@zac I hug them both. They continue to scream. "If you think about it, this is fucking cool," I say, but you can't hear me because the screaming has drowned me out completely.
@Colophonscrawl @zac you show up to work the next day. Your boss compliments you on the bloody streaks coming out of your ears. You can't hear them. You can't hear anything anymore. The foxes scream in silent pantomime.
It is as things should be, and as a tear streaks down your face as you look towards an album you want to listen to, you look at the foxes, considering what they provided you.
It doesn't matter what you decide, they are foxes, and they are still there.
@violet @zac I begin to learn sign language in tacit recognition that this is simply my life now. As I practice sign language at home, the foxes bite at my hands. To them it's a game, and they want pets, which I provide to them sometimes because honestly I'm stuck this way, and blaming the foxes at this point is bolting the barn door after the horses have fled, so I might as well get to pet them, right? They enjoy the pets, and they show this by biting my fingers and by not letting go.
@Colophonscrawl @zac the doctors shake their heads solemnly after examining your hands. Fox mouths, cleaner than human mouths, are still not a good instrument for inflicting cuts to your hands. The infection has spread, and in fact, it's resistant to the antibiotics that exist.
The doctors sigh visibly, and write that you need to have your hands amputated. The infection is spreading quickly and there's not a chance to recover them.
You think about the foxes, what will they take next?
The Vulpine Club is a friendly and welcoming community of foxes and their associates, friends, and fans! =^^=