It was there amidst the trees that he first tasted his own death. He’d become sure it would never happen to him. Others around him had dropped like flies, but he thought he might go on forever escaping that particular release.
That is until the thing—the wall of a creature with violent hands and a red-rimmed gaping mouth—had thrown him and he had so nearly fallen into the water. Splashed into the ocean where he could have drowned happily.
But he didn’t. Instead, his body bounced a few times before coming to rest on a particularly hard rock. In the moment, he thought to run, but the thing that smelled like cherry icees was on him too quickly and his chance evaporated.
And anyway he couldn’t have run. He had no bones. His cotton skin had been stuffed with a whispery synthetic material, the majority of which he’d lost previously through the great hole the creature had opened in his side. A hole that had since been fixed through serious trauma involving stabbing needles, but the ordeal had left him an amorphous, immovable blob.
The creature—the “little girl” as he’d heard her called a thousand times—bent down and yanked him up hard by his soft ear, sending shockwaves through his fur. Then she was throwing him up again, teasing him with glimpses of the distancing cut in the trees where he’d almost been free.