Naked truth - when fiction meets reality - chapter 1

Miss Foxxy knows

Photo by Sunguk Kim on Unsplash

Chapter 1

Somewhere on planet Earth, in the “civilised” world, next to a scrapyard, where ghosts seemed to leave a trail behind them, the fox watched her with curious eyes. She was incredibly clean despite emerging from beneath a scrap of metal, slick with oils and God knows what else. This is what she would like to remember from that place—the little fox, the one chased by so many, the survivor. Foxy knows. She is part of a long line of four-legged creatures who have seen too much in 30 years of rummaging through the offices and workshops. Her lineage is the keeper of all secrets, and now this one, too, is added to the already long list.

She saw her greet Danny, the scrapyard owner who also knows so much about the villain next door. Her slow steps took her closer to the emotional torture chambers.

She remembered the words one of the bullies told her while on a job after a long day on site, building a stand …. That’s just how things are here. We're like Marmite—you either love it or hate it. Foxy didn’t care for Marmite, but even she knew that was just a pathetic excuse, hiding cruelty that remained untold, only whispered.

It was supposed to be an ordinary Friday, once again filled with high hopes for as little interaction as possible with the bullies in the building—and even more hope that she wouldn't hear the disturbing whistling of the Top Viper. That sound gave her the creeps, sending shivers down her spine every time he entered the oh-so-big room, the fluorescent lighting making everything feel even eerier. His alternating click-clack steps, paired with that haunting whistle, reminded her of one of the few horror movies she had watched back in the early '90s when VHS tapes were all the rage. More well-to-do and connected colleagues, the ones with fathers who were pilots or diplomats, would organise all-night movie marathons, combining whatever tapes they could get their hands on - romance, detective, horror.

It was nothing promiscuous—we were all so well-behaved, just watching movies one after the other, puffing on cigarettes, feeling grown-up, and occasionally sipping a bit of beer while nibbling on sandwiches. It was a contribution-based gathering, with everyone bringing whatever they had to make the night enjoyable. Yes, it was an all-night affair, but sleep wasn’t an issue; we were young, and the films were engaging after years of having little to watch on TV.

After months of intense battles—many with the bullies around her—her energy was drained, her morale shattered, and all that remained was a sense of deep disillusionment. Sanity felt like a fragile thread, and more than once, she found herself on the verge of screaming “LA LA LA LA LA” just to drown out the relentless verbal attacks. The constant abuse over the past few years felt surreal at times, as if it couldn’t possibly be happening to her. Not again! In those moments, she had to detach, leaving her body in the room while her soul floated away, seeking refuge in some quiet corner, just to survive it all.

She looked with tired eyes at the Wild Boar in the corner—rosy cheeks, fat on two legs, the one with his ear to the ground, the sycophant, the informer—reminding her of the old Securitate men. He knows where the skeletons are buried, occasionally pushing down an old bone creeping through the scraps of metal and wood, valued because of that knowledge. He burns like acid on the skin, spitting vitriol through the teeth. Once upon a time, he was normal... but survival instincts changed him, and there is no way back. The poison now coursing through his blood leaves no room for humanity.

He hates the masters but knows how to be the useful dog, the spineless fool who always bends his back and says yes while shoving another sausage down his throat while keeping an watchful eye on the slaves around him.

Back in Romania, she suddenly remembered a famous play called "The Viper's Nest," an exceptionally well-written and well-acted piece. Oh, where are those times? But I digress! In that play, the vipers were all female. In this case, they’re all male!

End of chapter 1

One of my dreams is to write a novel, inspired by real events but with a touch of fiction in it. Will it happen? I don’t know! Writing as and when I find the energy and time while navigating the choppy waters of life.

Until next time… be well!

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