Chapter Text
Chance wakes to the loud, dull scrape of something heavy being moved away from the wall he sleeps inside. He rises to his feet instantly, backing as far into the cramped space as possible, his rabbit-like ears standing rigid with alarm.
The scraping continues until the hidden opening is completely exposed. The moment it is, an enormous, familiar hand reaches through the gap.
Chance presses himself against the back wall, shrinking into the corner as the hand gropes through the darkness toward him.
It stops only inches from his chest, feeling blindly until warm fingers brush against his sleeve. They close around him without hesitation, effortlessly caging his tiny body in an unyielding grip.
Panic crashes over him.
He kicks, twists, and squirms with everything he has, but it makes no difference. The hand barely reacts as it lifts him into the open.
Bright light stings his eyes after hours spent in the darkness of the walls. He squints until the blurry shapes sharpen into two enormous figures looming over him.
His parents stare down at him with the same familiar disgust they’ve always reserved for him.
His ears flatten tightly against his head as his mind races. What did I do this time?
Then his father’s face settles into the familiar grimace Chance knows all too well. His mother’s expression isn’t much different.
His parents exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. When they look back at Chance, they seem almost relieved, as though they’ve finally found a solution to a problem that’s been bothering them for years.
The next few moments are a blur. His father rises, carrying Chance effortlessly across the kitchen toward a small cardboard box sitting on the table. It’s lined with bits of crumpled paper and torn magazine pages.
Chance is abruptly dropped into the box, pain shooting through his shoulder as he lands awkwardly on it. He suppresses a cry and looks back up toward the top of the box, where his mother is already holding a strip of tape as his father closes the cardboard flaps.
Chance scrambles to his feet, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he claws at the cardboard walls. He tries to pull himself over the edge before the flaps close, but his injured arm gives out beneath him. He crashes back onto the floor of the box just as his parents seal it shut.
Then his world lurches as the box is lifted, swaying with each of his father’s footsteps toward the front door. The box sways with every step until it’s dropped onto the pavement outside. For a heartbeat, Chance is weightless before the box slams into the ground beneath him.
He lands on his shoulder again, this time unable to suppress the choked sob that escapes him. He carefully pushes himself upright with his good arm, every movement sending pain through his shoulder. For several long seconds, he simply stares at the sealed lid above him, waiting for it to open again.
Eventually, he realizes no one is coming back for him. The thought doesn’t settle all at once. It creeps in slowly, painfully, until there’s no room left to deny it.
His parents threw him out like garbage.
They left him there to die.