Late one night, three little raccoons were scavenging around a garbage can.


A man walked towards them. At first they were unaware of his approach, but as he came closer they grew alert. They huddled together defensively, their backs to the can.


He ducked down in the dark and watched them. They watched him, too. He giggled softly. They stared. He crouched in that spot for a very long time. The little raccoons began to squeak to eachother.



The man stood erect, walking closer to them. This caused alarm, and they began to growl, arch their backs, and hiss as best they could. He stopped, stood above them, and chuckled. The little raccoons were afraid.

Suddenly, their mother leapt out from an ajdacent tree onto the man's face. She hissed and dug her claws into him, biting at his ear. The man grunted and growled, doing his best to avoid crying out in pain.


Angrily, he tore the mother raccoon from his face, gripping her with both hands as she clawed at his arms.

He raised her and slammed her into the pavement as hard as he could. He did this again and again as she continued tenaciously to fight him. He did it harder and harder, until her retaliatory bite came slower than before.


With his right arm, he put his weight on her, pinning her against the black tar road. His left arm reached into his pants' pocket and produced a sharp, glistening piece of metal. She continued to claw into his arm as he raised the knife over her. She let out a pained cry as he stabbed it into her chest.


Though she tried to keep fighting, the further he tore it through her fur, the weaker she became.

She died.


Her last gasps for air preceded an open-mouthed slumber. He pulled the knife out and stood up. He left her in the road and resumed watching the three little raccoons, crouching in the dark. He giggled softly.