Bottle, Part VII

Author's note: After so many months, this will probably feel very very anti-climactic. I apologize for it.

"I'm bleeding." the bear whimpered to the fox. The fox just sat there, rubbing his legs. He had grown tired of standing so he sat next to the bear. The crane on his other side remained quiet. "I'm dying." the bear continued. His voice like nails on a blackboard for the fox.

"I'm dy-" the bear started again but was cut off when the fox slapped him.

"Be quiet." the fox responded calmly. He acted as if he had been through death before. He really hadn't but one wouldn't be able to tell. In fact, they'd think by his steadiness that he had gone to some violent gruesome war as a child and in the midst of it all traded the child-like sparkle in his eyes for a shield that kept everything out- happiness, joy, laughter. One would think he came home an empty shell and let his entire life get torn to shreds like the countless of corpses he himself had torn to shreds in said war.

Others could see that he was just as scared as the bear, if not more. How they were able to deduce fear from his cold gaze was a mystery. Nothing in his present demeanor could give away such a clue. There were only calm and still waters.

Every time the bear tried to move, the fox slapped him. He did so to help the bear conserve whatever little strength he had left. He told him not to speak and to be patient. Death would be upon him soon, and if it wasn't, there would be some sort of escape for him, and a resolution for all. First, they needed time to think, to plan, to figure out how to fix things. Everyone was either injured, dying, or already dead. Explosions, violence, carnage, swords, and bullets. A ballet of brutality.

"Go away." the crane told the bear. She finally managed to say something other than just weep. The bear was shocked, but the fox more so. He expected her to stand by the bear for as long as it took, until he died, or any event. But he too agreed the bear would have to go away.

"Listen to her" the fox added, applying pressure to her wounds.

"I can't leave; I'm dying, too." the bear whimpered.

"Don't you think it's time you stop tihnking about yourself for once and do what's best for everyone else?" the fox went on.

"What about the b-"

"For fuck's sake! Can't you ever be quiet!?" the fox exploded, inadvertently adding an uncomfortable amount of pressure as he did. The crane cried out in pain at this. The fox adjusted the pressure and felt himself become infuriated at himself for letting the bear get under his skin the way he did. He shifted his focus to the task at hand: keeping the crane from death.

The bear pawed at the fox, weakly. The fox ignored him as best he could, feeling anger swelling deep within him.

"I was self-less, wasn't I?" the bear whispered.

"You climbed into an enormous bottle of wine, you alcoholic. Is that really self-less?" the crane started.

"Stop talking, both of you," snapped the fox, still applying pressure. He wanted everyone to just be quiet so he could think and do what he needed to in order to try to fix the situation at hand, if at all possible.

"He hurt everything around him because nobody wanted to-"

The fox closed her beak as if to tell her, without words (obviously) to be quiet and save what little strength she had. She took the hint and remained quiet.

There was a silence that hung uncomfortably in the air and was bent slightly by the quiet wheezing and breathing of the bear. Had he been quieter, one could hear a pin drop, or hear the fox blink. The silence among the three spelled out different ideas but only one certainty that only the fox was privy to. He came to it with a great degree of difficulty though he had long been thinking about it. There was the question of mercy and the cruelty inflicted upon everyone. Could anyone forget what happened here? Could anyone be able to move past it? Was hope in short supply? What was the right thing to do? These were some of the questions that had plagued the fox a thousand times over, not just that night but for many moons before.

"Get up." the fox said, very slowly. His eyes were closed but they were trembling beneath the eyelids. His breathing became rapid and shallow, and his veins boiling with anger and pent-up frustration. "This is it," he thought to himself.

The bear sat up as best he could and looked at the fox. He had a faint idea of what was going to happen but was too dazed and out of it to notice anything properly.

"It's time for you to go." said the fox, as calmly as he could.

"I don't understand." said the bear, genuinely confused.

"Don't play with me. It's not safe for you here anymore. It's not safe for anyone else here if you stay. So, it's time for you to go. I don't care where you go, what you do, just don't come back here. Please."

The bear had long confused their tenuous relationship for friendship and was genuinely perplexed that the fox was telling him to pack up and just leave. To uproot himself and abandon everything he had ever known was unthinkable.

"You're not deaf, you've got ears. Get out of here." the fox pleaded.

"I'm stay-" started the bear.

"No! Goddamn it! No more!" yelled the fox. He wore his fangs again and tore at the bear's throat, punching him wildly whenever he had a chance.

The crane looked on, listlessly, uncaring, unfazed, able to move but not willing. Part of her wanted to cry but couldn't bring herself to do anything anymore. She didn't even move when bits of flesh and rivulets of the bear's blood adorned her face. She knew nothing but this could save things- the bear, namely. She rolled to her side and felt more blood splash on her back.

The fox was tired but persisted in finishing what he had to do. He found himself on the verge of tears as he tore muscle, flesh, and bone with his fangs. Every now and then, he would pause for a few seconds to spit out the blood that had accumulated, and to look at the crane.

She had long stopped moving, or breathing but he couldn't do anything to bring her back so he took out his frustrations on the bear who had very little time left. Somehow, he was hanging on to life and just stared blankly at the sky. The stars had never looked brighter, and the sky had never looked cleaner than it did in his last gasp of life.

When the bear had finally died, the fox continued spitting out blood and tossed the fangs away from him. One solution had been found. The rest would be up to the other survivors, for whom the fox didn't care much for anymore. He had done what he set out to do, he was finished. There was nothing left for him to do at that point.

The weary sun would rise above the blood drenched land soon.