{"sf1_id":1691402,"sf2_id":"rm8xG4Qm","title":"The Leaves of Fall Act 3: Something That Matters (Part 14)","author":"Oliver_Hart","words":2317,"posted_at":"2021-03-04T00:40:25.000Z","tags":["Adventure","Alternate Reality","Anon","Boy","Brother","Bunny","Classroom","Couple","Emo","Fight","Girl","Green text","Greentext","HMOFA","Halloween","Heterosexual","High School","Hmofa/","Human","Kissing","Plot Development","Rabbit","Siblings","Slow burn","Young Romance","anthro/human"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1691402-the-leaves-of-fall-act-3-something-that-matters-part-14","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/rm8xG4Qm","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/a7/4d/a74d7665-599c-47ef-a3ff-ed66027dfcaa","description":"You've never really 'fit in' with the heavily divided Ranchview High School crowd. Jock, Goth, Prep, Cheerleader, Nerd... you were never any of these. But as Halloween approaches, strange things start happening, and a dark ritual begins with the finding of a curious red book. It's a race against time for you and your friends to stop a group of students from ushering in an age of darkness, and to also figure out just what the hell is wrong with that rabbit.  \n~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  \n  \nAbout this version: originally, The Leaves of Fall was split into two pastebins to compensate for the length of the story. Given that pastebin has chosen to censor this story for ambiguous reasons, it will forever be stored here and on AO3. This new version contains spelling, grammar and content fixes. Please understand that the content is all the same as the earlier versions minus some sentences being changed and fixed up. I cannot stress this enough: no new content has been added. It's my hope that this is a cleaner, easier-to-read version of the story.  \n  \nCover: [https://imgur.com/a/vZS4Q](https://imgur.com/a/vZS4Q)  \nSam (drawn by Akella of /hmofa/) [https://imgur.com/a/nk3t1wT](https://imgur.com/a/nk3t1wT)  \nFan art collection: [https://imgur.com/a/SCCSIQv](https://imgur.com/a/SCCSIQv)  \nAccompanying playlist (WIP): [https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410\\_nI-0J](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL9aXlzDRA49QKxgYsOV2JuDd410_nI-0J)  \nAlternative link: [https://www.sofurry.com/view/1479078](https://www.sofurry.com/view/1479078)  \nTotal word count: 147,552 words","content":"\\\u003eYou are Samantha Garlen, 18-years-old, a brown Mini-Rex rabbit dressed in your brother's baggy hoodie and jeans, with a baseball bat strapped to your back, pretending to be a super hero of your own creation called Samurai Outlaw  \n\\\u003eSamurai Outlaw is tough  \n\\\u003eSamurai Outlaw is a loose cannon who plays for the good guys, but by her own rules  \n\\\u003eSamurai Outlaw is collected and at ease among criminals, being one herself  \n\\\u003eThat is, of course, the character Samurai Outlaw  \n\\\u003eYou are Samantha 'Sam' Garlen  \n\\\u003eAnd tonight, you die  \n  \n\\\u003eYou feel the muzzle of your father's old pistol pressed into your back as he marches you down the hill behind the old white oak door church  \n\\\u003eTowards the set of railroad ties  \n\\\u003eYour friends huddle together at the top of the hill, helplessly watching as you're marched to your death  \n\\\u003eThey could call the police, but they'd never get here in time  \n\\\u003eThey could try rushing your dad  \n\\\u003eBut they'd end up getting shot  \n\\\u003e\"There's gonna be an accident tonight,\" your dad whispers. His breath is hot and salty in your sensitive ears, sending shivers up your spine  \n\\\u003eYou know the spine-crawling feeling well  \n\\\u003e“Going to put an end to you, boy.\"  \n\\\u003eThe train whistle sounds off again, and your dad starts laughing as the shakes hit you  \n\\\u003e\"You hear that? That train? I bet you wish you were dead right now, you coward little kid.\"  \n\\\u003e\"SAM!\" Anon shouts. “DON'T LET HIM DO THIS!\"  \n\\\u003eYou're almost to the tracks now, the gun firmly in the small of your back  \n\\\u003eYou try to keep a steady voice. “I-I-It's okay,\" you call up to Anon. “I-I'll be okay.\"  \n\\\u003eYour gut sinks with each word  \n\\\u003eDad doesn't seem to hear you  \n\\\u003eOr if he does, he doesn't care  \n\\\u003eThat train is so close now  \n\\\u003eSo loud and clear  \n\\\u003eGliding down the tracks, snaking around corners and bends, pulling its innocuous cargo down the ties  \n\\\u003eThe apprehension and waiting for death is the worst, part, you think  \n\\\u003eDeath can't be that bad  \n\\\u003eIt's everything leading up to it that makes your whole body shake violently  \n\\\u003eYou lift your heavy feet as you cross over onto the tracks  \n\\\u003eDad stands you upright  \n\\\u003e\"Remember these tracks? This is where I lost my son. That's right. These fucking rails, down at the pits where you faggots would go play.\" Dad draws out the word 'faggots.' “These rails got blood on 'em. And it ain't the old rail car yard, but this'll do nicely. You're going to pay back your debt tonight. Blood for blood.\"  \n\\\u003eYou feel like puking again  \n\\\u003eDad towers over you, ignoring the baseball bat pressed against your back  \n\\\u003eYou stare dead ahead, eyes wide  \n“I-I remember J-J-Jacob t-t-too,\" you say. “I-I-I re-remember h-h-how he l-looked out f-f-for me, a-and how much-\"  \n\\\u003eWhat you say doesn't matter anymore  \n\\\u003eYou're just speaking to the empty void at this point  \n“-How much l-like y-you he w-was. B-But he was b-better than y-y-you.\"  \n\\\u003eDad digs the gun a little deeper into your back  \n\\\u003e\"I know why you remember him like that — you were always hidin' behind him when trouble came 'round. You always 'been a burden to everyone.\"  \n\\\u003eHe leans in real close to your ears, ignoring the bat strapped to your back  \n\\\u003e\"I bet he hated you.\"  \n\\\u003eYou go stiff all over  \n“T-That's not true…\" you say  \n\\\u003eWhat if he did hate you?  \n\\\u003eYou always held onto the idea that he had mixed emotions and feelings towards you  \n\\\u003eBut it wasn't outright disdain and hate  \n\\\u003eYou were a coward weakling, but were you really worthy of his hate?  \n\\\u003eYour thoughts blur and coalesce together as the train whistle blows again  \n\\\u003eIt's so close now  \n\\\u003e\"Of course it's true. He HATED you.\" The way Dad says 'hated' is sharp enough to cut your throat. “We all hated you. All you've ever been is a coward and a burden.\"  \n\\\u003eYou struggle against him  \n\\\u003e\"A drain on everyone. You ate our food and slept under our roof. But you ain't even a guest. Just a liability. And you ain't got nobody. Not even family.\"  \n\\\u003eHe roots in you place with a rough hand that digs into your fur  \n“N-No, I h-ha-have f-f-friends now-\"  \n\\\u003e\"THEM?\" Dad jerks his head towards the top of the hill, where Anonymous, Mike, Jenna and Alex watch — helpless  \n\\\u003e\"They're not your friends. They probably hate you too.\"  \n“They do-don't!\" You cry in your strongest voice. “T-They c-c-care about me!\"  \n\\\u003eTears spring to your eyes  \n\\\u003eYou wish you could stop your throat from tightening  \n\\\u003eWhere is your composure?  \n\\\u003eDo you really want to die like a crying, sissy bitch?  \n\\\u003e\"They don't like you. They feel /bad/ for you. You're damaged goods anyway. Not my son, not my daughter, not anyone's friend. Just my burden. That's all you are.\"   \n\\\u003e…  \n\\\u003eHe's right, isn't he?  \n\\\u003eThey don't like you at all  \n\\\u003eIn fact, they've never liked you  \n\\\u003eAll those moments of cold callousness, avoiding you, ignoring you, all the whispered jokes and idle hatred  \n\\\u003eThe way they treated you  \n\\\u003eThe names they called you  \n\\\u003eAlways looking after you like you were some kind of…  \n\\\u003e… Burden  \n\\\u003eEven Anon didn't like you  \n\\\u003eEspecially at first  \n\\\u003eBut… He saved you from this life  \n\\\u003eHe looked out for you  \n\\\u003eHe put his lips on yours and kissed you like he meant it  \n\\\u003eFrom the rotten crevices of your brain — where all the abuse lives — comes a voice, one that's not entirely your own  \n\\\u003e'People don't change.'   \n\\\u003e'He'll take what he wants from you, and then leave.'  \n\\\u003eA cold wind rushes past you, and all you can do is gawk into the darkness, staring at that bend like the condemned stares down the gallows  \n\\\u003eSoon death would come charging around that corner  \n\\\u003eUnless…  \n“I-I'll go h-h-home w-w-with you… I'll n-never ta-talk to anyone ag-agin. I'll d-d-do wh-whatever you wa-want. J-Ju-Just let go-\" your pleading voice is swallowed up by another, closer train whistle  \n\\\u003eDad braces his broad back against the wind  \n\\\u003e\"Don't you get it? You're not going home. And you're not dodging this train — not that you could in the first place. I told you: I'm going to put an end to this bloodline. Right here. On these tracks.\"  \n\\\u003eYour body goes cold, and then slackens into his rough grip, like you were throwing yourself into a big bed that you'd never climb out of  \n\\\u003eSo that's how it's gonna be?  \n\\\u003eYou feel his own hold on you loosen as he steps back  \n\\\u003eAnd then  \n\\\u003eThe hollowed tip of the gun at the back of your head  \n\\\u003e\"Now get down on your knees,\" he commands. “Right here, on these tracks. Where you robbed me.\"  \n\\\u003eYou obediently drop to your knees  \n\\\u003e\"You miss your brother?\" He says. You can tell by the strain in his voice — he does too  \n\\\u003e\"You'll see him again soon.\"  \n\\\u003eThe train tears around the bend, its forward-facing lights throwing yours and Dad's shadows down the strip of tracks  \n\\\u003eThe conductor rips on the horn  \n\\\u003eAnd everything goes quiet  \n\\\u003eThe familiar squeal of the brakes  \n\\\u003eThe train as it rolls down the ties  \n\\\u003eThe blast of the horn  \n\\\u003eEven the blustering wind  \n\\\u003eAll gone  \n\\\u003eAnd soon, you will be too  \n\\\u003eIt ends how it began, you guess  \n\\\u003eUnwanted  \n  \n\\\u003e\"WHAT WOULD SAMURAI OUTLAW DO!?\"  \n\\\u003eLike a brick through a window, Anon's voice reaches your ears, scattering shards of quiet all over your addled mind  \n\\\u003eThings register in your blunted senses:  \n\\\u003eThe train barreling down the tracks  \n\\\u003eThe wind  \n\\\u003eYour father's momentary distraction  \n\\\u003eAnd Anon  \n\\\u003eHis voice so scared for you, so desperate, scarring his own throat so that he can be heard against the roar of the train and the cut of the wind  \n  \n\\\u003eWhat would Samurai Outlaw do?  \n  \n\\\u003eSamurai Outlaw would rise to her feet despite the wind blasting back her hood, her piercing amber eyes fixed dead ahead, catching the glow like a bowl  \n\\\u003eSamurai outlaw pours light on everything  \n\\\u003eSamurai Outlaw would — quick as a whip — spin to face her nemesis, drawing her signature baseball bat as she moves  \n\\\u003eIn one single motion, she'd swing her bat   \n\\\u003eAnd she'd swing with years of pent up rage, with the rawness of life singing through her adrenaline-clogged veins  \n\\\u003eShe'd swing as if her very life depended on it, as if her bat could rip galaxies apart and separate light from dark  \n\\\u003eShe'd swing like she was blasting through a thrown beer bottle out in front of a church, surrounded by friends  \n\\\u003eThat swing would connect with hurricane force against her foe's hand, knocking the pistol from his grip  \n\\\u003eThere'd be tremendous flash of light as the gun went off, barking at the tip with a spray of fire  \n\\\u003eBut the bullet would fly past her right ear, damaging her hearing  \n\\\u003eThat's exactly what Samurai Outlaw did, that night  \n\\\u003eAnd you are Samurai Outlaw  \n  \n\\\u003eYou are Sam again  \n\\\u003eYour Dad, having just had his gun knocked from his hand, leaps upon you as the ground starts to quake with the approach of the train, like water might shake during an earthquake  \n\\\u003eThe back of your head knocks against one of the wooden ties on the tracks, dazing you  \n\\\u003eFrom the corners of your vision you can see your friends rushing down the hill towards you, shouting, waving their arms to try and get the train to stop  \n\\\u003eBut it won't stop  \n\\\u003eIt can't stop  \n\\\u003eAnd Dad knows this  \n\\\u003e\"IT'LL BE BOTH OF US!\" He roars at you, his coarse voice barely above the train's own clattering  \n\\\u003e\"BURDEN!\" His hands find your throat  \n\\\u003e\"THIEF\" He squeezes tight, wrapping around you like a noose  \n\\\u003eYour eyes shoot open as you feel your last breath trapped in your chest screaming to get out  \n\\\u003eYour tiny hands shoot towards his wrists to pry them away  \n\\\u003eHis grip is too formidable, too practiced and too full of hatred  \n\\\u003eThere'll be no dodge this time, not from either of you  \n\\\u003e\"COWARD!\"  \n\\\u003eThat's what Jacob used to call you  \n\\\u003eCoward  \n\\\u003eWhat else did Jacob say?  \n\\\u003eYour mind blurs back as your vision starts to collapse, cold, dark stars clouding the corners of your eyes — oblivion creeping into your sight  \n\\\u003eYour whole body is shaking, tossed about from the rumble of the train, the adrenaline, and the fear  \n\\\u003eSpittle starts boiling out of your mouth as your eyes roll upwards  \n\\\u003eEven with the train bearing down, something quiet — yet sharp — returns to you  \n\\\u003eJacob's voice comes back to you like a distant and fading echo emanating in the back of your skull  \n\\\u003eSome memory from when you were a child  \n\\\u003eFilling a sock with gravel  \n\\\u003eYour brother standing over you with his bat, saying:  \n\\\u003e\\\u003e\"Even if you're a girl, you just gotta hit a wolf in the nose, and they're down. Humans, aim for the shins. That's all you have to worry about. Rabbits? Right in the chest.\"  \n  \n\\\u003eYou pull your formidable legs underneath you as dad presses furious rings into your neckline  \n\\\u003eYou aim your feet upwards…  \n\\\u003eThe train blasts its horn, deafening your other ear  \n\\\u003e…And rocket your kick upwards, as if you were punting the moon itself  \n  \n\\\u003eYour blow connects directly with Dad's ribcage  \n\\\u003eHis grip on you goes slack as his body registers the pain  \n\\\u003eYou pull in gulps of cold air, rejuvenating your body and lungs, feeling as if you'd been drowning inside your own skin  \n\\\u003eDad's lungs suck inward and his face twists up with shock  \n\\\u003eThen his eyes squeeze shut as his arms bend and shoot towards his chest  \n\\\u003eLike a giant building collapsing, he drops forward, not unconscious, but stunned enough to give that impression  \n\\\u003eStill coughing, you roll off the tracks  \n\\\u003eA final dodge  \n\\\u003eAt the perfect moment  \n\\\u003eYou raise your head — covered in burrs and scrub grass — and look towards the tracks  \n\\\u003eDad is propping himself up on his palms, coughing  \n\\\u003eHe turns his head towards you as the full brunt of the train's headlights hit him, outlining his ragged shape in black and gold  \n\\\u003eHe opens his mouth to speak one final cruelty  \n\\\u003eAnd then in a blur of steel and the clanging of horns, he's gone  \n\\\u003eAs the train rolls on  \n  \n\\\u003eYou hear muffled sounds all around you, feel the cold of the wind against your fur, ripping through you like you were full of holes   \n\\\u003eAll you can do is stare and listen to the sharp ringing that pierces the wall of nothing clouding your senses…  \n\\\u003e…And stare at the train, winding by in the night, like a great metal snake bound on tracks of dirty steel  \n\\\u003eHe tried to kill you  \n\\\u003eYour own dad  \n\\\u003eStrangely enough, you don't feel like crying  \n\\\u003eWhy don't you want to cry?  \n\\\u003eWasn't that your own flesh and blood now smeared across the tracks?  \n\\\u003eOr, at the very least, the man who acted as your flesh and blood  \n\\\u003eWell, no, you can't say that either  \n\\\u003eThat devil drunk was no father  \n\\\u003eYou have nobody  \n\\\u003eExcept the gentle hands pulling you to your feet  \n\\\u003eThe concerned, shouting faces of all your friends, the relief so clear in all of them that your throat starts tightening up  \n\\\u003eThey're hugging you and grabbing at you and speaking to you, but you can't hear a word of what they're saying  \n\\\u003eThe world is still ringing  \n\\\u003eAnd spinning, too  \n\\\u003eThe world is spinning faster than you could have ever imagined  \n\\\u003eThe stars and the swollen moon become a lighted smear across the sky as your legs tremble and give way  \n\\\u003eYour eyes glaze over  \n\\\u003eThe darkness takes hold of you  \n\\\u003eThe last thing you see is Anon's face as he takes you by the shoulders, his face soft as patted butter  \n\\\u003eAnd when you shut your eyes and surrender to that darkness, you feel your feet swept out from under you, pulled by the gentle current of the unconscious","series":{"name":"The Leaves of Fall","previous":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1689579-the-leaves-of-fall-act-3-something-that-matters-part-13.json","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1692789-the-leaves-of-fall-act-3-something-that-matters-part-15.json"}}