The Hunted Fox

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A fox's point of view of being hunted

Submitted: November 08, 2011

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Submitted: November 08, 2011

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A soft breeze blew through the trees, russling the autumn leaves. A couple of them broke away from their branches, dancing in the air before coming to rest on the ground. The air was starting to get cooler, for it was almost dusk. A mouse was out looking for food before it went back into its dark, warm burrow for the night. It scampered across the ground; it stood up on its back paws and sniffed the air. It could smell something.

The mouse twitched its whiskers; it spotted a beech nut next to a rotten, fallen log and scampered over to it. After cracking its hard shell it began to eat it, unaware of the glowing yellow eyes behind it. A flash of fiery orange appeared. The mouse dangled, dead, from the muzzle of a large dog fox. The dog fox demolished the mouse in a few heartbeats and licked its muzzle witch had a long white scar down it. The fox’s ears twitched. It heard the baying of hounds behind it. It took off running, it had to find somewhere to hide or else it would be ripped apart and hung on a human’s wall.

The fox splashed through a creek. It went up the steep bank. There! A crack in the rock that was big enough for it but too small for the hounds to get through. It ran around the rock four times, ran back to the bank then back to the rock, it leapt on the rock and then back down. There that should confuse the hounds. It went in the rock and flattened itself against the back of the small place. It could here the hounds outside. They seemed to have lost the trail. The fox heard a whistle and the hounds retreated. All except for one. It stuck its muzzle in the crack of the rock. It could smell the fox. It growled, showing its large, yellowing teeth. The hunter pulled the hound back and stuck a gun in the crack. The fox’s heart beat faster then it ever has ever done. It knew what the gun did.


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