A massive, metallic-grey paw patted at the orange bottle. The ensuing rattle was honest and pure, but gripped his stomach nonetheless. A lamb in wolf’s clothing. Nothing was as simple was it really was. Age begot not wisdom, but association; sin was an invention whose very creation relied upon drawing a box around what is good and right.
Life as fenako had remained simple, if listless. Humanity’s spread had brought technology to a great many people in a great many places—people whose existence had been, until recently, a foreign concept to his people. As a pup, he had witnessed his pack’s prized faith fall victim to steel, glass, and oil. The wonders of the new world necessitated the destruction of the old.
Stars that had once been gods became swirling balls of gas, as tangible as the floor beneath his feet. Miracles became chemistry. The ability to survey and measure had swallowed what, for millennia, had been his peoples’ way of life.
Once, he had aspired to be a great hunter, like his father and mother before him. The hunt itself had been central to his pack’s daily life. An ample meal had remained inseparable from the blessing of the stars above for countless centuries.
Months after leaving his home, he had found himself in a supermarket. Neatly severed chunks of domestic animals—creatures deprived of their own nature—had lined countless freezers. Food came wrapped in the flesh of trees and the modified remains of some planet’s rich, dark blood.
No less jarring, he now received his meals in the lunch line designated for humans and their ilk. Even if he wanted to, he could never return to his kind. He had been cast out. Humans had invented sin. He had embodied it.
He could still smell her skin, her lies. He could taste her promises. Sweet little fabrications had caressed his ears, stroked through his feet, held his face to her own as he trembled and whimpered. He had given her his all. She would never understand. She couldn’t.
He picked up the bottle with one side of his massive jaw. It felt wrong against his teeth. Unnatural, like a hollow stone. It rattled again as he slid to his belly, laying his head over one leg. That sound. That awful, awful sound. It spoke of failure, of weakness, of the weight of what would be said when he was gone.
It mattered not. Regardless of what he did now, his name would be as slandered by his masters as it was smothered by his former family. His pack had deemed him dead. The reality of the decision would make no difference.
He closed his eyes. His teeth began to clench. Visions of her face plagued his mind, filling him with guilt. He could see her crying, now, knowing this was her doing but not understanding why. In time, she would grow to hate him. She would convince herself this was vengeance, that this was feebleness, that this was as cheap and easy for him as it was painful for her.
She could never understand. The depth of his devotion was as vast and endless as the faith of those before him; the depth of his betrayal was as raw and crushing as her people before her. In committing to her, he had surrendered all that he had known and all that could have been. Now it was gone. So was she.
He took a deep breath. The bottle in his mouth contained roughly four hundred fifty milligrams of oxycodone hydrochloride and thirty thousand milligrams of acetaminophen. It was more than enough to drift away. His teeth bore down harder. Plastic snapped, followed by the violent crunch of dozens of pills in concert.
Even as he fought to swallow, his mouth began to foam. When the powder struck his throat, his body lurched. His eyes flew open, only to witness the contents of his stomach fight past his jowls, washing all hope of escape from his tongue. His shoulders quaked and his tail quivered, lungs heaving even as his own bile made him wretch a second time.
When his stomach finally settled, he shifted his head to the other leg. He thought briefly about moving, but decided he didn’t care. Why should he move? At least this foul stench buffered his senses. The rest of his room smelled like her.
His mind and body alike ached for sleep, though for different reasons altogether. He knew it wouldn’t come. He would lie here awake for hours. He would stare blankly at the walls and think of her. He would want to try again. But he couldn’t muster the will to move, much less to get another bottle. He closed his eyes.
……..
….
..
Tap tap tap.
Green eyes flew open. Someone was at his door. He wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but it didn’t matter.
Tap tap.
His held felt light, awash with fear. Quickly, he scrambled to the nearby couch, grasped a cushion in his teeth.
“Kaluaaa? You there?”
Pulling the cushion atop his vomit, he hurried to the couch, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes. “Come in!”
The door hissed open. Yellow eyes peered in, followed by the pale, rounded face of his closest friend. “Hey! Hope I’m not interrupt—” she began, only to stop. She raised a black eyebrow, reaching up to cover her vaguely bubble-shaped nose. The door hissed shut behind her. “God, it smells like a bad party in here. One too many, man?”
“Uhh, yeah,” he bumbled, sniffing around where his cushion once lay. “Sorry, Nako. Looking for something.”
She sighed heavily and shook her head. “You need to see someone or something, Kalua. Like, I am no stranger to the good pirate and his carbonated crew, but when I am hearing about your parties from people I don’t know…?”
Forcing a hollow laugh, he faked a smirk. “Well, what can I say. I’m an animal, right?”
Nako chuckled quietly, voice muffled by her hand. Reaching down, she grasped the cushion by a corner. “Here, let me he—”
“No!” Kalua blinked, immediately realizing how disproportionately strong his objection was. “I, uhh… the puke. It’s under there. I don’t wanna deal with it, right now.”
There was a brief pause before the cushion was slowly released. Nako tilted her head a bit, brow furrowing. “Are you… okay? Do I need to get you some gravy or burgers?”
The quadruped frowned a bit, exhaling slowly. He shook his head. “It’s been a long day. Can we... step out? Somewhere. I don't care where.”
Her hand fell away from her face, and she half-crawled over to her friend. Reaching around him, she gave him a big hug, mindful of the sharper bits of bone on his back. “You can talk to me, you know.”
Another deep breath filled his lungs. He looked away; his throat felt swollen. “I know. But… please?”
Leaning back, she ruffled the fur atop his head. She smiled gently. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
No comments:
Post a Comment