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On January 26, 2012, Shane Rufus got a letter. It said, simply:
During his 18 months in prison, none of Fang's family had come to visit. This hardly bothered him; he didn't want to see them either. After his release and his subsequent drafting into the FBA, however, the lines of communication began to slowly trickle open again. Suddenly unknown "cousins," "aunts," and "uncles" would emerge, claiming shared blood and asking for money, for tickets to games, for flights out to visit. Every request fell on deaf, pierced ears.
This was the first contact he'd had with his mother since the trial, though. Over a decade of silence, broken by a curt letter informing him that his father's father had passed on. The phrasing of it infuriated him.
Shane had only ever met his grandfather once, when he was 17. By then, James Rufus was already a husk of who he'd been in his youth. He was an obese wolf with missing teeth who could barely hoist himself out of his broken recliner to get another beer. He had a laugh that managed to sound menacing even though he looked like he'd break a hip trying to use the toilet. Still, his handshake held the strength from years past, his palms like sun-scorched leather. It was clear that in earlier years he'd been a true alpha, but decades of abusing his body eroded that down to a shaky wolf who needed help simply to get from room to room.
What little Shane knew of his grandfather was not good. Jim was a vile, violent drunk who was the reason Shane's father turned out as he did, and it baffled Shane that his parents still wanted to visit him. The worst part was, James' existence was testament that the son does take after the father. That one brief, awkward meeting left Shane wondering if he was doomed to be to his father as his father was to his grandfather. In some way, although he wasn't conscious of it at the time, Shane's assault on his father was as much a declaration that he would not go down that path as it had been a defense of his mother. And now, years later, here was a letter asking him to come to the funeral. To pay his "respects".
He didn't.
It wasn't that there was a game, or that he was too busy. Shane simply did not want to re-open that door. There was nothing good to come of it. There was no one there he wanted to see, no one he wanted to remind himself of. There was nothing of that life he wanted to relive, or that he wanted to rejoin. And so he simply threw the letter away and forgot about it.
A year passed, and Shane decided to go and visit the grave. He wasn't sure why. Nothing had changed. Yet, some part of his mind had to see it, to know that it was real and to, in some sad way, say goodbye to the old bastard who'd indirectly caused him so many problems. Or spitefully thank him for setting the actions in motion that got him that FBA contract. Maybe if he'd had a loving father he'd never have found the game. It was hard to say.
When he arrived at the cemetery, a location he knew from having seen the obituary in the online paper, Shane didn't know where the tombstone would be exactly, and so he wandered around. He read names and did math, absent-mindedly seeing who the youngest and who the oldest occupants were. He wasn't sure what he would feel. Anger at Jim for what he'd done? Relief that he was dead? Pity? Regret that he didn't have a chance to send the old man to the hospital as well? That's when he found the simple stone slab he'd been searching for.
Standing in front of his grandfather's grave, Shane Rufus felt nothing.
He stood there for some time, his brow furrowed, as if trying to force some emotion, some kind of feeling within him. Feeling nothing made no sense. He was back home, staring at the gravestone of the only family member he'd been within a mile of since his arrest, the only reason his mother had been willing to contact him after all these years, and there was nothing. Shane's heart was blank.
Feeling nothing was difficult to accept. Shane expected to at least be angry, but instead he was angry that he wasn't angry. He felt as though he was being denied... something, anything. He was supposed to piss on the grave, kick over the stone, or gleefully mock the buried corpse and tell it he hoped its death was ugly and painful. Instead, nothing. Shane felt robbed of this moment, even if he wasn't sure what kind of moment it was supposed to be.
Minutes passed, the relatively chilly air fluttering his hood and reminding Shane of where he was. He looked around to make sure he was still alone, as for the first time since he'd arrived there was the sudden concern that somehow a passerby would see him there and recognize him. And so Shane Rufus turned and exited the cemetery as quietly and unceremoniously as he'd arrived, and began his return journey to Montana, taking one last glance at the landscape as it faded in his rear view mirror.
When he came back, Shane told his team he'd gone to hook up with a girl from high school. When they asked why he'd bother to travel all that way, he said he'd taken her virginity, and she'd managed to stay just as hot as she was back then. A few high fives later, Shane promised to give them all the raunchy details the next time they hit the bar, but only if they bought the first round.
*********************
Art by the incredible
foxenawolf
Shane,
Grandpa Jim died. We'd appreciate it if you came.
MomDuring his 18 months in prison, none of Fang's family had come to visit. This hardly bothered him; he didn't want to see them either. After his release and his subsequent drafting into the FBA, however, the lines of communication began to slowly trickle open again. Suddenly unknown "cousins," "aunts," and "uncles" would emerge, claiming shared blood and asking for money, for tickets to games, for flights out to visit. Every request fell on deaf, pierced ears.
This was the first contact he'd had with his mother since the trial, though. Over a decade of silence, broken by a curt letter informing him that his father's father had passed on. The phrasing of it infuriated him.
Shane had only ever met his grandfather once, when he was 17. By then, James Rufus was already a husk of who he'd been in his youth. He was an obese wolf with missing teeth who could barely hoist himself out of his broken recliner to get another beer. He had a laugh that managed to sound menacing even though he looked like he'd break a hip trying to use the toilet. Still, his handshake held the strength from years past, his palms like sun-scorched leather. It was clear that in earlier years he'd been a true alpha, but decades of abusing his body eroded that down to a shaky wolf who needed help simply to get from room to room.
What little Shane knew of his grandfather was not good. Jim was a vile, violent drunk who was the reason Shane's father turned out as he did, and it baffled Shane that his parents still wanted to visit him. The worst part was, James' existence was testament that the son does take after the father. That one brief, awkward meeting left Shane wondering if he was doomed to be to his father as his father was to his grandfather. In some way, although he wasn't conscious of it at the time, Shane's assault on his father was as much a declaration that he would not go down that path as it had been a defense of his mother. And now, years later, here was a letter asking him to come to the funeral. To pay his "respects".
He didn't.
It wasn't that there was a game, or that he was too busy. Shane simply did not want to re-open that door. There was nothing good to come of it. There was no one there he wanted to see, no one he wanted to remind himself of. There was nothing of that life he wanted to relive, or that he wanted to rejoin. And so he simply threw the letter away and forgot about it.
A year passed, and Shane decided to go and visit the grave. He wasn't sure why. Nothing had changed. Yet, some part of his mind had to see it, to know that it was real and to, in some sad way, say goodbye to the old bastard who'd indirectly caused him so many problems. Or spitefully thank him for setting the actions in motion that got him that FBA contract. Maybe if he'd had a loving father he'd never have found the game. It was hard to say.
When he arrived at the cemetery, a location he knew from having seen the obituary in the online paper, Shane didn't know where the tombstone would be exactly, and so he wandered around. He read names and did math, absent-mindedly seeing who the youngest and who the oldest occupants were. He wasn't sure what he would feel. Anger at Jim for what he'd done? Relief that he was dead? Pity? Regret that he didn't have a chance to send the old man to the hospital as well? That's when he found the simple stone slab he'd been searching for.
Standing in front of his grandfather's grave, Shane Rufus felt nothing.
He stood there for some time, his brow furrowed, as if trying to force some emotion, some kind of feeling within him. Feeling nothing made no sense. He was back home, staring at the gravestone of the only family member he'd been within a mile of since his arrest, the only reason his mother had been willing to contact him after all these years, and there was nothing. Shane's heart was blank.
Feeling nothing was difficult to accept. Shane expected to at least be angry, but instead he was angry that he wasn't angry. He felt as though he was being denied... something, anything. He was supposed to piss on the grave, kick over the stone, or gleefully mock the buried corpse and tell it he hoped its death was ugly and painful. Instead, nothing. Shane felt robbed of this moment, even if he wasn't sure what kind of moment it was supposed to be.
Minutes passed, the relatively chilly air fluttering his hood and reminding Shane of where he was. He looked around to make sure he was still alone, as for the first time since he'd arrived there was the sudden concern that somehow a passerby would see him there and recognize him. And so Shane Rufus turned and exited the cemetery as quietly and unceremoniously as he'd arrived, and began his return journey to Montana, taking one last glance at the landscape as it faded in his rear view mirror.
When he came back, Shane told his team he'd gone to hook up with a girl from high school. When they asked why he'd bother to travel all that way, he said he'd taken her virginity, and she'd managed to stay just as hot as she was back then. A few high fives later, Shane promised to give them all the raunchy details the next time they hit the bar, but only if they bought the first round.
*********************
Art by the incredible
foxenawolf
Category Artwork (Digital) / General Furry Art
Species Wolf
Size 700 x 906px
File Size 164.5 kB
Heh, I've been making it kind of a point to stay as far away from all the drama as I can manage right now. Twitter's been closed down for the past few days, I've seen the various journals but not gotten buried in the comments because not only do I have nothing useful to add but I'm not at all in the right brainspace to read the arguing and in-fighting.
Have to give Foxena a second round of gratitude for this piece, having it done and writing the story out sort of let me clear the bats from my skull. I'll probably dive into the fray again tomorrow.
Have to give Foxena a second round of gratitude for this piece, having it done and writing the story out sort of let me clear the bats from my skull. I'll probably dive into the fray again tomorrow.
Beautiful story, Fang. Emotional and convincing, this rings true for Shane's story. And it adds depth to an already rich character in the league. Thanks for writing this and commissioning this. foxenawolf has hit another one out of the park.
foxenawolf has hit another one out of the park.
I love how his mindset goes in one direction, only to have it come at a crossroads, plagued with indecision. The silent moment of him standing before his grandfather's grave is a hauntingly slow experience, the reader trying to decipher what action Shane will take only to be given the powerful mental image of him leaving the grave, and a piece of his life, behind. Excellent characterization; I hung onto every word.
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