary.

Two hours had gone by now; Rye had begun to worry that they had picked the wrong path, but the idea of retracing two hours' worth of walking was equally as worrying. Their paws ached, and despair began to creep in. But suddenly, a sign came into view on the opposite side of the street, seemingly presenting a trail leading through the woods. It was hard to make out at first, but as Rye focused their magenta eyes on the letters, they made out that it said, “Parakeet Path."

The aching dissipated in an instant. That path, they recognized, was a trail that led through a wooded area, that would spit them out on the opposite end of their neighborhood. They had never been through it personally; they had been told by some older kids years ago that monsters lived in there, keeping them far away. Now, though, they hardly cared about that, because cutting through here was the quickest way home, and as Rye looked up and saw the sun slowly beginning to dip, they realized time was of the essence. The only problem before them now was, well, the road. Rye hadn't seen a crosswalk in at least half a mile, and the outlook ahead didn't seem much better, much to their annoyance. I guess the pedestrian safety budget got transferred over to something more important, like police funding or fossil fuels… thanks a lot, Mayor Lilly

Regardless of why, Rye still had to figure out a way across, and the thought froze him in place for a moment. Thrills were not Rye's strong suit, and on top of that, cars had done no favors for Rye. As another car speeds past them, Rye takes a few deep breaths, looking left, then right, then left again. But right as they lift a paw and drop it to the asphalt, another car rushes by. Shit, I can't do this, I don't want to have to be scraped off the pavement! Rye backpedals onto a patch of grass and lies down, trying desperately to smooth out their fur and calm themself down. A few minutes go by, and every now and then, the sound of another car whizzing by will make it to Rye's ears, instilling a new wave of fear in them. But soon, it dies down a bit. Rye manages to stand themself up, and picking up their backpack, they stand on the curb once again. I either die on the road, or make it home, fear will not shackle me, nobody will hold me back, especially not myself! Reaffirming themself and finding determination deep within them, Rye's breathing slows, and they feel calm. They look left, then right, then left. The coast is clear, and Rye explodes forward. Wind weaves through their fur as they dart across the main road. Paws thump heavily on the asphalt, Rye's backpack bounces up and down the whole way across, and before Rye can even process where they are, they've made it. Unfortunately, Rye barely managed to lift one paw up in time to avoid the curb, and their other shoe hooked it, causing Rye to tumble out of control, past the sign, and down the hill to Parakeet Path.

“Woah!" The lost cat tumbled way longer downhill than they had expected to, especially because ideally, Rye wasn't expecting to tumble down a hill at all. They eventually came to a stop at the bottom, surrounded by trees, a large rock, and a stream that flowed past the rock. The location of the trail was lost to them, as they struggled to orient themself. They scrambled to their feet and took in their surroundings, making sure nothing in their backpack had broken. Everything felt more cramped, but also more spacious somehow, like a sponge squeezed dry, emptied of burden yet craving purpose. Right, homestretch now, just gotta find the exit. As they reassured themself, steadying out their breath as they got their bearings, they looked up to see that the sun had set more, now releasing the last blaze of pinks and yellows before it sank beneath the horizon. Better get a move on then, before something finds me…

One would think that finding the exit to a marked trail would be easy, and usually it would be, assuming you hadn't tumbled into said trail at full speed, knocking you severely off track. Such circumstances would be obscenely unfortunate to find oneself in, and said circumstances would only compound in misfortune should they take place as the sun was setting, making it far more difficult to maintain one's bearings. And should the creature who happened to find themself in this position not have the greatest navigational skills in the first place, one might consider this a nightmare scenario. Rye, who had in fact found themself in a situation very familiar to this, would certainly agree with that opinion as they fumbled about, tripping over roots, uneven earth, and even their own tail. All of this caused immense panic in the young cat, who, despite having nocturnal vision, was so overcome with fear at every crackle and rustle they heard in the bushes that all it did was keep them from walking in circles. After a time, though, Rye finally found the trail they had been flung off of to start, and they began a lonely trek down it, praying that those mean kids had been lying all those years ago.

The sun had fully set by now, what had been dim was now dark, and Rye had had enough of Parakeet Path for nine whole lives. They did their best to steel themself, and force themself to march forward into the darkness, straining their eyes to see down the trail. It was nerve-wracking, hair-raising, and a million more words that Rye couldn't think of at that moment because they were scared out of their mind. Eventually, they saw the light at the end of the tunnel (not literally though, as it was nighttime), and it was all Rye could do not charge full speed towards the exit. They were tired, hungry, and thoroughly scared of every sound they heard. But as they neared the exit, Rye almost jumped out of their fur, because they could have sworn that right behind them, someone was there, breathing down their neck. It very well could have been their imagination, but Rye ran. Rye ran like they were being shot at, hunted for sport, and they kept running all the way to their house, where Rye promptly collapsed in the front yard. Maybe taking the wrong bus was a bad idea…

After what felt like days, Rye finally sat up, deciding that the grass was not the best place to sleep. They got to their feet and noticed that the car was gone. Nobody else was home either. Another wave of exhaustion fell over Rye, but this one was emotional. It was almost like a gunshot. Their parents would never know how their first day of school went, Rye decided that they would never tell them because they wouldn't care, just like everybody else. Rye opened the front door, wondering if they should have let the forest take them instead. As their mind swam through the miasma of their day, Rye stumbled into their room, haphazardly undressing before collapsing on their bed, causing a familiar squeak of the frame as they settled in. Today meant nothing, and so will tomorrow.