Ringing.
There's only ringing.
A constant, piercing sting from his ears right into his brain, one he used to cutely describe as "radio in his head", something that would need to be drowned out.
Actual radio could do it, but today it did not work.
Distant thunder could do it, but today it did not work.
Being spoken at could do it, but today even that did not work.
The attempt at levity during the car ride over, the gathering storm over the harbor, the priest's restless lips, the cries of the crowd hearing his message, it all failed.
Eli has to stare at the ground. One look at the beautiful arrangement of flowers will kill him.
His clothes itch at him terribly. No, they burn. His favorite clothes burn. He wants to bite at them and tear them to shreds, but all he can do is chew on his knuckle. He wants to stop at the taste of blood, but he doesn't.
The small crowd surrounding him all rise from their seats. He only notices when he feels a paw clasp onto his shoulder.
There stands his father, sullen yet stoic, bags formed under his reddened eyes. He does not look at Eli, only patting his back and muttering a quiet, "Come on."
Prying his finger from his teeth, Eli stands, letting his father lead lead him by the paw to the plot. They are slow, passed up by the crowd, by some he recognizes, some he doesn't. Most of them offer condolences, but he does not hear them.
Eli lets himself be arranged nicely into the circle of people surrounding the casket. It's closed, the only indication of it's contents being a small ring of bright red petunias affixed to the front. He wants to find it darkly funny, even though he prefers the purple ones. He wants just the smallest levity, anything to stop this ringing, to stop the feeling of daggers in his chest from the eyes of those surely upset he is so still, be it his body or his mouth.
He scoots an inch closer to his father, gripping tight around his paw.
"If the family has anything more to say." the priest says solemnly, looking over at the pair, "Patrick?"
"...I've...said my piece." says Eli's father, his eyes sinking even lower.
"Eli?"
Eli does not respond, his unblinking stare locked on the casket's ring of flowers. He tries to remain still as possible, as if it will keep him from being seen, but he still trembles.
Patrick looks to the priest and silently shakes his head. The priest nods and returns to the podium.
"With this, we lay to rest Petunia Crilly. Iadra be with her, and may the love she had in her heart be shared among us all. Amen."
A chorus of 'amen's sounds off as the casket is lowered into the earth. The tears return, some silent, some hysteric, all a pain in his ear.
His eyes dart over the priest, the man's head still hung low in prayer. The bun opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes. His father had spoken for him, saying he had no words. He can't say them, but he feels them burn in his throat as he watches the casket go down, inch by inch.
What could he say that hadn't already been said by others? How could he praise his mother in a way that was new and exciting, a way that could bring at least one smile to the crowd?
He couldn't.
This was the woman that called him stupid, the woman that would always let the pantry run dry and the water dry up, the woman that always made him feel so, so alone. Yet, this was also the woman who never stopped working, the woman that used to read him to sleep, the woman that still kissed him goodnight...
The unwitting lies of the mourners around him make him sick, but his own thoughts make him sicker. He shuts his eyes and lips tight in hopes of muffling the dry heave from his chest, only for his legs to buckle, sending him paw and knees first to the ground. He feels a terrible itch roll down his cheeks, only realizing the tears when they stain the flowers below him.
Patrick lets go and kneels down by him, wordlessly running a gentle paw down his back.
Eli wipes his eyes and sees the flowers under him. They are not petunias, but he plucks one and throws it onto the casket all the same.
"...(bye mom)..."
-----
An agonizing two and a half hours passed by the time the burial was complete.
Eli shifts uncomfortably against the wall of the church, overwhelmed by the chatty crowd surrounding the catering tables, even from this distance. Some people are still crying, even more of them are laughing. He wants to be happy it's not such a sullen afterparty, but it still feels wrong. This whole place is wrong and he doesn't want to be here.
Thankfully, his father spares him having to find him in a crowd, the man approaching the back entrance with a besuited ram by his side. They don't appear to notice him as they head for the door.
"--standard stuff, Patrick. Money, assets, you know the deal." says the ram, opening the door.
"Yeah, yeah. Standard." Patrick sighs.
Eli reaches out and tugs on his sleeve. The man looks over his shoulder, "Uh, you go on ahead. I'll be there in a sec."
The ram nods and heads inside. Patrick does not turn around, instead crossing his arms and closing his eyes with a weary sigh, "Holdin' up, kiddo?" he asks.
Eli tugs on his sleeve again.
"I know, I know. Never thought this day would come either. Petunia...she was a good woman, deep down."
Eli tugs on his sleeve quite roughly this time.
"...I'd always hoped that we could...try again, y'know. Just for a--"
Eli outright hits his father in the arm, finally getting him to turn around. The bun motions with his fingers in the air, eyes locked with his father's.
It takes a moment for the man to register, "The keys? What for?"
Eli points to his ears before cupping his paws around them.
"Oh. You want your headphones?"
The bun nods meekly.
Patrick sticks a paw in his pocket and mulls it over, "Hmm...nope. You'll just get in the car and go to sleep."
Eli would, but is still aghast his dad would just say it.
Patrick gently nudges his back, "You should go mingle. There's a lotta people here that would be happy to see you." he says, seemingly oblivious to his son's discomfort as he heads inside the church, "I won't be long."
With that, he's alone in the crowd, all purported to be family and friends, few he recognizes, even fewer he'd want to talk to.
The sickness in his stomach has turned to regular, non-nauseous pain. With the weight of the burial having passed, he can now properly feel it; he's starving. Taking a deep breath, he unsticks himself from the wall and heads off, paws in his hoodie's pockets, head held low and hat pulled down, in search of a crowd-free food table.
He carefully observes the people he passes by; a few of Petunia's coworkers stand around a tray of desserts, crying that they never got her chocolate cake recipe. It sounds like good cake, maybe the best in the world (or at least the county), but he wouldn't know. He grimaces at the thought of chocolate.
One of the cake fanatics laughs amid all the crying, telling a time she'd visited to get one of those cakes and laughed at how messy Petunia and Eli were by the time they finished making it. He remembers that morning beginning with some scowls and at least seven ruined eggs but ending with the three of them laughing. She even laughs just like she did then. Eli doesn't smile, but feels his cheeks flush.
He passes a drink table occupied by some of his dad's friends, people he'd only ever seen once or twice, but were just as funny as dad and therefore worth remembering. He contemplates at least waving, maybe sticking around to hear another story of getting their sunglasses stolen by a fish, until he sees one of them knock a beer back in one go and mumble something about his mother being "crazy". His teeth grind, forcing him to pull a paw from his pocket and gnaw on his knuckle, his other fist shaking. He wants to do it more than anything, but doesn't.
Forget people, just get food and find a dark corner behind a plant, he thinks.
Suddenly, he stops, his hunching back straightening right out as he shoots his nose to the sky. A heavenly waft comes from a table near the back gate. A scent of cream, of charred bread, of ungodly amounts of salt, of heat radiating off a glass dish and the golden brown ambrosia behind it.
Funeral potatoes; a dish literally invented to comfort after tragedy, terrible for your body, but good for your soul.
It's the back gate under no supervision, nothing to stop him from demolishing the entire tray but his own morals, which right now did not seem so important. He all but hops across the cobble, carried on the sweet scent of guaranteed solace. A full stomach is a warm heart and both are just within reach.
He suddenly finds himself in shadow. From the distance, he had not noticed an obstacle; a voracious wolf, more than a head taller than him with a tail thrashing hard enough to concuss.
His mission was aborted as quickly as it began. He wants to dramatically fall to his knees and cry to whatever gods may hear, but knows if he does, the wolf might turn their appetite on him!
Eli sighs and stands. Just a few feet away is the back gate, a brief freedom from the world. Taking one last glance at the party, chatting and laughing like he was never there to begin with, he opens the gate and heads off.
-------
The walk takes long enough for the overcast to turn to stormclouds. Eli doesn't mind. His favorite weather would be some comfort anyway.
Chin-in-paw as he leans against the bridge's ornate guardrails, he stares longingly out over the harbor, the foamy, greenish waters beginning to pull with the storm, though the wind around him is still. For the best, he doesn't need any more salt in his eyes.
The little bit of sandbar below holds a handful of smoothed rocks he wishes he could reach. Maybe if he had someone to pull him back up. But then he would just pull them down and offer to skip rocks. Maybe he could get more than three for once. If only.
The daydream enraptures him until he notices himself hanging halfway over the railing, "!!!", he jumps back, heart racing. He yanks his ears tight against his head and falls against the railing, wishing the day would just be over, wishing the entire world could just be over. The salty air is making him sick. His empty stomach is making him sick. Being at a funeral is making him sick. The thought of going home to a silent house--
HACK! Eli heaves, coughing up what remained of all he'd drank that morning onto his dress. He opens his eyes and stares at the stain until the ringing in his ears gets too loud. He splays out against the rail and lets his head knock against the post.
For a good ten minutes, he lies there motionless, staring up at the clouds, occasionally seeing flash and hearing a distant crack. He wishes he were home where the rain will make it smell more like dirt than tide, but it still looks cool. He sighs and gets to his feet, scraping off whatever he can from his dress, "...(at least it's black)..." he thinks.
He stares out over the water again, the waves now rocking, the sound of bubbling and crashing on the rocks below tickling his ears. It's better than anything he'd get from his headphones. He breathes the air in deep and rests his head in his arms against the rail, completely relaxed. Maybe he'll feel better after resting his eyes. Maybe if he goes to sleep, things will be better when he wakes up. Maybe it'll have all been a dream after all. Maybe...
"Eliiiii~!"
The bun's eyes snap open. He shoots straight up from his position in a panic.
A large silhouette races through the growing sea fog. Heavy footfalls on the cobble accompanied by the wet smack of cheap sandals. A rattle of religious jewelry and jingling of metal accessories. A glint of too-large teeth just barely obscured by a mop of unkempt hair. And worst of all, that sing-songy voice...
Before he can move, there she stands, the wolf that guarded his precious potatoes, a towering figure with kind eyes and a not so kind grin, a girl he'd known all his life.
"Eli!" she cries again, reaching out to pull him into a hug. He does his best to dodge, but was just an inch short and thus pulled into a vice grip against the wolf's chest, whatever protest he can make drowned out by her sobs, "Oh my gosh I'm so sorry! I came as soon as I heard. I tried to find you but there were just so many people." she says without another breath as she squeezes and rubs the back of his head.
Only when she notices him helplessly thrashing does she stop talking and let go. The bun pulls away, breath haggard, eyes wide and brow furrowed.
She tries to laugh it off, awkwardly, "Eheheheh! Sorry! Guess that was a bit much." she smiles, "Can you blame me? It's still good to see you!" she turns her head, looking away bashfully, "Gosh. I haven't seen you since you came up to here." she holds her palm out by her waist, "You've gotten big!...well, you've grown."
Eli grimaces and resumes his position against the railing to stare at the water, saying nothing.
The wolf shuffles her feet for a moment before walking up beside him, "Sorry I haven't been able to visit. College sucks." she chuckles, looking at him for a response. The bun is as still as ever, "Mmm. Yeah. Takes a lotta work goin' from Ezzie to Dr.Ezzie, y'know?"
Still no response. She inches closer.
"Don't worry! Once I'm rich, I'll make up for all those missed birthdays! Hahahaha!" she laughs loud and heartily, but Eli doesn't even so much as cringe at the sudden volume.
Ezzie's mirth falls flat. She sighs and matches his pose to look at the sea, "...sorry. It just gets kinda lonely there, so I'm really happy to see you. I know you're having it rough too." she flashes a weary smile at him, "Figured you'd be excited to see your big sissie!"
When he fails to respond a third time, she scowls and firmly backhands his arm, "C'mon. I had to fly halfway across the country here. You could at least say he--" she stops short when the bun glares daggers at her. She swallows and tries to twist her muzzle back into a smile, "Ahaha...ahh...right...sorry...I uh, forgot you can't talk anymore..."
Eli looks to the water. Ezzie is left staring at the ground, nervously rubbing her arm. She thinks about leaving, but hates to leave a meeting on a sour note. She takes another step closer, "I know, I know, I can be tactless. I'm sorry.", then another, "I won't bother you anymore.", then another, "I'll leave you alone."
The wolf practically rubs against him at this point. The look in Eli's eyes is tense, firmly affixed on the water. His breath intensifies.
"But, I wanna say first--"
Eli finds himself hugged against her once again, "You know that...you're always welcome at our house. Anytime you need company or just to talk. I'm in town for the whole month...I've really missed you."
He goes to shove her away, only for her to interlock her paw with his and reach her other around his back, holding him close and intimately. She looks into his eyes with sympathy, though occasionally darting away, "...I know what you're thinking, Eli...I'm sorry. But like I said, coulda been worse! Right?"
Eli catches a glimpse of her teeth with the statement. His haggard breath turning to an outright snarl, he violently shoves her away, stepping back with fear and sadness in his eyes.
Ezzie has a disbelieving paw to her cheek, her ears flattening.
Thunder booms above them. A stray bolt hits the water in the distance. Eli takes a deep breath and shoves his way past her, heading back to the church.
Ezzie watches him go and sighs before looking longingly at the smooth rocks below.
---
The party has died down. Tables are sparse, food even sparser. Eli was hoping for at least a biscuit or two as compensation for this day, but all that remained were salads and salad-adjacent pastas.
Cold, angry, exhausted, Eli heads for the back entrance. He'll just go to the car and wait outside if he has to. There's nothing for him here.
As luck would have it, Patrick and the ram come through the door first, "--right, thanks again, Don." Patrick says, shaking the ram's hand.
The ram saunters off, leaving them alone. Eli once again tugs on the man's sleeve to get his attention, thankfully getting it the first time. He begins signing.
"(dad can we please go home now)"
Patrick sighs, then chuckles, patting his son on the back and leading him along back through the church, "Yeah, bout time we wrap it up."
It's a slow, uncomfortable walk through the building. Some of the attendees have moved inside and returned to crying and consoling. Eli prays his father has already talked to them at length.
They pass by rooms devoid of people but littered with preparations and items for the funeral. It makes Eli feel strange, like there had been a funeral for someone else while he was gone.
They pass through the main hall, where Eli is able to take some comfort in admiring the architecture. Even he could admit that even a little sandbar church like this could have beautiful stained glass.
It's something. All he wants right now is something.
By the time they reach the car, he's ready to splay across the backseat and go to sleep, seatbelt laws be damned. But, annoyingly, Patrick ensures he's buckled in before even getting in himself.
The drive home is as quiet as the one there, until Patrick catches Eli sulking more than usual in the backseat. Now's the time.
"Ahem, uh, son? There is some good news, at least." he says with a dishonest-but-trying grin, "Petunia's uh...life insurance paid out. We'll be set for a good long while. I know this is probably obvious but uh..." he trails off, his eyes briefly moving off the road. He shakes the thought away and clears his throat, "You're moving in with me."
Eli suddenly jerks awake, a brow raising at the statement.
Patrick briefly catches it in the rearview, "What's with that look?" he chuckles, "What, thought I wouldn't?"
The bun sadly looks away and gives a half-hearted shrug.
"C'mon, you're still a kid. Ya need someone to take care of you." he says, his tone falling. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. He looks away from the road for another second, "...I'm...I'm gonna do better, son...I promise."
Eli locks eyes with his dad in the rear view for but a moment, all the acknowledgement he will give before returning to staring silently out the window.
They'll probably drive back home first and grab his things before the repos arrive. He'll probably never see the house again.
That's fine. In hindsight, he's not sure he ever liked it.
The passing streets begin to blur. The bun's eyes grow heavy, but he does not fight it. Falling asleep on the bridge would not have changed anything.
When...
...if he wakes up, he'll be in Dad's house. He'll back in Vanish Hill. He'll be away from collectors, away from empty cupboards, away from dry faucets and darkness. He'll be away from the thought that things should be better.
Things could be better. Maybe.
When...
...if he wakes up.
Keywords
male
1,236,666,
female
1,123,131,
cub
293,264,
wolf
198,911,
rabbit
143,439,
chubby
46,848,
teen
35,509,
crossdressing
19,029,
cub/adult
8,525,
sea
6,668,
storm
1,363,
bridge
501,
autistic
230,
autism
229,
mute
185,
harbor
43
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3 months, 1 week ago
06 Jul 2025 23:38 CEST
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