The Cosmic Imbalance of a Lucky Foot

Fisker ran through the tall grass as fast as his tiny legs could carry him, the green blades whipping past his face in a blur. The wind coursed through his brown fur as his long ears flapped wildly behind. A clump of bright orange fur was held tightly within his large front teeth. The moon was full in the great beyond high above. Her radiant beauty shone with grace over the ocean of flowing grass, illuminating the narrow trail beneath the waves. But dark clouds brewed on the horizon, growing ever closer on a hurried wind.

Fisker darted left, then right, then left again, avoiding unseen dead ends and paths leading towards the farmer’s house. This low to the ground, he could easily follow the trail he had made years before, picking up the scent of home with his rapidly twitching nose. The dirt beneath his four padded feet thudded with each rapid step, sending a chill up each paw. The earth had dried from the winter sun the previous day, and the first signs of frost littered the ground like small patches of jagged glass. His tiny heart pounded in his chest. Adrenaline fueled his body, pushing it beyond its limit. 

He had to get away.

Behind him, footsteps echoed through the undergrowth. Four legs. They were heavier than Fisker’s but had to them a rhythmic melody as if the pursuer had practised this dance a hundred times over. They expertly kept pace with Fisker’s erratic movements, following him as he ducked and weaved through the tall grass. He allowed himself a glance over his shoulder and peered into the shadows. Two amber eyes stared back at him, rage and malice oozing from them in a torrent of hate. They watched his every movement, never changing height but growing closer and closer as the owner closed the distance.

Fisker wasn’t the fastest rabbit in the field, nor was he the tallest. He didn’t have the longest ears, the softest fur, or the loudest thump. What he did have was luck. That and an extra toe on his right foot. For some reason that none of the elders could explain, this granted him an unimaginable amount of good fortune. Some argued it was a mistake of the universe, a cosmic hiccup that, at some point or another, the universe would seek to correct. Fisker never gave much mind to the ravings of the old and would often push the extent of his fortuitous boon by invading Farmer Roe’s cabbage patch or running with his eyes closed across the nearby motorway. As long as he had his lucky foot, what could the universe do about it? 

This, however, was the riskiest thing he had ever done. 

His hunter burst from the shadows, its slender frame bounding effortlessly along the compact earth. Bright orange fur reflected the moon's glow and sharp canine teeth glinted with bloodthirsty malice within a long snout. The fur that flowed under its jaw was as white as snow. Its long bushy tail flowed low behind him like a shadow, keeping him balanced and agile in the tight turns. This was Asker, the most brutal and murderous Fox this side of the county, and he was angry. A broad smile grew across Fisker’s face as he saw the bare patch of skin along the tail’s length. This was all but a game for him, a joke to the universe. 

I am beyond death, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

The winding trail curved a bend and ran straight until it hit a dilapidated stone wall. The wall’s many holes had been covered over the years by huge metal sheets tied with old rope to precarious rocks lining the top. Perched on top was a large black crow. It eyed the pursuit with a sick curiosity and cawed excitedly as the hunt approached. Fisker ignored the bird and eyed the hole he had entered through, two horizontal wooden planks barely far enough apart for his tiny body. He took off, bounding at full pace. 

This was it, the final stretch, and his luck had held up perfectly. Earlier that evening, trails of orange fur had graciously led Fisker safely through Asker’s underground lair, and sneaking close to the slumbering canine had been made easy, thanks to the drugged meat the voracious Fox had fortunately eaten. With a snap of Fisker's huge front teeth, he had snatched a considerable wad of thick bushy fur and was off, dashing back up the den and into the tall grass. A screeching wail of pain followed close behind, and the hunt had started.

Fisker now stared determinedly at his escape, and he put all his might into his hind legs, willing them ever onward to victory. It was then that he felt it, a random ache in his lucky foot, a dull pain he had never felt before. It felt like a cramp, which was strange as he had never cramped there before. He pushed on regardless, confident that he was still ahead of the universe and that his luck was still as strong as ever.

Then he slipped.

The earth beneath his paws had frosted over in numerous places and was now a minefield of slippery dirt. Stumbling over himself, he managed to stay upright as he eyed the icy patchwork before him.

You’ll have to do better than that.

There was a sudden woosh of air as massive fangs slammed shut right by his head. Fisker jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding Asker’s hurtling mass as it soared past him, coming to a grinding halt before him, blocking his escape.

‘You’re not getting away that easy,’ Asker snarled as he slinked forward, his amber eyes crazed yet focused. 

Fisker’s eyes narrowed in determination. Without missing a beat, he bound forward and planted his powerful hind legs into the dirt, leaping high into the air and over the surprised Fox. With a savage lash of force, Asker threw his snout open and raked his teeth across the air where Fisker had been moments before. 

Fisker had made it, or so he thought. He suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing pain across his lucky foot. He cried out in pain, dropping the orange fur he had held so tightly in his mouth. He landed with a thud on the opposite side and, after a few struggling steps, began running once more. He had no time to inspect his foot, but he knew it was bad. He could feel the blood trickling out and running between his toes, but he couldn’t stop; Asker was on his tail.

Hurt me all you like. As long as I’m alive, I’m better than you.

Fisker darted around the icy patches of earth as he scrambled for the wall and safety. His injured foot was starting to slow him down, and he could hear the heavy breaths of Asker not far behind. The rabid Fox had given up any illusion of stealth and was now running savagely towards the lucky rabbit, hell-bent on wiping the smug grin from his face once and for all. The wall was close now. Just a few more bounds and Fisker would be through and free. Beyond the wall lay a wild field of thick shrubbery where he could easily lose the raging Fox in the dense underbrush. With a final leap, Fisker sailed for the narrow hole in the wall. He was all but through, but just as his leg slipped between the wooden planks, his knee clattered against the lower one, and the wall shook. The plank above dropped, trapping Fisker’s lucky foot. 

I know this looks bad, but you haven’t won just yet!

Fisker lay on his back, his body on one side of the stone wall, his lucky foot on the other. He pulled as hard as he could, but it would not budge. His nose began to twitch wildly, his heart pounding harder and harder. He still had confidence in his luck, but for the first time in his life, worry had taken root in his mind. He didn’t like it. 

Then he heard it, snickering. Sinister, malicious snickering. He looked up to the top of the wall and found two amber eyes staring down at him, filled with smug joy. 

‘Well, well, well,’ Asker said with a wicked grin on his long canine snout. Fisker stared back at the cocky Fox, his orange fur contrasted against the ever-darkening clouds above. With a graceful leap, Asker descended the old stone wall and landed by Fisker’s head with a silent thud. The inquisitive crow flapped its wings as loose stones fell to the ground around them.

Asker prowled back and forth around where Fisker lay, ‘First, I’m gonna rip off ya little fluffy limbs, one by one, starting with that freak of a foot ya got there. Then I’m going tear away your fur and chew on ya skin. Then and only then, when you’re begging for it to end, will I grant ya death. Or not! Maybe I’ll let ya hobble home, furless and pawless!’ He bellowed a cackling laugh as if the idea of Fisker crawling back into the burrow in such a state was the funniest thing in the world. The crow cawed excitedly. Fisker’s eyes were wide with terror, his heart thumping a thousand times a second, his nose twitching uncontrollably. This was it, his luck had finally run out, and the universe had got him. He supposed he deserved it, but this seemed cruel even by the universe’s standards.

‘Right then, which foot to start with? Hmm, ah yes, the lucky one. Seems fitting, don’t it?’ He prowled around to Fisker’s side and poked his head through a gap underneath one of the large metal sheets, his pointed black ears flicking as they grazed against its cold thin surface. He adjusted his head and opened his drooling maw around Fisker’s lucky bloody foot. Fisker strained his body and saw Asker’s gnarled canine teeth through the narrow hole, glinting in the moonlight. Asker’s amber eyes shot to Fisker, and with a wicked grin, he brought his teeth down upon him. Fisker closed his eyes and awaited pain.

A sudden bolt of lightning.

The ever-watching crow startled and took off frantically from its perch. The metal sheet shook violently, and the frayed rope keeping it aloft snapped loose. With a silent woosh, the heavy sheet plummeted to the ground, landing with a thud as its sharp edge sunk deep into the earth. Fisker never felt any pain, and if he tried, he could still wiggle all five toes on his lucky foot. What he did feel was a hot liquid splash against his leg. It was sticky between his toes, and it fell to the floor in methodic drips. He cautiously opened his eyes and peered through the hole back at his body. Still stuck. He continued on and looked at his feet. Still there. 

Strange, he thought as he turned to Asker, expecting him to perhaps have been scared by the lightning. It is known that foxes have a fear of bright flashes after all. No, he was still there, though his body now lay limp against the fence, his neck suddenly stopping at a wall of rusted grey. There was blood smeared against its surface. Fisker began to laugh, joyously and triumphantly as rain began to patter the soil around him. He had won. He had beaten the universe yet again, and his luck remained intact. On his back, he stared up into the sky and grinned smugly.

I am beyond death, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

After the adrenaline had seeped from his tiny body and the beginnings of cold had started to take root, Fisker sat himself up and placed his front paws over his stuck leg. With effort, he began to pull.

‘C’mon! I’m not going to die of cold out here!’ he strained through gritted teeth. Slowly but surely, his leg began to shift. Loose stones fell from above, but Fisker paid no mind to it. Whatever it was, it didn’t matter; nothing could hurt him now. With a final tug, his leg came free, sliding out from between the heavy wooden planks. The wall shook as they slammed shut.

‘Hah! Not close enough!’ More loose stones rained down upon him. Irritated, he glanced up, and his eyes went wide. The large rock that held the metal sheet was no longer atop the wall. It was now descending rapidly towards him, and he realised it was larger than he thought. Much larger. He scrambled to hop away, but his bloody lucky paw slipped in the ever-dampening mud, and he fell flat on his chest. 

His eyes locked onto the headless body of Asker, and he came to the sudden realisation that his luck had run out after all. He was thankful, at least, to have not been torn to shreds. With one last grin, he closed his eyes and waited.

‘I am not cruel’, said the universe. ‘But I am just.’