Empty - Chapter 2
All of this is a struggle with myself. But I won't quit. I'm done quitting. I will evict this darkness. That is my pledge.
He sighed dejectedly as he closed the door behind him, ignoring the blood now smeared on the knob from his wounded paw, and flicked the switch of the battery powered lantern placed on the table in the entryway, bathing the walls with its bright glow. He picked up the lantern and took it with him to the kitchen.
He went to the cupboard over the sink and opened it, holding up the light as he dug around in the contents, carelessly smearing more blood around until he found the first-aid kit. He pulled it out and set the box and his lantern down on the counter.
Opening the kit, he pulled out a brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide. Lacking the benefits of modern medicine, he didn't fancy getting an infection.
Getting the cap of the bottle proved to be a challenge, because his paws pained him and were slick with blood. Finally, he managed to spin the cap off. Holding the bottle in his left paw and holding his right over the sink, he sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth.
The sensation of peroxide splashing into the puncture wounds in his palm was, quite simply, horrendous. His ears folded back as he ground his teeth and growled in agony as the liquid foamed up and spilled into the sink, tinged pink. The searing pain eventually faded, only to return full force when he repeated the process with his left paw. When his pads were cleaned out as best as he could manage, he returned his attention to the first-aid kit and pulled out two packages of antiseptic gauze, which he gingerly tore open with his claws.
Binding the gauze to his paws with a roll of adhesive tape and dry-swallowing two aspirins from a small bottle completed his task. He put the peroxide bottle and the remainder of the roll of tape back in the box and returned it to the cupboard, then tossed the empty gauze packages into a can under the sink.
He stood at the counter for a time, staring blankly into space and wondering what to do next. A growl from his stomach informed him.
He turned and padded over to the pantry, a wry smile on his lips. He swung open the door and leaned against the jamb, eyes flicking idly over the cans and jars inside. He was starting to run low on food, and it was time to make a supply run.
Canned meat, canned beans, canned soup, canned vegetables. Cans, cans, and some more cans. He was getting tired of canned food. He sighed and picked out a can of tomato soup, turning the idea of starting a vegetable garden in the back yard over in his mind, but waved the idea aside. It was getting too late in the year, late fall, and the weather was starting to turn colder. When spring rolls around, he thought, I'll need to read up on growing seasons at the library in the meantime.
He dug a spoon out of a drawer and pulled the ring on the soup lid. After tossing the lid in the garbage can, he took his lantern and his meager dinner to the living room and seated himself on the sofa. Setting the light on the floor, he began to eat, not even grimacing at the cold, slimy taste as he usually did. He was too emotionally drained.
When he finished, he set the empty can aside and leaned back into the sofa, staring at the ceiling. For once, he wasn't hearing the usual whispers and snatches of quiet conversation his mind had been tricking him into hearing. It was a vast relief, and he relished it, listening now to the mundane sounds that his hallucinations covered up. In the silence, his ears picked up the subtle creaks and pops of the house settling around him. The gentle susurration of the wind under the eaves. The quiet bumping and scratching of a mouse in the walls.
He reflected on that last sound for awhile. When everything had happened, only the smaller animals had been left alone. While the dogs and deer and his fellow furs were gone, mice and rats and birds thrived, living alongside him in this otherwise empty place.
That thought led to another.
Early on, after he had gotten over the initial shock of what had happened, he found himself with the opportunity to do things he had never been able to do before. For a while, it had been quite exciting. To be able to walk into a store and just pick up anything he fancied and take it with him. Drive his dream car around town with the top down and bright sunlight warming his fur. He remembered sheepishly where that adventure had led to. He had been driving along a street not to far from where he was now, tongue lolling out and a silly, foolish grin plastered across his muzzle. He hadn't been paying much attention to where he was going and ended up crashing into a car parked against the curb. Thankfully he hadn't been driving very fast and managed to walk away with a slightly bloodied snout and a wounded ego. After that he biked and walked everywhere.
All the books he had never had time to read between work and his day-to-day life were suddenly his to peruse. In the first year alone he had read through most of the local library's crime fiction and (with only slight guilt) romance sections. He had taken enough books home to fill the bookcases in his bedroom.
And yet, all these things couldn't fill the hole in his heart. He had realized that never again would he hang out with his friends. Never again chat with the clerk in the check-out line at the grocery store. Never experience love. Never share a kiss. These hard truths left a hollow ache in his soul. For better or worse, he was alone. That was when the voices had started, edging him closer to madness.
*~*
He awoke with a start some time later, suddenly and frightfully sure he was being watched. The batteries in his lantern had given out at some point while he slept, cloaking the room in shadow. He thought he saw movement in one of the darkened corners, and with a strangled yelp, he clawed his way off the couch and dashed blindly down the hall, careening off the walls in fear. He threw open the first door he came to and threw himself inside, slamming the door behind him. He found himself in a closet, and promptly buried himself in the hanging ranks of coats and shirts. He curled himself in the back corner, knees tight against his chest and paws clasped tightly over his head, whimpering and crying in terror.
Why did they torment him so? Wasn't it enough that there was nofur to comfort him, that he was to be reduced to a pup, huddled and frightened in a closet?
It seemed like hours passed before his whimpering quieted, and now he listened. No sound presented itself. All was silent. Abruptly, the sharp smell of ammonia assaulted his nostrils, and he became aware a warmth running down his leg. At some point, he had pissed himself in terror.
Bitter shame crowded out his fear. There was nofur out there trying to get him. It was just the loneliness affecting him, turning him into a scared little puppy who couldn't control his bladder.
He crawled back through the coats and opened the door, still half-expecting to find some monster grinning back at him with malicious intent. But only the shadowed hallway greeted him. He stood and stepped out.
Feeling his way along the wall, he made his way to the bedroom, where he changed out of his soiled clothes and cleaned himself the best he could without the benefit of running water.
He slipped into a fresh pair of boxers and flopped onto the bed, and instantly was asleep.