the story of foxy hands

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There was a world, that is not so different from ours. it was bright and beautiful, with uncountable happy things in it. But many of the creatures in it were unhappy. some of them did not know why they were so unhappy, but no one sought to solve this problem. The creatures were all horrible to each other and some thought they were better than the others. The fox was the lowest of the low. cursed and chased after, the fox had no justice for the way it was treated, in fact the other creatures encouraged its hunting, calling it nasty ‘vermin’.
For many years the fox was submissive, hiding in unpopulated areas and only coming out at night. It was afraid of its hunters, too beaten down and will less to fight back, it accepted its life as a minority.
But as the generations continued the fox began to find courage. He slowly felt himself grow stronger. His hands begin to stretch and elongate, giving him more dexterity and cunning. Over the years he grew stronger and stronger, plotting and planning while his fingers grew evermore long and wise.
The day came when the fox felt strong enough to face his enemies. They came after with large guns, calling for his blood. They towered over him with blind hatred in their eyes, they had not seen the hands.
Quick as a flash the fox whipped the guns from the hunters hands with his long, elegant fingers. Before they knew what was happening they were on their knees with a knife at their throat. The fox said nothing to the hunters while he studied them. So this is how it feels to have the power in your hands? It is a beautifully, horrible thing to create fear in another create, the fox thought as he stroked the huntsmen’s throat with the knife. as he looked down at all the hunters he saw vile grotesque hares in their stead. Their ruddy, human faces screamed up at him, is this how they had seen him?

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