the fox

I woke up to an empty house. There was a box of cake mix on the counter in the kitchen and next to it, a present. It was wrapped in yellow paper and it was clear it was rushed. I could see the pleasantly brown cardboard underneath, peeking through glossy sunshine. I made the cake first. It was lemon flavored, the box advertised a bright yellow fluffy thing with white frosting. When the cake was in the oven I let my mind wander to what was in the box. It was eventually decided that the box was empty and henceforth there was no point in opening it. I ate the cake I made and drew a picture of an open, empty box.

Later, around noon the box got impatient. I had gone into the kitchen to make lunch (a ham and cheese sandwich) and the box was on the floor. I ate my lunch in the living room. After I finished eating I made 7 more drawings of open, empty boxes and one where the box wasn't open but because it was a drawing you could look inside and see that it too, was empty. Then I showed the box all 8 drawings as proof that it was empty. The box did not agree. It's tape was peeling and it was still on the floor.

Next is click. He's a minor antagonist in his namesake chapter and the one immediately following it, “target audience”. he takes on the appearance of a toy soldier and The symbolism of this takes on two aspects, the toy part and the soldier part. The soldier part is his temper. Click is hot headed and violent. His introduction in the comic is him mock shooting at rgb. He is described by a passerby in the market as having “a hair-trigger temper” and his dialog with rgb is filled with click losing it and yelling at rgb. He also has quite the sadistic streak, attempting to force hero to kill rgb. Click embodys the violence, rage, and sadism associated with war and soldiers. The toy part comes in his role in the larger story. Click works for hate, the main antagonist of the comic. He's a pawn in hates game, her toy. Rgb outright says “always the henchman never the honcho”. Click is angry and violent but at the end of the day he’s somebody's toy.

Then I opened the box. It was not empty.

Inside was a stuffed fox. The fox was made out of deep ruby red fabric with a sugar white belly. It had a plush tail with a white tip as if it had been dipped in paint just moments prior and they stared at me with big black button eyes that had seen all the things that had happened in the basement. "What's your name?" I asked, picking them up. Then in a fantastical chorus of light reflecting off it's eyes and it’s weighted paws swaying in my hands they said: I have many. More than you will ever know. Enough to fill the space between horizons. so make me a new one, it will serve me just as well. The fox did not seem to care what it was named and so born from a lack of creativity, it was decided that fox was just fine.

I offered the fox cake. The fox explained to me that it did not eat, sleep, or breathe. As compensation for your incompetence, it said in the way it slouched over, boneless, you can bring me outside, I would like to see the place I will live. I took the fox up in my arms in a way that it’s head faced outward so it could see and brought it out the back door. The backyard was empty, barren besides a small empty radish patch and the door to an underground storm shelter. The back porch was raised off the ground enough that a crawl space was put underneath it. Nothing was kept in there. The front yard was not much different. The house was out in the countryside so there were no neighbors or other buildings besides a far off barn that you could never tell if it was in use or not. There were corn fields that started a little after the barn and a paved two lane road out in front. The fox, now having seen it’s new house, suggested I go to bed. It was still light out, but the fox spoke with such confidence that it must know what it was talking about, so I went up to the room I slept in and fell asleep.

The next morning when I woke up, the fox was already awake. I could see it in it’s eyes, that unceasing awareness. I ate the other half of the cake for breakfast and went under the back porch to look at nothing, because nothing was kept under there. It was empty. I came back from outside and almost immediately the fox called for my attention. Is there anything else here besides my house and that barn, it said with the way it just barely swayed in the breeze from the open window. That was when I told them about the town. There was a small town along the highway, 51 miles south of the house. The fox was happy to hear news of something other than barns and backyards. It immediately began to insist we go there. It will be like an adventure, they said excitedly with the light reflecting off their button eyes. Like a big, fun adventure. It did sound fun, I thought to myself. Yes, the fox said, it will be fun. we can go right now. Go pack a bag.

I immediately set to work. I took a notebook and pencil from the room upstairs, a matchbox from the kitchen cabinet, a box of granola bars, 5 sandwiches, and a book about scarlet king snakes and I put them into a green backpack. Then I put on a pair of yellow rain boots and a blue winter jacket. Then I took the fox up in my arms and started down the highway.

It was cold out. Not so cold I could see someone’s breath, but pretty cold for late November and there was this burning smell on the wind, coming from the south. We walked for a long time and for a long time nothing of interest happened. The grass border between the highway and the corn did get progressively smaller though. At the beginning it was a short walk away but now many hours later we could almost touch it without leaving the road, like it was closing in on us. The first part of the fun that the fox promised came in the form of a car. It was a bright orange-red pickup truck, like the belly of a robin come late. It was almost hidden by the corn, like a shameful secret. The paint was chipped and it was missing a wheel. the engine was gutted like caught prey, innards hiding amongst the corn. We did not stop to look at it, but it felt like something shifted when we passed. Like going through a doorway. It was not long after that it started to get dark. It became that twilit space between the dying hours of the day and the birth of the night. Where the sun had long since gone but the light was still suffocating on where it had once been., choking on that empty space.

In that limbo was when I saw the sign, neon and glowing in the evening light. It was of a wolf lined in a calm blue with cherry red eyes, it had one human hand and four wolf paws and it was standing with the hand lifted on the name of the motel the sign was for. The almost wolf motel, we don’t need to know what happens. It was in an open rectangle shape with outdoor hallways, two floors, and a dirt parking lot in the space inside the three sided rectangle, in which was empty. The balcony for the second floor doubled as a concrete awning for the ground floor. The office was on the far bottom left and it was the only room with the light on. Walking inside, we saw a front desk and a 20 something man sitting behind it. The floors were that cheap tile you see in schools and grocery stores and everything was worn down like it had been here for a long long time. And It was cold, unnaturally and unsettlingly cold. Like that feeling in your chest when you know that you will always be all alone. The man was wearing a black hoodie and blue jeans. He lowered the newspaper he was reading (something about local arsonists) and looked at us. He had deep brown hair and pale skin. He did wear glasses which was strange because he had no eyes. They looked like theyd been missing for awhile. “Hello, would you like a room?” he asked, putting down his newspaper. I told him I did not have any money. “Well I guess you can do other things for me then. The heater broke and I lost my eyes. I've been looking for them for forever”, he said annoyed. “If you fix the heater and find my eyes, you can stay as long as you want for free”. I commented on how technically that was not free, but asked where the heater was anyway.

He showed me behind the counter and down a set of stars to an unusually dark basement. It was like someone liquified shadows and flooded it with them. Going down the stars was like plunging into an ice bath. It was cold, dark, and so damp the fox called it wet. From what I could see the room the stairs went into was full of boxes and branched off into countless hallways and other rooms. The hallways were long and the rooms were small. The fox had me open a few boxes. They had lots of different things in them. One was filled with medical supplies and another one was filled with rainbow candy canes. There was a half empty one of huckleberry jam and one with a wooden toy alligator inside. Even though we checked a lot of boxes we couldn't find any eyes or heaters. Then I heard barking, it was distant and faint but still there. The fox heard it too. Follow it, they screamed, with their tail swishing with my turn towards the sound. we started rushing towards it. It was hard to follow, it echoed off the walls and the basement was a maze. We ran and we ran and we ran. Then when we didn't think we could run anymore we saw it. It was a golden retriever. His fur was like spun gold, bright and glossy and he had light blue eyes, like a newborn sky. He stood with the grace of a priest, his posture announcing to the world that this dog was undeniably and absolutely righteous. And in the dark of the basement he looked like he had a glow about him, a halo. He stopped barking and led us to the heater two rooms away, walking with a gentle pride,that feeling you get when helping someone do something important to them, a pride born out of the most honest of intentions. The heater was old and coal powered, outdated and unused. All I needed to do was put in more fuel, a bag of charcoal right next to it.

The dog led us back upstairs. The man was still at the counter and he had finished reading his newspaper. The dog came up dragging a big green dog bed and In the fluorescent lights of the office it was revealed that the dog was not a golden retriever but a rust colored mut. He put the bed under the counter and laid down on it. The man didn't seem to know the dog but didn't seem to mind either. “Wait a minute,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out two olive green eyes. “There they are! You can still stay though. Room 14 is open. And I’m Lewis, by the way”

Room 14 was on the second floor. It had a bed, a nightstand, a bathroom, and a chest of drawers. The floor was a dark wood filled with claw marks, like a very big dog had gotten very angry and The wallpaper was a deep, wet red with a pattern reminiscent of beatles, or eyes, the fox couldn't decide. On further inspection I found that the nightstand drawer was partly filled with cigarette butts, the water didn't work, and the second drawer down in the chest of drawers had a false bottom and in it a dollar and 15 cents. I slept in the bed and when I woke up the fox was already awake. This was because they did not sleep. I took the money we found in the drawer with the false bottom and put it in the backpack, then I took the fox up in my arms and we left. It was still dark out and no lights were on, not even the office. It was empty. The burning smell was back, but it felt more solid and the corn was still there, still so, so close. It wasn't long before we found something else. It was still dark out so we almost missed it, the fox had pointed it out to me at the last minute.

It was a bus stop. It was a little ways in the corn, but it was there. a thin path led up to it, like a snake made from empty space. The fox had me investigate further. It was old. Older than the motel, but not as old as the dead car. It had a thin univiteing bench, a small roof with no walls that looked like it could give no more, and a rusted sign weekly declaring this as a bus stop. The whole area looked not dead, but close. The fox made the accurate comparison with an elder slowly rotting away, half dead in a hospital already morning a loss yet to happen.

We sat down on the bench. it screeched in protest, but otherwise did not resist. The bus did not come. We waited for a very long time, but it did not come. It was still dark when we left, and the burning smell was still there. it still flowed from the south. Disappointment lingered about the fox. Furious about the bus, it screeched with their head twisting with the corn. The audacity, they yelled, the audacity they have refusing me, how dare they. I will burn them, raze them to the dirt where they belong. I will take them to their grave, for only death can welcome such filth. The fox shouted about the death of the bus and all involved with his absence for a long while. Too busy with their anger, they did not see the Beatle, crawling between the corn. Welcoming him to the darker rooms below.

We did not take long to make it to the next part of the promised fun. It was not subtle like the bus stop. It was sudden and big and bright. On the side of the road was a river and a dock. On the dock was a huge paddle boat. People where boarding, bringing suitcases and black umbrellas. Talking excitedly about all the wonderful places the paddle boat was going to bring them. The baying dog was written in faded gold lettering on the bow, well used and well loved. Like a grandparent, telling stories of a time long gone. The smell of baking drifted on the wind, thick and creamy. A tall fluffy cocoa brown wolf in a soft yellow suit was welcoming people on. assuring them they need not repay him, for them reaching their destination was payment enough. Then The fox turned its head up at me and said in a sweet morning voice, “this is not meant for you” and i turned around and left.

We walked for a long time. the path we followed never seemed to turn, but you had the feeling it was slanted. Like walking down a hill, but if you didn't think about it, it was easily forgotten. The burning smell was stronger, deep and wide like an open maw and the moon was out. You could barely tell, it was thin and brittle. Hiding behind its own shadow from a hunter no one could see. Patiently waiting, watching from within the corn. Then the moon was gone, something blocked it from sight all together. It was a house. It was a big house, old but not unkempt. All of the lights were off but I knew that it was not empty. We went up to the door and knocked. A large, tall man answered. He wore a suit made from silk of a wet red and his eyes looked like beetles in the dark. “Ah, you made it. You're a bit late, but that is to be expected from someone just starting out. Welcome, come inside, come inside. I insist.” we were sat down in the living room, far inside the house. It was dark, only lit by a fire in the fireplace. All the furniture was big, bigger and deeper than the burning smell. The man sat down on a wide backed armchair next to us. The man filled the whole chair, his head over the top of the back even though we had to stretch out our arms to reach both sides of ours. “Would you like something, anything at all.” We shook our head. “At least take this”, he said, reaching to somewhere we could not see. It was a newspaper. We handed him the money from our backpack as payment. “Feel free to stay the night, I feel these things are better when you can see them in full.” he led us up to a guest room. One of many.

I was woken up from the sun coming through my window. I ate the last of the food in my backpack for breakfast and left quickly. I did the final leg of my adventure somewhat briskly, running my hand over the corn stocks as I walked. I took deep breaths through my nose, taking in the burning smell, deep and wide and endless. Then I reached the town. It was empty, but better that way. A big, deep, wide empty space well deserved. Then I sat down on a metal park bench, one of the only things left and I took my time reading through that newspaper. He was right, these things are better seen in full.