Untitled novel (for now)

A draft of the 1st chapter of a WIP I'm doing right now.

“You’re a meanie. One big asshole of a fucking jerk.” The little bunny glared at him through tears. She had obviously tried to think up of the worst possible insults she could come up with. That almost made Swify burst out laughing.

“My dear, my dear..” He stared at her through the wine in his tilted glass, splatters of red liquid painting the floor with what he’d call actual art.

“What can I say except what doesn’t kill you make you stronger? You’ll thank me later.” Swify winked, letting go of his paw.

Clink. It shattered beautifully, completing the masterpiece he had almost admired. Almost - if only the shrieking sound had been more elegant, his months-long anticipation would have felt more rewarding.

“Swify, that’s enough.” His father put down the fork, his voice a solemn callousness. Swify felt his name wasn’t being used correctly.

“No it isn’t, our little princessella here needed to see that painting is not how you’d discover unicorns. Perhaps cross-breeding is. Wouldn’t you-“

“I said that’s enough.” The room adorned with a crystal chandelier echoed silently. Its superficial beauty left nothing but buzzing static in its wake.

In the same old room, his father attended dinner for the first time in years, and for Swify, it was the first time dinner had been so unenjoyable. He wondered if he could cut the growing tension with a knife - maybe spin it playfully around his hand while he was at it.

“What? I’m just offering a realistic point of view! You know the consequences better than me, Pa..” He trailed off, watching his father’s expression hardened.

“Swify.” His father could only stare at him, hoping Swify would realize the weight of his words.

And Swify loved crushing hopes.

“Princessella, since your father is too scared to tell, let your big brother break it to you. Unrealistic expectations can kill. Don’t fall down the rabbit hole, eh?”

“Swify…” His father pinched the bridge of his nose. “We need to talk later. Go, Leave me some time with Estelle. I need to calm her down.”

Of course. Of course that was his answer. Should he even feign surprise?

“Jeez, kicking me out because she reminded you of mother so much. I get it, Pa.” He hopped off the chair and saluted, ears twirling mockingly. “Swify’s off to heading out.”

No one replied to him. He stood at the exit, took a good look at the room - his father already playing the comforting parent, Estelle playing the wounded victim, the whole scene staged like one of her precious paintings. All performances. No substance. The disgust made his stomach churn. Probably the food as well.

Whatever, he wasn’t going to linger here for long.

He entered the hallway and looked around - no one else was in sight. Good. He slammed his fist. Hard. Pain rushed through his adrenaline. It didn’t feel great. But medicines are usually bitter.

Bunch of rabbit-feet losers.

Swify quickly made his way into his room, grabbed his usual hoodie and left. Maybe a drink or two would quench the burning feeling in his chest.

---

The warm overhead light danced mischievously as the bar buzzed with grand pleasantries of empty words.

He thought he had long grown used to the needless hubbub of shallow conversations, but each time, it only dug deeper into his ears. Swollen, red, itchy, fair to assume it was bleeding.

If only he didn’t have such sensitive hearing. If only he was more drunken to just forget about everything altogether.

“Another round.” He slammed his glass onto the table.

It let out a weak thump. The noises besides him were still louder. Love forbade a man who wanted to go deaf.

“Can you handle the payme-“

Swify threw stashes of cash into the bartender’s face. Cold and harsh cash that felt like the bane of his existence, each note worthed hundreds.

“You’re a bartender, shouldn’t you be reading into your customer’s demand? You seemed so fucking proudly changing that otter life just moments earlier. Change my life too, eh? Or do you think I could not be saved?”

The cat perked his ears up before picking up the money and left the entire bottle by Swify’s side.

People who wanted to go deaf and couldn’t - yet people who didn’t need to go deaf could.

“Figured.” He murmured bitterly at the expected outcome.

No one truly cared - they all wanted their ego stroked. All you needed to do was to bruise it slightly and people would stop giving two damns. What’s the point of connection if no one cared for another? Was there such a thing as genuine gravitas?

Too many questions. Vodka didn’t ask. It listened. All his sorrows. All his grievances. That was enough to make him feel seen.

He looked down at the shimmering glass of ice blended in crystal clear amber. His own reflection shone through the prismatic shade.

“Will you betray me too, my friend?”

Swify downed the rest in one go. Burning ice seeped through his throat. He set the cup down, gasping for air from the pain.

Yet, the pain didn’t subside anytime soon like it usually would. It only moved from his throat to his chest. It felt like clawing a way out from his heart. Not that his feelings were in his heart anyways, but his mind, and that proved still conscious.

Not enough. He picked up the bottle and chugged it like water. His body burned hotter and hotter, his veins were frozen fire, a molten that froze his heartbeat - the alcohol didn’t lie..

It didn’t lie.. so why did the more he drank, the more sober he became? Was it because he wasn’t earnest enough? He kept gulping it down. Not enough. Not enough.

Not enough. But the bottle was empty now. He slumped down onto the desk from pure exasperation.

Fuck, the realization sank in too late. It had already betrayed him.

It lied to him and hurt him. Painful like hell.

He tried to move, but his body wouldn’t listen.

His limbs heavy, his vision blurred and burned with bitter loneliness. Through his eyes, soft starburst from the embedded glowing crystals laughed at him. The golden leaf on the trim added insult to injury. The entire place looked like a funhouse of joy.

A joy that didn’t belong to him, but to the corner, where a figure of a fox held court, pontificating about “the worker question” while his friends nodded along like he’d reinvented fire.

A joy that didn’t belong to him, but to the window, where two rabbits compared vacation homes, voices dripping with false modesty.

Everything felt so distant - No, he was the one who couldn’t fit in, who couldn’t be happy. The fake stage of playing sophistication wasn’t meant for him. It had no shortage of actors who could appear to be seen as caring, thinking, feeling.

Yet, by now, he was just as grand as a spectacle. Like someone shunned away from society - for what? For wanting to actually feel? Let them look then. Let them see. Lo and behold, the trainwreck they’d gossip tomorrow. Good. At least it was something.

The words he told himself to offer comfort to the uneasiness of the gazes. He almost believed it, but in all reality, no one cared about him.

The cat bartender polished a glass, ear swiveling away from Swify deliberately. Not my problem anymore, that gesture said. The foxes had gone quiet, and the bunnies continued talking about fake pleasantries.

In the midst of the silence, Swify found himself drowsy enough to just sleep there and call it a day - until he heard it.

A conversation two tables over, quieter than the rest, almost conspiratorial:

"You ever wonder how they keep the city afloat?"

"Through power, obviously."

"But where does the power come from? I heard there's a whole other world down there. People who do the work we don't see."

"DOWN there?" A nervous laugh. "You mean the underworld? That's just a myth."

"Is it? How else do you think the city stays up? Magic?"

"The generators-"

"Run by who? Have you ever seen them?"

Silence.

"I heard they're not like us. That they'd kill for fun if they weren't kept down there."

"That's why they stay below. For everyone's safety."

---

When Swify had reopened his eyes, the embedded crystals greeted him. Well well well, if that wasn’t the friendliest welcome he had had all day? So much that his body shivered from the intoxicating warmth.

He tried to stand up, feeble hands leveraging against the smooth, wooden surface. Made it halfway before gravity dragged him down. He never felt the full weight of his own body before. Turned out he hated it just as much.

It didn’t hurt. Good. But he didn’t recall the numbness being this asphyxiating. Maybe because he was still conscious - but his body wasn’t. Stubborn, suffocating cage that refused to listen. Never did.

“About time you wake up.”

The distant voice cut through the haze. Clinking glasses. The bartender cleaning up.

Pity. Kindness that didn’t feel like kindness. Gnawing at him at every chance it gets. He would never play house with it. Over his dead body. Pity him at his funeral. Heh.

He lurched toward the exit, knocking over chairs in the process. Wood clattered against tile - a spectaculous four.

“Need a taxi?”

The voice still cold. Still fake. Still empty. Just lightly disguised through superficial worries.

Damn it. He didn’t need the grandiose standing ovation - be that no one applauded. Somehow, that pissed him off even more. He needed to punch the wall - but there wasn’t any in the middle of the walkway.

Fuck.. Tables clattered. Chairs crashed. The entire place pitied his existence. Come on, he didn’t die yet. Fuck off.

…

The taxi vroomied into the streaking light, leaving him alone again in the dead of the night. Well, they all left eventually. The ground shook for his arrival as Swify tried to track how many steps he had taken.

*Hiccup*

The air reeked - a smell of funsies and tipsies. The proof that a one-man party is leagues above those damn social gatherings. He laughed at those haters, whose talk bore no sizzle.

Wrong. They’re wrong. All wrong. As long as he didn’t let them see he wasn’t having fun. They were all staying wrong. Then he laughed at himself. He was wrong. He proved himself wrong undeniably.

Well, math scientists proved themselves wrong all the time. Maybe he had just discovered some groundbreaking theory that could reshape the world - his world. Can he get an applause now?

Silence.

Tsk, better let whatever thoughts entertain his mind. At least that would swerve the uneasy feelings looming over from the gate ahead.

And for once, things went like how he’d imagined it. The world took shape - meaningless, meandering, meaningless - like his thoughts, maybe.

But nothing ever lasted. When he reached the gate, a shadow had already etched onto the grass - solemn, waiting. His only other audience - a buzzkill and a no-one-asked-for-your-opinion.

“Swify…” His father spoke. The soothing melancholy he had never used before. It was.. something.

Swify felt his name being used correctly for once.

“Well, well, Swify. Said that correctly and everything! What got ya popping, pop?” He leaned onto his father shoulder. Strangely cold and metallic. Just as he thought his father might have finally warmed up to him, this is how he replied, huh?

“You’re drunk.” His father raised his voice as his face melted into.. concern.

“Observation skills on par, Pa. You should be a detective.” Swify pushed off the gate, swayed - Wait, wasn’t he on his father’s shoulder? Whatever. “So, what cha doing here? Stargazing? There isn’t any by the way. Checked.”

“Swify, you know we would eventually need to talk about… this.”

“Keyword: Eventually. Wait till I’m sober, eh? Like how I used to wait for you. Maybe you should wine a little less, and laugh a little more.”

“Swify, I just want you to be happier. Getting wasted is just… not the way.”

“Except - it does. Come on Pa, can’t you see it? When else would I laugh with you, eh? In that fuzzy dining room where you chased me out? Or are you thinking about fifteen years ago? Boy oh boy, I didn’t even know how to spell Trixxie back then.”

“Swify, I understand that you’re mad at me, but please… Don’t direct to Estelle. She hasn’t done anything wrong to you yet. Am I asking too much?”

His father’s expressions had remained unchanged throughout the entire conversation. Swify wanted to dismiss that. It was starting to get under his nerves.

“Yeah she did. Case closed. Choo choo. Swify is offffff to bed.”

He turned, bringing his train of thought to a halt, more than ready to end these insipid platitudes. Yet the old bunny proved needlessly stubborn. He grabbed Swify by the wrist.

Firm, not painful, but impossible to ignore. Swify tried to pull away, yet the same love forbade his drunken limb from breaking free.

“Swify, I need you to listen to me.”

“No, I need you to listen me. You never listened, and Pa, I’ll let you in a secret between me, you and this lamppost over there: respect is earned - not given.”

“Swify, I just.. I just wanted to help.” His father voice cracked. Actually cracked. “I know I’m wrong. So let me fix my mistakes. Please.”

Took him long enough to let down his facade. It would have been better if he’d just done so in the beginning.

Beneath that mask lay a bunny who was.. crying.. Who was worried. Probably another painting. Little princessella had grown on him for sure. He almost admired the beauty of it.

“I really am trying, Swify. I really want to try to understand what’s happening to you. Why you’re spiraling into this. Why you’re drinking yourself into that.” He stopped, taking shallow, rapid breaths. “But you’re just so cruel to everyone you know, to everyone who cares about you. I don’t know how to reach you anymore.”

The words tingled something in his chest. But his feelings just weren’t there. Not anymore. He shoved it down like the alcohol he’d drunk.

“My friend, mi amici, le amigo, Swify will let you in another life changing tip - it takes two to tango, and takes one to destroy all hopes. Damn, that didn’t rhyme like I thought it’d be in my head.”

His father went still. “Are you still mad at me about your mother?”

“Am I? Dunno, you’re a detective right, can I hire you as my PI? Here, some cash.”

He searched the pocket of his hoodie. His paw reached from one end to another.

“Nevermind, I burned it all on cheap vodkas. Can you let me go so I can fetch you the cash you worked so hard for, even more than any of us?”

His father loosened his grip and Swify immediately pulled back, ready to disappear into the mansion he just so adored.

“You know, Swify, you remind me of her a lot.”

Swify froze in his track.

“Everytime I look at you, I see your mother. Your eyes. Your sharpness. The way you hurt people when you’re hurt. That was her too. And I loved her for it. God help me. I loved her even when she was cruel.”

Swify didn’t know of such foreign bunny that his father spoke of. He only knew the one who never left his side. Swify wasn’t going to let him slander her beyond the grave. For once, he addressed his father with utmost sincerity and respect.

“She wasn’t cruel. And she died for it.”

“She was, but you, you’re worse than she could ever be. Because she knew when to stop. She knew how to love people even when she was angry. And you… You don’t know how to love anything anymore. Even yourself.”

Swify could feel a wave of warm, nauseous urge welling up in his chest again. It mixed with whatever remnants of alcohol. Sickening. Sickening, all of it. Those who always claimed to know everything. Those who always stood righteous, refusing to admit where they went wrong. Sickening.

“You didn’t know her. And you never would. The same as me. You will never know me. We’re done, dad.”

Swify headed towards the blinding light of the mansion up ahead - its blinding lights fractured through his visions into scintillating halos. White marble columns, gilded windows, manicured gardens even in the dark. Extravagant. Excessive. His prison.

If he was going to suffer anyway, it’d be better to just do it in drowning luxuries. Swify walked along the marbled path, each step heavier than the last. The world went uphill, downhill, whateverhill, and then there was his father’s hill, refusing to let go.

“Swify, please, your old man isn’t trying to hurt you. I just…” The sentence hung in the air. His tongue twisted mid-way. Perhaps to prevent something that was better left unsaid.

“Just what? Finish it.”

“Just want to help-“

“You know damn well that wasn’t what you wanted to say to my face. I’m only drunk, not stupid. Or do you think I’m stupid too?”

“I just… wanted my son back...”

He wished he hadn’t heard it. The words dug deeper into his already-sensitive hearing, reopening an old wound.

“Your son died with your mother. Your daughter hasn’t. Greed incurs more lost. Treasure what you have, dad. I’m not asking for a lot here, am I?”

Swify turned to look at his father for the first time in years. He had really looked at it, not just scoffing through his appearances like he usually did. In front of him was a gray-furred bunny, shoulders hunched, head slightly bowed, as if the weight of carrying this broken home was enough to crush him down.

Nothing that managed to resemble a person who once could once shoulder the world and tread through fire for his family.

Just a dying old geezer drowned in ecstasy and reminiscences of what could never be.

“Swify, please. I can’t lose more people I love.”

He pleaded. Those eyes. Always brimming with superficiality. Nothing like hers - sharp yet bright irises, never weak, never cruel. His? Weak. Like Swify once was. Never strong yet inhumane in the way his expectations forced Swify to stay.

But Swify was crueler. Let them call him harsh. He probably was. The kind one died. Only cruelty survived.

“You can’t lose what you don’t have. You never loved me in the first place.”

Swify jolted his arm back and headed towards the gate instead.

“Swify-“

He didn’t look back. All good things must come to an end, yet he wished it had lasted longer. But maybe, to hear his name being called like that for the first and last time.. it was more than he could ever ask.

He turned away from the mansion. Away from the garden, his father and the bittersweet ruins of a place that was never meant to be. The night embraced him as he walked away from all of them.

He walked. He walked until the blinding mansion faded into the darkness, until the sound of the conversation dissolved into quiet whispering of the night.

He walked. He walked until all that was left was the alcohol burning in his veins, until all that was left was the temptation of the underworld he had heard about ringing in his ears.

The choice was made. The die was cast.

What had he left to lose? A body that bound him to the shackle of his mind, and that chain would finally be broken when he was free, devoid of needless worries over what was real and what was fake. *They* killed for fun. *They* lived with real consequences.

And he wanted to see it. How realness looked. How it felt. How realness would take everything away from him, someone who had nothing left to lose.

After all, life only began when you’ve lost everything, eh?

---

traveler, come! take a seat and listen to me yap! or y'know.. you could just waltz outta here and leave me by myself.. gliding would be fasteer indeed.. okok, enough jokies, i wanna say thank you for reading mah work hehe -w-. ts thing rite here is what incited me to create a writing.com account, i wanna share sum of what im working on with others! honestly, i always struggle with motivation (highly procrastinated lazybones) - but when i feel others pressuring (ok, maybe not pressuring, expecting) me to do something, i kinda find that task easier to manhandle! and thats probably why i want to start posting about mah stories. one is for creating discipline and other one is, yknow, hope that you - the readers - could have something good to enjoy! or criticize my work if you like, too!

i honestly dont have much to say about how or why im writing this (yet) because i dont wanna spoil it, so short yap for ts one. hope it was worth your time reading, and peace out! frawoof will meet you on the 2nd chapter should fates converge once more.