The Girl and The Fox

In their mum's sombre, empty room, she slowly started drifting out of sleep, her eyes boring through the ceiling. The dark blue eyed woman pondered on whether she should beat the thing that woke her black and blue. Yes, she would. She would do more than that, she would make them wish they were never born. Torture them and made sure they payed for it. She did, after all, like her sleep.

The adult listened to the sounds inside her deserted room, and out. She could hear cluttering in the kitchen. In HER kitchen. Outside, there were no sounds. No wolves howling sadly, no foxes howling luckily, and no birds. No annoying, pointless birds. That means Nicolas must have killed all the birds nesting here, then, Crystal thought. She didn’t particularly like birds, but they didn’t deserve to die like that. The neighbour tended to shoot every sign of wildlife. Even wolves. He had never shot a fox before, though. Those wretched little monsters had always scampered out of his grasp. Except one.

Crystal rolled onto her side, her mid-length, black hair flopping aimlessly into her ugly face. She had been beautiful once, but that innocence was ruined by the way her parents treated her. You'd think she would have learnt from that, but no. It was just after Theo was born she was this way. In the hospital Eric went to see him, everyone thinking he was excited for a son. He wasn’t. He wanted to use Theo in unimaginable ways to succeed in this war. To wipe out everything.

She tuned back in to the banging downstairs. Her head hurt so much. How dud her friends convince her to go to the pub? She was quite easily convinced these days. Then, she heard the voices of her own children. Every single one. Including Theo. They were going to get it this time...tomorrow.

Repetitive thumping noises started sounding on the stairs like a rabbit banging his foot in an irregular rhythm. The noises were barely audible above all the speaking being done, but still loud enough. It was evident someone was coming down the stairs.

"Girls, you better not be with Theo!" their mum sternly stated, although she already knew the answer. "You shouldn't be up so late and ... Oh my God. How did a fox get in here," spitting fox out with such disgust.

Lizzie, trying to keep calm, told her mum that the stunning vixen had been injured and they were treating the deep wound. At this, their mother's face swelled up in rage, like someone having an allergic reaction to a bee sting.

When you took a closer look at her face, you could see the pale blue eye liner, that used to make her dazzling eyes stand out, was now smudged, her bright red lipstick overlapping onto her skin, making her look more threatening. Their uncaring mother was also late home from work ... by an hour! It was evident that she was not sober.

"Go to bed, NOW! Theo is going to so tired in the morning! We have to plan his stupid party together and now he will be too tired to. GO. TO. BED!!" Their mum screeched at them.

They say being drunk brings out the worst. Whoever said that was right. Isabella didn't think that their mum would be fit for planing Theo's party for tomorrow anyway. She would probably be in a giant hangover. Hopefully not getting out of bed all day, and them escaping their punishment.

The girls and Theo obeyed the mad lady, as they wouldn't like to get a beating. Again. For some people it may be past the Victorian times, but not for them. They got punished regularly, even for something they didn't do, although it wasn't with the cane. She beat them with her fists. Their mum was strong and powerful, just as a leader would have to be ...but wasn't the best at being kind.

Whilst the children made their way back to their beds, the unknown foxlike creature remained in the kitchen, sitting, looking around lost. Her eyes landed on small things most wouldn't look at, like the wooden floors that haven't been swept for months, books littered like paper in the streets also on the dust covered floor. Even the odd Lego brick, blending in with the carpet, here and there.

The smell of dry bread lingered in the air, the shapeshifter wishing she could lay her royal fingers on one little, harmless piece, even if it was the crust. She could already taste the loaf in her mouth, the longing becoming even stronger. But she could also taste the anger. The anger that was directed at her, and she would not be able to escape this time or have anyone to protect her, and soon, she would taste nothing other than blood.