Trypanophobia

*(Author's Note: I originally made this in the Wildworks Writing Wiki.)*

*If only I had escaped...*

Gabby's Animal Hospital. A heaven for sick animals.

A few years ago, I needed to go to that hospital.

My father's old van, a bit like a miniature bus, was taking me there, my mother at the driver's seat. The slow, soft rumble of the van and the sweltering sun made me go to sleep, my long ears covering my eyes. Which was good, as a lot of wolves would be terrible to us bunnies, due to us having no claws, no fangs, no magic.

They would go out unto the streets and protest against us living in Jamaa, trying to make us "go back to where we came from".

Most wolves would also have some sort of magic, while we bunnies rarely got gifted with it. My father was an arctic wolf, and he got killed for falling in love with a bunny. That's how bad things could get. But I was too young to pay attention, and my older brother could pass off as a deformed fennec fox, so he didn't get in trouble.

We finally arrived at Gabby's. My ears perked up when the car stopped, and my eyes fluttered open. My mother smiled and helped me get out of the car. I'd been vomiting, missing sleep, and had a severe cough the last few days.

The doctors are soon going to find out what was wrong with me, and everything will be ok, I thought.

We walked and waited for a while. When we arrived, several cars filled with wolves were in front of us, screaming, protesting, and not letting us through. In around half an hour, we finally managed to get in the hospital, my mother having to carry me part of the way, due to the fact that I started to get nauseous.

Mother sat me on a sofa in the waiting room. It was dark. Dusty. Unclean. Wolves got the good waiting rooms. The receptionist came out from behind her desk, starting her shift. A wolf. Typical. She looked unpleased to be there, and even more unpleased she had to help out a bunny, the very type of animal her instincts told her to hate, to eat.

The wolf's white, perfect fur matched her golden dress, which barely any of us bunnies could afford. Those things costed 3 diamonds, and the poor barely had half of one.

The TV was on. "*Four college bunnies are taking a stand against segregation in Greensbearo, North Foxolina when they are refusing to leave a Woolworth’s lunch counter without being served."*

I stared at the TV. I had no idea what was happening. I instead focused on the size of my fur. I wanted to look good, so I wore my best dress and did my own fur. That was typical at the time. All the while, my mother was trying to get a spot in the hospital.

Suddenly, the wolf called for me. I came. She got out a needle. I stared at it for a second, wondering what would happen, and she dug it into my left paw. I stared at the protruding needle, and then screamed in fear. The wolf was not amused.

She grabbed my other front paw with her claws. The her grip was strong, but not as strong as the pain from my left paw. Then, she took out the needle from my left paw, and dug it into my right. She forced us to wait- apparently an arctic wolf came in with a cold and didn't get a chance to have a room in the wolf clinic. People were getting hurt and sick more often, and Arctics, due to being quite large, are more likely to get hurt.

We waited for quite some time. The wolf did not even want to look at us. She waited. A penguin came into the clinic. He did not stabbed nor gain any injuries, and he waddled into the room we were supposed to go in, not daring to look at us.

Half an hour after he left, we were finally allowed in. The room was odd. As if forced to look dirty, dusty. The paintings on the wall were crooked. An old arctic wolf sat on the seat behind the desk, a maned wolf-nurse behind him.

My mother managed to make a little small chat. That was all. The arctic did not reply, while the maned wolf gave very simplistic answers. She put on some gloves, and together the doctor and the nurse grabbed my arm, and dragged me into a room, my mother waiting.

It was cold. I shivered. There seemed to be sound: Some voice was echoed through the room. "*No escape. No escape.*" I looked the nurse in the eyes, and asked her who was saying that. She assured there wasn't anyone saying anything, and then told me I would be fine.

Sure I would.

The room wasn't very reassuring.

The arctic wolf smiled, a horrible smile. There was a large stone bed in the middle of the room. There were also some odd tools in the corner. It was dark, and I could barely distinguish the figures. I stared at them for a moment, and recognized a syringe, and a hammer. There were other undistinguishable things, looking ominously like blades. The walls seemed to be unclean, as if someone had vomited all over them.

"Sit" Said the arctic wolf, a tone in his voice that made me feel like I needed to do what he said, like he would hurt me if I didn't. I sat out of fear of what he would do to me if I did not. He then stabbed a syringe into my leg, and it swelled to the size of a small balloon, making me cry a little.

A voice started saying: *Don't cry, don't cry, Molly says, don't cry.*

I felt like I should have smiled, but then I felt something around the tips of each of my limbs: Cuffs, perhaps. I tried to move a little, but I could not. I was now in a laying position.

The arctic wolf then stabbed my nose with a syringe. I screamed and cried. The voice said again: "*Don't cry, never cry, for Molly is here."* I could feel the voice echoing in my head. I was not going to cry. The maned wolf moved to get a butcher knife. "We need to amputate" She giggled, her eyes burning the back of my head as she stared, handing the knife to the doctor. And then I felt pain, pain coming from my swollen leg. And then, nothing.

I thought they had taken the cuff off, and that they hadn't cut my leg off, that they were showing mercy like the healing gods I used to think they were. I tried to left my leg up, yet I could not feel it. I screamed. But I would not cry. Who knew what happened to my mother then. The nurse placed my paw in her mouth, and bit. I couldn't even scream anymore.

Soon, my arm felt the same pain as on my leg. Syringe. Stab. Repeat. The process was done for all four of my limbs. I couldn't even get up, for the work was done so well, I didn't even have a stump, an imperfection. They possibly cut bits off my bones.

The arctic wolf turned me over. I prepared for the worst. What felt like a sheep's wool covered where my legs should have been. My dress was filled with blood. My hair was flat. And a bunny's ears covered my eyes-I couldn't see anything.

The last thing I heard were several voices. Lots of them. *"Poor child, poor child, poor child, poor child,"* They chanted. Eventually, I could hear no more.

*Slice.*

Written by Downwards-Upz-Mist