Raccoon

An old school assignment

The night sky loomed above as he scampered quietly through an alley. An unkempt head of grey hair sat at the top of a man who was down on his luck. Neon signs and seedy bars lined the neighbouring streets, this was territory he had roamed for months on end. Few saw him as pleasant, thieving and cheating for whatever gain he could achieve. It wasn’t the life he dreamed of leading, how could it be, but there weren’t any plausible ways out of it now. He’d been a city-dweller his entire life, despite the fact that he was despised by most who knew him here. Over countless overcast nights he walked these streets alone, staring down at the sidewalk as building after building passed him by. 

Talking was the one thing he excelled at. It may not sound like much, but it got him through nearly every trial and tribulation he faced. He figured it was the sole reason he’d survived this long in the first place. His eyes glowed beneath the black mask he often covered them with. It seemed the whole town knew what he was up to. He carried an aura of mischief into every room he stepped foot in. Passing from place to place like a moonlit shadow in the night, he was never able to settle down. It seemed as though he could never escape from who he really was, but then again, he wasn’t really trying to. Trouble crept behind him everywhere he went, until it finally struck.

A single gunshot echoed through the vacant sidewalks for seemingly miles around. It doesn’t matter now who started it, all we know is that someone was lying in a pool of crimson blood whose existence had been robbed from it. The dimly-lit streets were silent once again for a few brief moments of uneasy composure, and he escaped swiftly, knowing chaos could erupt. He was chilled by the brisk flurry of an autumn night while a funeral would soon take place because of him. It felt like his entire life was defined by the same few events, running away from whatever turmoil he started. He knew it was wrong, and that the consequences would be dire, but he also knew nothing was going to change. He couldn’t be fixed. He was a rusting car with the engine missing, broken beyond repair.

Talking was the only thing that had ever saved him, but right now it felt like air couldn’t escape his lungs. No mask could do him any good at this point.  An overwhelming sense of dread overcame him. Though there wasn’t a trace of smoke in the air he felt like he was suffocating. Flashes of red and blue began to clash with the void of black above him. You may have assumed his life flashed before his eyes or some other trope, but the truth is much more straightforward. He was taken, placed in a box, and that was the end of it. He knew there were others like him, but it still didn’t change anything. Nothing was going to change.

Reviews

[roarke]

I like this piece, very urban dystopian, I like the way you make analogies to a raccoon... but as I read this, it seems it could as well be about an actual raccoon, a talking raccoon that hasn't yet talked, only observed... but your version is better.