He Was Dying

Chapter One

Crows clacked their talons on the rocks. The smell of burnt leaves and trees hung in the air like heavy fog. Mist swarmed the ground, swallowing the grass and the stacks of tires that stood every here and there.
Towers and walls of compressed automobile parts casted shadows from the light as the sun retreated past the horizon.
This was my yard.

My pale grey ears twitched as buzzing flooded my mind and echoed in my skull. My eyes opened.

Light altered and began to fade as red outlines of power generators appeared in my vision. I stood, my large feet kicking against a stack of wooden planks as I rose from my resting place.
What I referred to as my home is a run-down human habitat. There was a second-story porch, where I was usually found staring into the red sky, the cold wind brushing against my ears.
My bed was a stack of hay in the basement of this rotting log cabin.

I approached a red cabinet, its hinges creaking of overuse. My large paw wrapped around the handle and swung the door open. I pulled the long, dark grey suit off a hook, shutting the cabinet as I turned away. The zipper of the suit squeaked and dragged along, giving the impression the outfit was being shredded in half.

Slipping on the suit and zipping it back up, I climbed the basement stairs multiple at a time. Ducking as I reached the doorway at the top, my ears scraped the ceiling. It's difficult being a 7-foot-3 rabbit. My large feet stomped the creaky floorboards of the house, and I escaped into the blaring red shadows of the night.

My name was Omega. My claws clicked on the ground as I stepped over sheets of metal and plywood. I pushed barrels to the side, my long arms heaving the containers into the air and down again. There were barrels all over the place, but I at least liked to keep things semi-organized.

  I stared at my paws.
On the fabric of my gloves, a symbol was inked on. My symbol. I believe whoever created me named me after it. I don't think I ever had any other title for myself. I was just.. me.

The Others called me Omega, so I called myself that as well.

Oh, the Others. We didn't usually all gather unless there were important matters to be discussed. There was five of us.
Trapper was rather intimidating. He was tall, but not as tall as me. He wore a mask made of bone, which was rather frightening. Trapper was a bit of the joking type; he'd always sneak up on me with that mask of his on. It got annoying, if you truely asked me.
  Then there was the Hillbilly. I think he was involved in a butcher machine accident, and the skin on his face got all torn. I'm not sure of everyone's full backstories. He also carried around a sledge hammer and a chainsaw, so H.B. wasn't the friendliest.

Wraith.. oh, Wraith. They're rather.. interesting. Covered in bandages, extremely fast because of those skinny legs of theirs, and could become invisible. Yeah, must I explain?
  Now, there was also Nurse. She worked at an asylum most of her life but was killed by a patient with the very bone saw she always had in her hand. She could blink, which was our term for teleportation. She, uh, sort of floated, so she could move around rather easily. I never wanted to have gotten on her bad side.

Then the fifth was me. I was not much special. Sure, I was the tallest out of all of us, and I could run rather quickly when I dropped on all fours, but I was scared easily. Whether it was a loud noise, or a sudden bright light, I had the reflex to immediately jump back in fright.

Trapper explained to me that I killed people incorrectly, that I was too merciful. There were cabinets all over my yard, which humans commonly hid in. If I found one, I would wrap them in my arms, one arm over their torso, opposite hand holding the side of their head. He said I needed to sling the human over my shoulder. I predicted that that'd be uncomfortable, for the person and me.

Nurse has complained to me mulitple times about using metal hooks to neutralize and sacrifice my "victims." But.. what if I didn't want to kill them? The Others were often very vague about things.
  "If they raided my chests, I might eat them," I would always answer her. "But what is the point of killing an innocent?"

When I began living in my yard, Wraith was one of the first to speak with me. They whispered that it was a crime for the generators in my area to be repaired, and I would have to stop the humans before I would be punished. That, of course, didn't sound good.

I walked around, sniffing certain things to see if anyone has visited while I slept. No sign yet. A wooden pallet seemed to have fallen over, which I slipped under and pushed up against a crashed automobile.
  I yanked a rag off one of the walls of metal, approaching one of the many hooks in the area. Every one of us had a specially designed hanger; mine was built from various resources like bits of wood, stone, and metal, my symbol carved every here and there.

Rubbing the rust off the curved hook, scratched by the claws and beaks of the pitch black crows that lived along side me. The rag began to turn into a worn kind of brownish red. Tree branches rattled in the wind, causing my ears to twitch every which direction.
Suddenly a seperate sound pierced my hearing.

Was that what I think it was?

..Laughter.