Runaways: Pt. 1
#1 of Runaways.
~Stupid disclaimer thingy~ Ya adult content blah blah blah. If you read this and your not old enough. Try not to get caught. If you aren't held back by any of those silly laws then your good too. Enjoy!
***
I have a tale to weave you...
But, it might seem weird. Me talking to you out of nowhere, wanting to tell you of someone you had no idea existed.
Weird or not, I want to tell you about him. The wolf, I mean.
His name, you're probably wondering, is Bartleby Franklin. He was a timber wolf, probably not more then 16 of age before he left on his... I guess you could call it adventure.
Now... before I go any further, I want you to think back to your childhood.
Do you remember?
Remember the times when you were playing in your back yard. You would hide under you're slide made of metal and dream. Dream about that one thing children always dream about.
Running away.
Not just anywhere... The Circus.
You probably gave up that crazy notion at around the age of 9 or 10. Or you might not
have had it all. I know I gave up that fantasy when I was 11. I tried it once. It ended
badly... me with a sore bottom.
For Bartleby, though, this dream was worth fighting for. It might have been just the
way he was bred or just sheer fear of returning home.
You see... for the poor wolf, homophobia was about the strongest thing that ran in his
bloodline. That might be fine and dandy for him if he was on his family's side of things,
but on one unfortunate night things changed.
Fate had dealt him the Bisexual card, and it finally reared it head, which made him
feel like a criminal. By kissing a boy, his life changed a million times over, either by hiding his feelings from friends and family to watching smut he never would have imagined liking.
Now, that brings us to our starting point, like a maze in your daily newspaper. Dead end's every which way.
Just take a seat and perk you're furry ears as I tell this tale. The tale of the Runaway,
Bartleby Franklin.
***
"Bartleby..." Mr. Franklin said as he shoveled his wife's superb cooking into his muzzle. "Eat your veggies. You need the vitamins and such."
Bartleby just sighed as the question of "Is tonight the night?" popped into his mind.
He had slipped into a sort of depression when he first found out, finding it hard to even
accept it himself.
"Dad..." He uttered after spooning some peas into his mouth.
"Yes son?" Mr. Franklin replied and turned to look at him. His mother stayed silent as
she did the same. "What is it?"
Bartleby's heart raced as he felt both pair of eyes on him, poking him like grubby
children's fingers. His ears fell to his skull and his tail pulled in close as he opened his
muzzle to speak. "I..."
His father waited for a couple seconds. "You...?"
"I'm..." Bartleby repeated. The words were right there, forged in saliva, hanging on for
dear life.
"Out with it, Bartleby!" His father's annoyance painted his words red as they slapped
him in the face.
"I'm a wolf!" Bartleby shouted and threw down his spoon. "Why the hell should I be
eating this herbivore stuff!?" He got up and slammed his chair to the ground. "It should
all just be meat!"
And with that... he stormed off to his room.
Mr. and Mrs. Franklin just stood there, petrified with disbelief as they witnessed their
son's first act of rebellion. It was a wake up call mixed with a feeling of profound
gladness that their son actually had the melons to stand up for something as stupid as
to eating vegetables at dinner.
'That's my boy..." His father thought with a smile on his face. He looked over to his
wife, who had the most horrified look spread across her face that screamed, "Do
something!"
"Right..." He said as he got up from the table, wiping the fur under his lips. He walked
down the hall to his son's room and knocked on the door. Nothing answered him, though
as he opened it and looked around, seeing a furry grey tail sticking out from under his
bed. He just chuckled and lay on top of the covers and whistled. "I wonder where my boy
could be...?"
"Don't call me that..." Bartleby sniffled as his pulled in his tail, holding it in his paws.
'You wouldn't want to if you knew something about me...' He thought which brought more
tears to his eyes.
"Bartleby, why are you crying?" His father asked in an over-curious tone. He was
almost mocking him. "I'm proud that you stated your opinion, son." He rolled over and
pulled the bed-skirt aside, eyeing his balled up son. "Now how about some ice cream?"
"No thanks..." Bartleby said and lightly swatted his dad in the nose. "I just want to sit
here..." His father didn't see it, but he was clutching a box tightly to his chest. He held it
close to his heart and felt its beat shudder the wood.
"Suit your self," Mr. Franklin said as he picked himself off the hardwood floor. "I'll go
eat it all by myself then." He scoffed and walked out of the room, expecting his son to
follow and beg for some. Bartleby just stayed where he was, holding his most precious
possession.
He got out from under his bed and shut his door, leaving the box on his bed, and then
returning to it. He sat with his stomach against the side and his knees on the floor,
spinning the crank that jutted out from the box's corner. He sat back and opened the
top, watching as the imprinted copper disc spun, catching the hundreds of metal tabs
that slapped against the chime. It made his tail wag in his paws as he combed it. His
eyes brightened as he watched in amazement as it sung to him.
It was his release, that music box. His lifesaver, and after every failed attempt at
telling his parents about him, he would listen to it play, over and over. Somehow it said
everything would be ok through those metallically struck notes, flowing into his perked
ears.
***
But every sweet thing has to come to an end. Courage builds up and people get tired of wearing masks all day long.
Bartleby didn't care about coming out to his friends. He was never close to the pack of
wolves he hung out with at school. It was more a "safety in numbers" kind of thing. The
vultures always picked off the weak and vulnerable, taking their lunch money and
leaving black eyes as marks of payment.
His pack didn't care about it, though. He made a stronger bond with them then he
thought, and telling them only showed how much he meant to them. They would just
wink and say "What ever floats your rock", or something to that effect.
Don't get me wrong, it was a relief that he still had a group, but it didn't matter much
to him. Friends were next to nothing compared to what his parents thought.
'My friends don't care...' He thought as he doodled in class that day. 'Tonight's gonna
be the night...' He could feel it in his fur. The courage was building enough from his
friends that he set it inside his mind. "Tonight!" He whispered as he pounded his paw on
his desk.
"Mr. Franklin!" The teacher called to him from across the room. "Is there a problem!"
"No ma'am..." Bartleby said in embarrassment as some of his pack-mates chuckled at
him. "Shut up guys..." He told them as he stuck his tongue out, and then continued his
work. They just continued snickering.
***
That night, the wolf walked home as slow as he could, trying to think of the best way to break it to them.
"Mom... Dad..." He said as he motioned his words with his hands. Furs watched him
from cars as he spoke to himself. "I have something to tell you..." He shook his head and
started again. "There's something I think you should know..." Unsatisfied, he growled at
his unsuccessful attempts and cut through the forest that lead to his back yard.
"Excuse me..." Came a sly voice from behind the wolf. Bartleby stopped and heard
footsteps coming closer, slowing as they reached him. "Can you..." It paused with a hiss
that made Bartleby's throat dry up. "... Enlighten me..."
"Huh?" Bartleby whispered as he turned around, meeting the mid-section of a tall,
thin, trench-coated fox. He shivered as he looked up and saw his black eyes staring at
him, the sun reflecting off the cane that was held in his right paw.
"...Enlighten me, young wolf," He hissed again, his voice more raspy now as he sat
down in front of him, crossing his legs. His huge paw grabbed him and sat him down on
his knee.
Bartleby wrinkled his nose as the stench of cigarette smoke scratched at his face and
the smell of alcohol burned inside his nostrils. He tried to get out of this awkward
position, but the fox held him in place and smile at him with sharp, stained teeth.
"Have you..." The fox spoke slow and watched him with his dark holes for eyes. "...
Seen the circus?" He asked him, giving a cruel chuckle after he spoke.
"Yes," Bartleby said, fear was now gripping his throat. "I've gone once or twice. Why?"
"Ever wanted to..." He paused again as he lit a cigarette. He sucked in the dark smoke
and let it trail out as he talked. "... Join the circus...?"
"Kind of..."He stammered, trying to get free of the grip. "When I was a kid... Not
anymore though..." He gulped down saliva that was building up in his muzzle. He knew in
his mind that he was lying. "...Why?"
"The circus is traveling soon..." He inhaled the toxins again and smiled. His grim teeth
gleaming like rusty daggers in his mouth. "... Maybe you should hop aboard..." He
elbowed his new friend hard in the stomach and laughed again. "I hear they're always
looking for new meat..."
Bartleby wrestled free and stood on his foot-paws, dusting himself off. He took a
couple steps back and watched as the fox rose. The smile wiped right off of his face.
"Don't tell me..." He said with an expressionless face. "...You're afraid of this are you?"
He turned to show his entire coat and his tail that was dragging out from the bottom.
"Am I really that scary...?" He asked. His voice was hinting at sincerity, but wasn't quite
there yet.
Bartleby just shook his head and backed up further, eyes looking around for a weapon
if things got ugly. "... Are you really that surprised?" He asked him in a shaky voice.
"You'll want to go, wolf-boy..." He slit his eyes and smiled again. "Just give it time..."
He coughed and turned around, walking with his cane. "Everyone wants too... It calls to
'em..." He tapped his head and flashed one last smile, calling out to him as he left. "I'll
see you soon, boy... I know I will..."
Bartleby just turned and ran, hopping over sticks and branches that had fallen due to
the season change. He wanted to get home and have dinner, tell his secret, get yelled
at, then listen to his music box. That's it. That's all he hoped for that night.
Things divert from the expected, though. Always, they do.
***
The little wolf's heart raced as his mind flipped through several ways to bring up the unmentionable. He surveyed his scene, his father eating on his right, his mom on his left, his lonely plate of food being prodded by his four-pronged fork.
"Eat you're veggies Bartleby," His father said in a short tone, shoveling his own in his
mouth. He was reading the newspaper as his mother stared off into space, still
somehow managing to keep the flow of food steady within her muzzle.
"...Dad..." He felt the room heat up as he blushed under his fur.
"I don't want to hear it, Bartleby," He started, not even looking at him. "Just eat them
like the good boy you are."
'Let's see if you think that after I tell you what's on my mind,' Bartleby thought as he
mustered up more words in his throat. "That's not it, Dad..."
"We're listening..." He sighed, probably thinking it was another school problem or something. His mother turned her head too and sipped her milk.
"I'm..." He paused in fear, suddenly reminded of the fox that met him today in the
forest. His mind replayed that scary scenario of him placing him on his lap and
bombarding him with that horrid odor of smoke.
"What Bartleby?" His father said in that annoyed tone that made his son's blood boil.
"You're what..."
"I'm..." He said again as he felt both their eyes on him again. He dropped his
silverware and started crying into his paws. His mother went to comfort him, but his
father stopped her.
"Bartleby!" He shouted at him. "Quit your crying now and tell us what's wrong!"
"Dear..." His mother said and looked at him. "That's a little harsh, don't you think."
He just nodded his head and turned back to his son. "Out with it!"
"I can't..." Bartleby started choking on his sobs. He felt like running, but knew his
father would catch up on him and force it either way.
"What can't you say Bartleby!" His abuse was growing as he put down his silverware
and pounded on the table.
"NEVERMIND!" He shouted back at him, defending his secret now. He started weeping
harder now as his father got up and barked at him.
"NO NEVERMIND!" He screamed. Saliva was going everywhere, showering the boy in
shame as he fought to hold it in. "OUT WITH IT, BOY!"
"John!" His mother shouted as she tried to restrain him. "Leave the boy alone!"
"NO!" He pulled his arm away and returned to his son, wrenching the truth from his
lips.
"I LIKE BOYS!" Bartleby finally shouted in anger as his father's face grew from minor
anger to intense ferocity. "HAPPY! I DIDN'T WANT IT TO COME OUT LIKE THAT! BUT
YOU KEPT PRYING!" He then fell out of his chair as his father bowed up to him, his full
frame now more apparent then ever.
"That had BETTER be a joke, Bartleby." He said in a bone-chillingly cold tone, almost
spoken in a whisper.
"I wish it was..." He said, looking away from his father's bloodshot eyes. "But... I
kissed one and liked it... And I've spent the past month getting no sleep and hoping it
wouldn't come out like this." He tried getting up but his father kicked him back down.
"I'm going for a smoke, Bartleby," His father said in a feverishly wicked tone. "When I
get back to my dinner, you better not be in this house."
"He's staying!" His mother shouted finally, sickened by the whole scene. She went
over to hug her fallen son, but was stopped by the brute before her.
"If you touch him, you're out too." He snarled at her, pulling a pack of cigarettes out
of his breast pocket. "Understand..."
Now realizing how cold her husband could be, she started weeping too. Her paws tried
to hide her face but it was obvious she was crying as hard as she could.
"I SAID DO YOU UNDERSTAND!" He shouted, once again filling the room with a
disgusting aura of vindictive rage and hatred. He shook her and pulled her to her
foot-paws.
She could only nod as she tried to wrestle free from her husband death grip. He let go
and she ran down the hall to her bedroom. He turned back his disowned son and smiled,
pulling a cigarette out of the package.
"Time's ticking, Bartleby."
With those words, Bartleby ran to his room on all fours and grabbed his backpack and
put in everything he thought he would need. He had been saving for this occasion so he
had a couple bucks to spend, deodorant, and anything else his fast-paced mind would
allow him to think of.
With every drag of his father's cigarette, he packed away until he reached under his
bed, pulling out the music box he loved so much. He hastily put it in his bag and ran out
of his room, already leaving something behind.
His home.
"Almost done," His father said as he flashed the cigarette at him. "Better hurry, boy..."
He took another drag.
Bartleby was panting by this time, his tongue hanging out as he headed for the back
door, slamming it behind him. He sprinted to the fence, hopped over it as fast as he
could, leaving behind his life forever.
***
His weeping was done, as well as his fear. He had done it even if he was out of a home and a family. Still, the relief was still there and it crackled along with the fallen branches that had broken beneath his feet.
The forest had a thick fog about it that autumn night as he walked down his usual
trail. The branches of the trees were barren and sharp as they watched the lone wolf
make his way through them. His tail was stuck between his legs as his seclusion
became more visible. It kept him alert, though, as he made it to the same spot he had
met the fox. He had hoped, although very little, that he would still be here. It was at
least someone to talk to.
He waited and waited, and still there was nothing but mist and dampness. There was
an occasional rustle of bushes beside him that got his adrenaline running, but nothing
made itself visible or threatened him. He just sat on his log and pondered if he had
actually made the right decision. If he didn't say anything he would be tucked into bed
right about now, his warm, soft bed.
Just then, a light pierced through the translucent fog. It was an old lantern that was
in the paw of a trench-coated fox. He smiled with his dagger teeth as he spotted the
wolf sitting there with his bag next to him.
"Allo? And what do we have here...?" He hissed and sat next to him, putting his
lantern down. "I'm guessing it didn't..." He then smiled wickedly. "... Go to well?"
Bartleby just shook his head and looked at him. "How did you know about my
problem?" He noticed the fox moving a little closer to him, still smiling.
"You..." He chuckled. "Talk about it... Everyday on your way home from school..." He
looked him in the eye and put his ragged-gloved paw on his shoulder. "I don't... Judge
you, ma'boy..."
Bartleby wondered why the fox paused in each sentence. It was kind of... kind of cool
in its own little... creepy way. 'It suits him he thought...' he thought as he just looked at
him with innocent eyes.
"Where I come from..." He rambled on, his paw still on his shoulder. "There are people
that think it's just as normal as having two paws." His voice, although sinister, had a sort of...
warming glow to it. Something made it so extremely subtle that you would actually have
to look for it, rather then stumble. It just made all the fear go away for some strange
reason.
"I'm Bartleby..." He said as he remembered they're conversation from the previous
afternoon. He remembered how needlessly freaked out the fox made him, and now look.
Pitch-black, foggy, trees of death... It was the perfect scene for a horror movie.
"Hello Bartleby," The fox said. "I'm Jeffery..." He paused and held out his paw,
expecting a shake. "Nice to... Meet you."
"Yeah..." Bartleby said as he shook. He had a question to ask, but wasn't to sure
about it. He let go and crossed his arms, thinking about it.
Minutes passed by as the two sat. Jeffery watched Bartleby, and Bartleby watched the
dirt.
"Something on your... Mind...?" Jeffery asked as his hiss shattered the silence. "Other
then... what just happened?"
"What did you mean when you talked about the circus...?" Bartleby asked him as he
shivered in the cooling atmosphere. "Do you like the circus or something?" He looked
over to him and saw the fox smile as wide as he could. His beady eyes glowing, his
teeth glinting like he had just stolen something.
"The circus is..." He paused again and thought of how to put it. "... Heaven." He stood
up and began to move, acting out every act he could think of. "The trapeze... Cannons...
The stench of bodies... packed into a tent... rotting away with enjoyment..." He peered
over and saw horror sprouting on the young wolf's face. He outstretched his hand. "You
said you didn't want to be apart of it... but I know you do..."
Bartleby looked at his hand and shook his head. It was better then this log and the
circus was always a far away dream of his. He nodded and grabbed the fox's glove,
hoisting himself off his rump and grabbing his bag.
"Take me to heaven, Jeffery..."
***
Well that's the starting to my new series. It's a little harsh of a beginning but i didn't want to do another high school or college "Coming out" story where everyone accepts someone for who they are and the world's just bright and dandy.
So then i thought about this one and it turns out that it's actually kinda fun to write so far. It's just a taste of what's gonna happen and soon he will take young Bartleby to the circus. Where everyone has different tastes and preferences. And Let's just say, he's not staying for free *giggles and eyebrows*
Well that's it, and I'll try to get the next one out soon with a little yiff in it.
Bye guys!
-Pup*hugs*