Stepping out of one’s comfort zone : prompt

My Little Fox

A story of a guardian angel

My fox loved me like I’ve never been loved before. He sat on my feet and pressed himself against my legs and looked up at me with his sad, brown eyes, hopeful that I would stop for a moment and pet him. He trotted by my side when I took walks, proudly and eagerly looking all around.

When I pulled out my camera, he would run away, hiding in another room under a desk or in a dark corner. He didn’t like the sounds it made. When there was a birthday party or holiday and the family gathered, talking, laughing, and opening presents, he would hide again. The chaos made him nervous.

But he loved to be alone and he loved even more to be with me.

When my fox was 13, he fell ill. He became easily confused. He walked into walls and doors. He got sick every time he ate.

I knew his time was coming to an end when I came home one afternoon and found him lying in the sun, unable to move.

I picked him up in my arms and carried him into the bathroom. I sang to him while I bathed him. I wrapped him in a towel and laid him on his bed in the middle of the living room. I laid there with him all night, my hand on his back.

When I woke up…he was gone.

After he was gone, I thought I would never find my way out of the dark woods. But he sent me something — a spirit. Another fox.

Her name was Fleur. Or Fiorella. I’m not really sure. She called herself by many names, all of which started with F and meant “flower.”

She darted in and out of the shadows. I sometimes lost sight of her, but she always came back for me.

It took years for her to lead me out of those woods, but eventually, I saw the sunlight ahead. Eventually, we made our way to the edge and she leapt out into the bright fields beyond.

And so did I.

My fox spirit stayed with me for a long, long time. I sometimes heard her sigh in the other room. Or smack her lips at the foot of my bed while I was sleeping. Or scratch at the door.

Her presence was a comfort to me.

One day, though, she didn’t come to visit so often. She said I didn’t need her as much as I used to and she had other things to do, other places to visit, other people to help.

I long for her now. I feel lost again. I wish I could follow the white tip of her tail through these shadows.

Is she still out there somewhere? Is she still leading me toward the sunlight?

I see glimpses of her — the images of flowers, her delicate footprints, the flash of green light that I associate with her. My little fox. My little flower.

Are you still here?

This was written for a brilliant prompt by Jean Carfantan in which we were asked to be inspired by an illustration he made and randomly matched to our names. I was stunned by mine — it spoke to me so deeply. Thank you for this emotional and interesting journey, Jean!

Some of my favorite writing inspired by writing prompts: