The first handicapped Olympian: What can his life and death teach to us? - No, of course it's not Oscar Pistorius -

The raccoon

Another assignment for my creative writing class..., a tremulous plea against war

Picture credit: http://www.comicvine.com/rocket-raccoon/29-32814/

They drove on a Moonless winter night. It was dark, as winter nights go, but the thick cover of freshly fallen, powdery snow reflected the faint starlight like million miniature diamond chips, making the darkness pale and shadowy. It was bitterly cold. The sky was perfectly clear, as if even the clouds ran for cover from the chill of their lonely heights.

Mick was driving while Loretta, with her eyes closed, was listening to the soft big-band music from the radio. The lights on the dial were flickering and the music was fading in and out as the signal struggled to keep the station alive in this remote part of the countryside. They did not mind the wavering, crackling sound. It gave them a warm, cozy feeling of being connected to something familiar. The lonely road, meandering through the featureless landscape and edged only with an occasional shadowy tree, gave them both an eerie feeling. Had it not been for the distraught phone call from Mick’s hermit-like uncle who lives in the solitude of his 200 acre wilderness, they would have never undertaken this long, torturous drive. Mick came straight from a birthday celebration of an office mate and had a couple of drinks there.

"You really shouldn’t have had those drinks, you knew we would be driving tonight" Loretta suddenly muttered, as she got increasingly uneasy about the narrow, slippery road. Mick knew that the alcohol from the afternoon was long gone but bit his tongue, not wanting to start an argument. Instead, with a touch of anxiety, his eyes stubbornly pierced through the windshield trying to follow the endless curves of the dark road.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a shadow appeared in the headlights. The anti-block brake gave out the typical, ratcheting sound. The car was shaking and skidding as the sophisticated mechanism tried to keep it straight. Then, they heard a dull bang from underneath. When the car finally stopped, not far from the impact, they got out at once. Their knees were shaking. With trembling voice Loretta whispered:

"You killed it…" There was a raccoon, lying in the middle of the road. It was motionless but strangely, no blood trickled from its body and had no visible injury. His elegant, white chest lit up in the dark and the funny, harlequin face almost seemed mocking at them: “You tried, but couldn’t get me!”

Both of them loved animals. Every year they donated $500 to the local animal shelter. Tears always glittered in their eyes when they said good-bye to their greyhound in the kennel. Loretta begged Mick to save him from certain death as he became too old to chase the mechanical rabbit. They never before experienced the trauma of a road kill. The two stared at each other like children who just broke the family’s grandfather clock. Neither of them dared to go closer to the victim of their murderous act. Their rapid breath condensed into thick steam in the cold and formed white frost on their eyebrows.

And then, suddenly a miracle happened. The raccoon stood up and with uncertain, wobbling shuffles, like drunken sailors staggering out from the harbor inn, finished crossing the road. He disappeared in the snow-covered shrubs. Mick and Loretta felt a heavy weight lifting from their chest. With a stunned, but strangely proud smile on his face, Mick put his arms around Loretta’s shivering shoulders and pulled her head to his chest.


They got back in the car and continued their way to the old hermit. The music was over in the radio and the news came on. The report was on the number of casualties that day in the War. It was in the dozens. They went on silently as the world around them was faintly glittering in the star lit untouched snow.