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If this was death it was far queerer then he'd anticipated. At first he'd understood that death might not be instant, which was why he reasoned that he could still hear his attackers. They were standing above him. One even snickered above him. Foggy pressure appeared here and there telling him that the bat was still swinging away at him. The one welding it was even laughing now, presumably after noticing that the leader's snickers were being held in check as if he found the situation beyond comical. The wet splattering squish of the bat was eerily audible against the now strangely distant feel of his own body; no words could do justice to accurately describe the feeling. It was like he was disconnected from his body, but still tied to it. Like a ball on a tether. Elliot had no vision, no light, just the sound and the far away feeling of disembodiment. He expected that at any moment his life would start to flash by as it drained away, all the good moments of his life would fly by for him to bask in, and all that he had once been in this world would then ice over in the chilly cold moment of his death to than wither and die along with him. When nothing came, or even happened he felt overwhelmed with a crushing despair for himself. Nothing in his life was even worthy of review in his time of death; was the eventual conclusion that he'd come to. His subconscious mind didn't even bother to pull anything up to help comfort him? He seemed to sink deeper in the icy gripping darkness swirling around him, the tether on his body started to stretch and strain as it held on to him.

Why?

Why, was all that he could ask himself, why did he fight the end, he obviously didn't have anything to live for, nothing was colorful in his life. He didn't have anyone that loved him, no one who cared if he lived or died, he had no family left, no relatives at all, and the friends that he'd thought he'd made had disserted to wander his way home like a derelict, he had nothing and no one.

His every joy of life had been killed off on that most evil of days, that cursed day of January 30thfive years ago... a day that was suppose to hold high spirits, laughter, joy, celebration, and love. But now for all this time afterward it held nothing but night terrors that could hid in the darkest shadows of his mind. Now and then they would creep out to plague his life shoving him into the sometimes endless suffering pit of depression. He never again acknowledged that day as anything but the passing of time. That was it, he should just let go; Cut the tether. Just cut it, and sink into the void on nothingness away from all the pain of that endless loss. All the happiness that he'd had so violently ripped from his life so long ago, so why didn't he just let go? Something was keeping him from doing just that. The small almost obscure glowing light of hope lingered at the object that was his body, its glow was warm and held the promise of betterment, comfort, and more.

An angry blood chilling growl ripped its way into his awareness emanating its way from somewhere unseen. It was both menacing and filled with potent threat. Something very strange happened then. It didn't scare him in the least. He doubted anything could at this point. If anything at all it made that glowing light of hope flare brighter and brighter. The crushing disappear melted away and was replaced with surprise, he felt something akin to love for that sound. It was like the very sound of it shoved violently against at the sucking blackness that was the void. It was filled with rage and power, and for reasons unknown it reminded of a worrier. It was like the sound itself was a warrior, a warrior of life, and it fought savagely against the cold oceanic abyss of nothingness. The sound ended but the warm glow of hope was now a bright torch alight at the centered in his bloodied and broken self. He basked in the feel of its radiance.

The sound was back again. It wasn't only the worrier like sound, but others to. A scream of pain split the through the world, the hammering thump of steal as it struck bone.

Thwack! Another scream accompanied the sound of bones snapping and crunching, the scream Elliot thought must have been the weasel.

Kill Him! A voice filled with authority and hate ordered over the thrashing sound of someone's death throws. Then the earth shattering sound of a pistil split the void again. A roar like nothing Elliot had ever heard before seemed to shake the very fabric of the cosmos, it chilled everything colder and more dangerous then death itself, and even the little island of light was momentarily cold and starchy stiff. The sound was no longer that of the worrier of life, it was filled with menacing hate more potent evil than the Elliot could even imagine the devil himself might be, it called to death, promising fresh victims, it was the bringer of death. Elliot thought that if death itself had had a voice it would have sounded like this. It no longer held the loving quality that it had held earlier. This new sound scared Elliot more than anything in life ever had. It was this sound that gave him the most vivid visions of hell that anything could ever have given him. And that was really saying something. Again the boom rang out from a pistil.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

A clattering of steel on concrete arose, then a sucking wheezing sound of someone trying to cry out, but had no breath, a wet crunching, a Pop of a bone snapping, followed by the thump of a body hitting the ground.

"What the FUCK?!," came a voice close almost squealing with fright, Elliot recognized it as the scare faced leopard.

Running footsteps raced away, then a startled scream that was sharply cut off.

Everything seemed to come back into focused as the tether that held him close pulled him back into the world of life, but it didn't seem fast enough. He could feel it unraveling ever more the closer he got. Now his feelings of loss and grief were replaced with the possessive almost additive need for life. Deep down farther than he'd ever know, far past the core of his being rooted deeply into the very foundations of his soul he knew that he still had something worthy in life, something yet to be discovered, something that would bring color to the endless world of shadows of everything that had been and experienced, and he wanted it desperately. With a new sense of hope and a rekindled hungering joy for that idea, he fought like he'd never fought before in his life, because he was fighting for that very thing, life. The right to continue the journey for his own meaning, for the thing deep down that had finally shouted out to him that he had something more, something new, and that very thing fed strength to his will hardening it, lending a thirsting power to it. Soon that will to live was more menacing than the rasping chill of deaths vice like grip.

He felt stronger than even the deep guttural primal growl that had assaulted the darkness before. The chilly fingers of death snapped and with a sudden popping like feeling he was back to the groggy awareness, that was his body. He was close to passing out again, the mountain like strength of will that he'd summoned bled away to nothing once he was back in his battered and beaten body. He was lying on the freezing cold sidewalk, unable to do more than twitch a limb here and there. He was only dimly aware of the bloody bate laying close by; his splatters a blood littered the space around him. Just beyond the bat, lying in a disheveled lump of its own, was the weasel. His face stared up into the night sky, his eyes unblinking with death. Elliot watched a pool of his own blood spreading out before him, it was streaming a course to the nearby rain gutter, where he could hear it dribble and splash its way down. Elliot tried to move, he had to get help he knew, had to move, or this time he would be dead, and this time he would stay that way. Though he soon found out the monumental task of breathing alone was close to the end of his physical endurance. His strength was waning. So getting up to get help was out, or even calling out was like trying to swallow a sharp sword, when he tried to scream for help all that came out was a think whimpering mumble. Again his vision clouded over until only the glaring yellow glow of the over head street lamp was all that he could make out, it to faded quickly until it to was gone; swallowed up by the blackness beyond. Then out of the nothingness he felt something. Big strong arms reached down lifting him up. Running, time slowed... and slowed. Nothing of the world remained to him other then the glimpses of reality beyond his perception that his senses could pick up here and there. Then he was numb.

The abyss ascended again swirling in around him, threatening to suck Elliot back, trying to claim him for its own, and soon it all collapsed onto him. Though it wasn't like before, it seemed to flow in and out; it was like bobbing in warm water. Images flashed, glittered about in a majestic matrix of movements and activity, then the numbness was gone and emotion flooded in; painting along the canvas of his mind, fear, hate, love, envy, loneliness, excitement, all of it, came rushing in like a flood water washing him away. It was like a dream, but not. The images were slowing and lengthening into a monologue now. A strange looking possum was bent over him, and then she was gone, replaced by dark gray pair of ears with a hint of silver at the tips. They were beautiful ears he thought; handsome. Then the warm water sensation was back, along some of his body. He felt so tired and all he wanted to do was sleep. That idea was a warm welcoming thought, and it pulled and yanked at him until he gave in.