He wasn't alone, or at least not in his mind. The streets,deserted, void of even the slightest escence of life, not even the faint flickerings on a street lamp to cast the smallest bit of hope on the street. He didn't notice this, however, his body was the only remnant of him within that street, his mind had wandered far off, back the dreams, back to the nightmares...back to the boy.
He was perplexed as to why, but he kept having fantisies, daydreams, even hallucinations about this boy in his mind. the one he saw day after day, haunting him, sewing himself deep within the very fabric of his being, coming to him as both an escence of life and hope and as a tormentor ripping apart even his will to live. The boy watches from the distance, his eyes locked up him, drawing him in from the distance, as he gets closer the boy attacks him, he tries to struggle, but everytime he's overpowered, and before he can find out how it's meant to end, he awakens.
He snapped out of his head, and looked about him. The wind blew his soft, gentle crimson fur, and made him shiver.
His tail swished gently flowing in rhythmic harmony with the breeze that caused him to feel so frigid. His deep green eyes pierced on through the darkness looking for the path that he might take. He hated the night, and he hated being alone standing there abandoned in the night sky; small, weak, and frightened. Every minute of his life felt like this,
so desolate, so lonely...he had become at this point insignificant even to himself.
He walked down the empty street, his right hand gently rubbing his left, a nervous habit that came from his natural ways of withdrawing himself from the people around him. He was afraid to be around others, as they have always been horrible to him, and he felt that none of them even cared about him. For this, he stayed out of there way as best he could.
He made his way down the abandoned street, and found a nice secluded hotel. He walked in, to he left a group of three older gentleman were coversing over drinks, they seemed too drunk to even notice him. To his right was a woman sitting alone, she was reading a book minding her own, a man was watching her from a distance, seemingly trying to rack up the courage to make a move. One fellow, an older looking man was watching. He seemed interested in something.
The man watching muttered silently to himself, " What's that fox boy doing here?" he seemed intent on figured out this puzzling mystery. He ran his hands across his chin, thinking to himself in silence. The fox boy caught sight of the man, but paid him little heed, instead he walked up to the desk and signed himself in. He gave up the last of his cash.
The young lady at the desk handed him his room key, and directed him to where he should be, then picked up a magazine, and began reading. The fox looked down at the paper where all the guests signed in " Richard, Frank, Harold, and Blake" were the names across the list, the last being his. Blake took his key, and rushed to his room, hopping to get some sleep, and to not be bothered. The man who had been watching him, followed close behind.
