The Maw
Abigail H. Neff (grade 10)
Christian Educators Academy
Raccoon
Sniffing. Silent steps in the
night. Sensory overload coming from the shed like structure. Now to figure out
how best to get to it. The tree, yes the
tree next to the fence would be quite a good vantage point.
Ahhh! The tree is proving more
productive than he had expected. A branch grows right alongside a smaller one
from the sapling inside the pen. He can get right in without making any noise.
Lucky him. Going far enough from home to
find such a succulent feast, and being slight and sly enough to shimmy in
without much trouble.
Now he is on the ground. Foolish
No-furs, they hadn’t yet put a door on the feast zone. He can just walk
right in and take his pick!
He sidles up to the black square,
preparing himself.
A light above the No-furs porch comes on. Cursing in his head he
retreats into the shadows. A No-fur girl comes out the door, her two dogs
coming out with her.
Uhg, one of them is big.....and
smells him. Right as he thinks she is going to begin barking, the No-fur calls
to her.
“C’mon Bear. Let’s go girl! I’m cold! You to Aimee!”
You get cold when you’re a No-fur.
It is kind of an occupational hazard. But now they were back inside. Time to return to the befeathered dwellers
of the board-den who were going to taste so good.
Peeking in, he sees they are all still asleep. Mmmm there is a nice fat one at the front.
He grabs her neck in his jaws and drags her towards the opening.
Shut up, stupid bird. You’re going
to die either way. He bites down. Blood fills his mouth and overwhelms his
senses. Oh the ecstasy. He now knows
why the lack of this had driven others away from the area, not content with
just garbage. All those left are the delinquents and hobos of their race. With
this he would become the leader. Not to mention fill his belly.
He hears the distressed calls of the
future main courses inside their temporary housing area. But he is up to his
mask in chicken. Sweet, succulent, bloody
bird. Euphoric crunching of bones.
Then it is gone. And he is so full. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to
make it back over the fence. But he does. And he makes plans to return.
****
Four days
later
The other racoons had not hailed
him as great. They had not even believed him. They had scoffed and said he must
have just found a dead bird or a chicken in the trash. So this time he would
have to get the stupid bird over the fence and to his fellow delinquents.
He effortlessly climbs from tree to tree over the fence and into the
pen. Such things are generally even easier the second time he muses as he
creeps towards the coop.
Inhaling deeply the scent of feathers and juicy, alive, meat, he
scampers into the dark maw of the hut. Once inside he grabs the closest bird
and attempts to drag her out.
She squawks, struggles and scratches at his thick fur. The other birds
shriek in their dumb bird speak and either flee or attack him.
Drat almost lost the bird that
time. Ow, the top of the door is there.
“Hey! HEY!” The big male No-fur. He has come out to check on the little
meals. Curses.
Yet he is determined to take this tiresome, delicious, scratching thing
over the fence with him. Until the No-fur gets right to fence and yells at him.
Then he just can not take it. He scrambles up the fence, onto the tree and up
it as fast as he can.
****
Man
So it had been a raccoon that had
killed the hen. His daughters had found it, with nothing left but bones, feet,
and feathers, but they had been uncertain as to what had done it. Now however they
knew and had it up a tree. A somewhat small male raccoon had deprived them of
one, almost two, laying hens.
Now he has the hen, discovered in the jaws of the masked thief in one
hand and a small cage, usually used for rabbits, in the other. He strides
quickly around the side of the house to the garage. Lifting up the door, he
quickly clears a space on top of a folding table and sets a black bin with low
sides atop it. After placing the cage inside the bin so as to catch droppings,
he examines the bird.
She appears to have only lost a substantial amount of feathers, but upon
being placed in the cage, she only stands rigidly with her eyes half closed.
The man has no time to worry about her now. He hurries into the house to
find his airsoft gun. As he passes through the main living area his wife looks
up from her work.
“What’s going on out there? Did you chase the raccoon off?” she asks
rapid fire.
“The kids are keeping it up in a tree with flashlights,” the man replies.
“What are you doing?”
“Going to get my BB gun,” he answers.
He grabs the gun out of his sock drawer and quickly exits the building.
His oldest daughter and his little boy are shining their flashlights at the top
of the fence.
“He’s right there Daddy! He tried to get away and we threw rocks at him
so he came back over!” the little boy proclaims proudly.
The man waits till the raccoon pokes his head over the fence and shoots
it with the airsoft gun. The head disappears behind the fence.
****
Raccoon
He flees through the underbrush,
ducking under the branches of saplings. He knows that all the other raccoons
are waiting for him to bring them their dinner as proof of his chicken slaying,
but he now has no intention of showing up. He is running away. Running away
from his shame...and BB guns.
He crosses a street and heads towards a stream. He can hear the water
babbling and skipping over rocks and branches. As he approaches he hears a frog
plop into the water. Under normal circumstances he would have been tempted to
hunt for it. Frogs were tasty, if chewy, but he is not tempted now.
He wades out into the water and stands there sniffing. The water swishes
and babbles around him. His black-ringed tail floats on the ripples. He can detect
the scents of fallen leaves, the frogs, moss, bark. He remains where he is and
seems to just soak it all in for several minutes.
Where should he go? He will be
a laughingstock if he remains here, but he may face other dangers if he leaves.
Then he remembers his home, on the banks of the river. He must go there.
He slinks out of the water onto the bank, shakes the water from his fur,
and begins to scurry his way along the top of the lip of the land.
He climbs over rocks made slick by the ongoing flow of the water, logs
overspread with smooth, mossy or rough bark and pads down the short sandy
stretches. He travels under small bridges made for the noisy beasts the No-furs
ride during the daylight hours, until he reaches one that is bigger than the
others.
The stream has widened until it is almost a river itself. There is
little cover near it, only tall grass that sways gently in the night breeze and
in the occasional wind from a passing No-fur ride.
He is thankful for the cover of darkness, though he still feels exposed
without trees around him as a means of escape should trouble arise.
He still forces himself to begin the trek across the open space towards
to shadow that is the underside of the bridge. He is halfway across the
stretch, having paused to ponder the scents and images coming to him from all
around. Suddenly, one of the roaring riding beasts is deafeningly crashing
past.
The raccoon makes a mad dash, to where he does not know, he just runs as his instincts of prey take over. Then with no warning other than a
slight darkening, and a dull roar in his ears, he feels a sudden shock of pain
to his skull...
****
Dawn
The light has come. It rose slowly,
peeking through clouds and trees as it made its routine ascent over the ever
changing world. Beneath a bridge, crossing over a tributary to the river that
is not far off, there is a small gray patch of fur. The black ringed tail that
lays on the ground twitches slightly in the wind as the cars raging past
buffets it.
A small bird on the other side of the small clearing watches the black
masked patch of fur, waiting to see if it will pick itself up. It does not.