HOME | DD

Description
The van turned the corner.  Donald wasn’t sure where to go, but he knew the only way to get there was across the street, and Doyle House was an island.
Nothing that had just happened made any sense to him.  Humans were animals to be sure, but this new form was ridiculous.  If I had really transformed into a fox, would I not be conscious of my new form?  How could God have given me this?  Better yet, how did this happen anyway?  He pondered these thoughts as he looked over himself.  Turning his head he saw his tail drooping over his rump, the clean and dirty furs covering his back, rubbing against each other as he attempted to see the rest of his figure.  I look like a fox alright, he thought as he faced the ground.  If only I could see my face… but I’m not supposed to know my own reflection, right?  Only chimps and man can do that, right?  Of course he was wrong, he knew.  But one thing Descartes didn’t clarify was what “I am” referred to.

He looked across the street again.  The cars whizzed by as he examined all possible routes of escape.  Slinking to the maintenance area he found a dumpster to his left, green and overbearing.  It reeked of the bananas and cheese sandwiches he had eaten two days ago, the Stromboli and breadsticks of today’s lunch, and the rotting fermentation of ice cream.  He felt hungry, very hungry actually, but hungry enough to eat from a rubbish bin?  His fuel tank ran below empty, but hoped that the electric mode of his car would kick him in enough to find a more dignified food source.

In the dim light on the side of the road to his left there was a squirrel, grey and scampering.  What’s that doing out here, Donald thought.  They’re supposed to be back in their cribs, no?  It continued to wander, running straight onto the curb and logically the street, where a car nicked it by.  The squirrel hesitated to cross, but it boldly ventured out on the asphalt.  A blue minivan swerved to its left in distress for the creature’s safe passage; it ran back; but not before turning around to have the right back tire break its spine.

Donald almost called out to the squirrel, but he knew it would only exacerbate its predicament.  And he realized the danger.  He needed a quieter street.  But he had only four choices.  He continued to slink about, his stomach vibrating against his other organs, ruling out Grassnook and turning the corner to Spiegler.  Spiegler was the main road coming in and out of Aeolian University, so it was not much different from Grassnook.  Walking slowly, as he finally felt the weight of his stomach pull him toward Earth, he heard a noise from the front of the building.  Well, he heard several noises in front of the building, but he knew this one well.  He hid through the bushes facing Cockling, the blades small pricks on his fur.  A few steps and he saw a newly familiar van parked on the paved crescent.  A few more steps and he saw two green-capped workers talking to Frederick, the receptionist, and one of the janitors.  He could clearly hear them as he listened in, first the crack of scotch tape as one of the two posted a sign on the house front door.  Then came words from the other:

“Like I said, I can’t tell you how that thing got in there.  Hopefully we’ll all keep safe—what was that?”  Donald crouched back into to bushes.

“What?”  asked Frederick, calm but still worried about the encounter.

“Probably just a stray cat.  Could only see its eyes.”

The other green-capped worker paused from posting signs.  “Well, foxes have about as big eyes as cats do.”  Donald felt himself gulp.

“Well, so do a lot of other animals,” retorted the first.  “Hey Gail, you have a piece of meat on you?”

“A fox is actually going to fall for that?” Frederick asked again.

“A dazed, rabid one might go for anything.”

“Oh right,” said Donald’s roommate, suddenly fearing for his own safety.

“So Gail,  Gail, you have a piece of meat on you?”

“A fox is actually going to fall for that?” Frederick asked again.

“A dazed, rabid one might go for anything.”

“Oh right,” said Donald’s roommate, suddenly fearing for his own safety.

“So Gail, you have anything?”

Donald wished not to be involved any longer, fleeing from a futile temptation with his fox tail peeking slightly from the bushes.  He could almost hear the clamor as he ran, slowing down as he gasped for breath.   But Spiegler was clear this time, so he tuned out the noise and picked up the pace as he watched for the traffic ahead.  His paws hit the asphalt and then the grass on the other side 1 ½ seconds later.  And he continued to run, gasping for breath again, until he found himself tumbling into a trench of a concrete staircase, finding a temporary foxhole by accident.

He reached the bottom and checked himself.  No blood iron red mixed with rusty iron orange, it was an easy escape, or in his mind, a victory.  Thank you Lord, thought Donald.  With his paws together and his head looking up and saw the grand stone structure in front of him, MacReynolds Hall.  He remembered the botched slide preparation, the sample exploding coming in contact with the blue false coloring, and the glass piercing his skin, the liquid seeping into the cut.  Why did he pick the table so far away from the nearest sink?  And one minute for a bandage… did everyone want him this way?

But it was quiet, a strange peace for all the hullabaloo he ran from.  He curled up at the bottom.  Now he was a ball of fur, grinning as he tickled his chin with the tip of his tail.  He was warm, safe, almost euphoric.  Not such a bad state to be in, he thought.  Be nice to be able to wear this all the time… but what if I can’t?

The obvious thought hit Donald.  He wished he was back at that dumpster, smelly as it was.  Though still famished, food was not what he lacked at the moment.  He emerged from the bottom of the staircase and turned a corner to the back.  One can find a lot in a garbage bin…

He looked back and saw nothing.  Then he looked ahead and saw exactly the first thing he was looking for.  True to his intuition there was a large bin with a square hole on its left side.  A large box with a smaller box next to it seemed to be positioned perfectly for him to just climb up to that hole and examine the contents.  God, this is way too easy, Donald thought.

It took some time for him to muster up the strength necessary to leap onto the smaller box.  As he reached his paws onto the second box, Donald hoped he could get a snack to go with his search for some pants, something to cover him up so… wait, he thought as he kicked his back legs up to the second box.  How do I know I’m going to be fine the next morning?  This seems too much like a cheesy werewolf movie… except I’m not mauling pretty teenage girls.  What’s going to happen?  Is my life so predictable that even the strangest of occurrences devolves into an anti-climatic cliché?  But he surely didn’t want to be a fox forever, he had a degree to pursue.  At this rate, anything could happen.  He had to do everything he could to prepare for a return to humanity.  He took a few small steps to the hole, smelling everything but seeing nothing.  He needed more light.  And he needed better vision.  His eyes seemed to see the same way before he miraculously escaped from Doyle (it just struck him that his plan was just too clever for an ordinary fox to execute).  That notion struck Donald to something even more obvious, that his glasses were gone.  Was it the weight of the fur on his face that blinded him from that fact?  Or was it the now black night and the dim light that obscured the feeling he should have recognized was missing?  All he knew was that they were still back at Doyle.  He could imagine Frederick picking up the spectacles in great puzzlement, and then trying to call his phone again only to realize it ringing under his feet.  He couldn’t hear any police cars heading for Doyle; perhaps Frederick simply thought that his roommate decided to take a few risks with his life… but Donald was not at a bar or strip club.

His stomach growled again.  He almost fainted as he lost his mind in speculation.  He needed more light quick… the bin top, of course.  He tried to lean against the bin on his hind legs, moving sideways with tension as he tried to reach the top.
He lost balance, finding himself on the concrete below.  Lying prostrate with his nose in the air Donald looked up to the sky.  The dark blanket was starless and moonless, yet all of his surroundings glimmered with incandescent light.  His spine felt flat and his legs flailed out in desperation for something to pick him up and get him back on his legs.  The wind combed his naked body; he looked up for someone to help him up… why do I think I need someone to help me?  I can get up myself.  He rolled down and pushed himself up.  But as he looked down on the concrete again, he wished he was inverted again.  There was something about wanting to feel helpless…

He resolved to look elsewhere for refreshment and temporary vestments.  But he felt unstable, like something was about to explode and implode at the same time.  One was the still ongoing hunger, of course, but also that his whole body was beginning to rearrange itself again.  Oh.  My.  Goodness.  Donald realized.  How much energy, how much MASS did that transformation convert?  This can’t be thermodynamically possible!  No wonder all those werewolves have to eat everything that moves!  And here I am.  He knew he had to stay where he was.  But he also knew that he had to consume even more energy to get where he needed.  Nonetheless, he slowly he crawled up the boxes again, and just dumped himself into the hole.

He wished he was back at Doyle.

Description
The van turned the corner.  Donald wasn’t sure where to go, but he knew the only way to get there was across the street, and Doyle House was an island.
Nothing that had just happened made any sense to him.  Humans were animals to be sure, but this new form was ridiculous.  If I had really transformed into a fox, would I not be conscious of my new form?  How could God have given me this?  Better yet, how did this happen anyway?  He pondered these thoughts as he looked over himself.  Turning his head he saw his tail drooping over his rump, the clean and dirty furs covering his back, rubbing against each other as he attempted to see the rest of his figure.  I look like a fox alright, he thought as he faced the ground.  If only I could see my face… but I’m not supposed to know my own reflection, right?  Only chimps and man can do that, right?  Of course he was wrong, he knew.  But one thing Descartes didn’t clarify was what “I am” referred to.

He looked across the street again.  The cars whizzed by as he examined all possible routes of escape.  Slinking to the maintenance area he found a dumpster to his left, green and overbearing.  It reeked of the bananas and cheese sandwiches he had eaten two days ago, the Stromboli and breadsticks of today’s lunch, and the rotting fermentation of ice cream.  He felt hungry, very hungry actually, but hungry enough to eat from a rubbish bin?  His fuel tank ran below empty, but hoped that the electric mode of his car would kick him in enough to find a more dignified food source.

In the dim light on the side of the road to his left there was a squirrel, grey and scampering.  What’s that doing out here, Donald thought.  They’re supposed to be back in their cribs, no?  It continued to wander, running straight onto the curb and logically the street, where a car nicked it by.  The squirrel hesitated to cross, but it boldly ventured out on the asphalt.  A blue minivan swerved to its left in distress for the creature’s safe passage; it ran back; but not before turning around to have the right back tire break its spine.

Donald almost called out to the squirrel, but he knew it would only exacerbate its predicament.  And he realized the danger.  He needed a quieter street.  But he had only four choices.  He continued to slink about, his stomach vibrating against his other organs, ruling out Grassnook and turning the corner to Spiegler.  Spiegler was the main road coming in and out of Aeolian University, so it was not much different from Grassnook.  Walking slowly, as he finally felt the weight of his stomach pull him toward Earth, he heard a noise from the front of the building.  Well, he heard several noises in front of the building, but he knew this one well.  He hid through the bushes facing Cockling, the blades small pricks on his fur.  A few steps and he saw a newly familiar van parked on the paved crescent.  A few more steps and he saw two green-capped workers talking to Frederick, the receptionist, and one of the janitors.  He could clearly hear them as he listened in, first the crack of scotch tape as one of the two posted a sign on the house front door.  Then came words from the other:

“Like I said, I can’t tell you how that thing got in there.  Hopefully we’ll all keep safe—what was that?”  Donald crouched back into to bushes.

“What?”  asked Frederick, calm but still worried about the encounter.

“Probably just a stray cat.  Could only see its eyes.”

The other green-capped worker paused from posting signs.  “Well, foxes have about as big eyes as cats do.”  Donald felt himself gulp.

“Well, so do a lot of other animals,” retorted the first.  “Hey Gail, you have a piece of meat on you?”

“A fox is actually going to fall for that?” Frederick asked again.

“A dazed, rabid one might go for anything.”

“Oh right,” said Donald’s roommate, suddenly fearing for his own safety.

“So Gail,  Gail, you have a piece of meat on you?”

“A fox is actually going to fall for that?” Frederick asked again.

“A dazed, rabid one might go for anything.”

“Oh right,” said Donald’s roommate, suddenly fearing for his own safety.

“So Gail, you have anything?”

Donald wished not to be involved any longer, fleeing from a futile temptation with his fox tail peeking slightly from the bushes.  He could almost hear the clamor as he ran, slowing down as he gasped for breath.   But Spiegler was clear this time, so he tuned out the noise and picked up the pace as he watched for the traffic ahead.  His paws hit the asphalt and then the grass on the other side 1 ½ seconds later.  And he continued to run, gasping for breath again, until he found himself tumbling into a trench of a concrete staircase, finding a temporary foxhole by accident.

He reached the bottom and checked himself.  No blood iron red mixed with rusty iron orange, it was an easy escape, or in his mind, a victory.  Thank you Lord, thought Donald.  With his paws together and his head looking up and saw the grand stone structure in front of him, MacReynolds Hall.  He remembered the botched slide preparation, the sample exploding coming in contact with the blue false coloring, and the glass piercing his skin, the liquid seeping into the cut.  Why did he pick the table so far away from the nearest sink?  And one minute for a bandage… did everyone want him this way?

But it was quiet, a strange peace for all the hullabaloo he ran from.  He curled up at the bottom.  Now he was a ball of fur, grinning as he tickled his chin with the tip of his tail.  He was warm, safe, almost euphoric.  Not such a bad state to be in, he thought.  Be nice to be able to wear this all the time… but what if I can’t?

The obvious thought hit Donald.  He wished he was back at that dumpster, smelly as it was.  Though still famished, food was not what he lacked at the moment.  He emerged from the bottom of the staircase and turned a corner to the back.  One can find a lot in a garbage bin…

He looked back and saw nothing.  Then he looked ahead and saw exactly the first thing he was looking for.  True to his intuition there was a large bin with a square hole on its left side.  A large box with a smaller box next to it seemed to be positioned perfectly for him to just climb up to that hole and examine the contents.  God, this is way too easy, Donald thought.

It took some time for him to muster up the strength necessary to leap onto the smaller box.  As he reached his paws onto the second box, Donald hoped he could get a snack to go with his search for some pants, something to cover him up so… wait, he thought as he kicked his back legs up to the second box.  How do I know I’m going to be fine the next morning?  This seems too much like a cheesy werewolf movie… except I’m not mauling pretty teenage girls.  What’s going to happen?  Is my life so predictable that even the strangest of occurrences devolves into an anti-climatic cliché?  But he surely didn’t want to be a fox forever, he had a degree to pursue.  At this rate, anything could happen.  He had to do everything he could to prepare for a return to humanity.  He took a few small steps to the hole, smelling everything but seeing nothing.  He needed more light.  And he needed better vision.  His eyes seemed to see the same way before he miraculously escaped from Doyle (it just struck him that his plan was just too clever for an ordinary fox to execute).  That notion struck Donald to something even more obvious, that his glasses were gone.  Was it the weight of the fur on his face that blinded him from that fact?  Or was it the now black night and the dim light that obscured the feeling he should have recognized was missing?  All he knew was that they were still back at Doyle.  He could imagine Frederick picking up the spectacles in great puzzlement, and then trying to call his phone again only to realize it ringing under his feet.  He couldn’t hear any police cars heading for Doyle; perhaps Frederick simply thought that his roommate decided to take a few risks with his life… but Donald was not at a bar or strip club.

His stomach growled again.  He almost fainted as he lost his mind in speculation.  He needed more light quick… the bin top, of course.  He tried to lean against the bin on his hind legs, moving sideways with tension as he tried to reach the top.
He lost balance, finding himself on the concrete below.  Lying prostrate with his nose in the air Donald looked up to the sky.  The dark blanket was starless and moonless, yet all of his surroundings glimmered with incandescent light.  His spine felt flat and his legs flailed out in desperation for something to pick him up and get him back on his legs.  The wind combed his naked body; he looked up for someone to help him up… why do I think I need someone to help me?  I can get up myself.  He rolled down and pushed himself up.  But as he looked down on the concrete again, he wished he was inverted again.  There was something about wanting to feel helpless…

He resolved to look elsewhere for refreshment and temporary vestments.  But he felt unstable, like something was about to explode and implode at the same time.  One was the still ongoing hunger, of course, but also that his whole body was beginning to rearrange itself again.  Oh.  My.  Goodness.  Donald realized.  How much energy, how much MASS did that transformation convert?  This can’t be thermodynamically possible!  No wonder all those werewolves have to eat everything that moves!  And here I am.  He knew he had to stay where he was.  But he also knew that he had to consume even more energy to get where he needed.  Nonetheless, he slowly he crawled up the boxes again, and just dumped himself into the hole.

He wished he was back at Doyle.