A Rainy Monday
rating: +43+x

You walk down the street, on your way home after a long night. It's not yet fully raining, but there's still a slight drizzle about. You had the foresight to wear a waterproof jacket, but while it keeps you dry it does nothing against the chill of the quiet night air.

The office wasn't a pleasant place today. Apparently the strip isn't doing so well, and the numbers are going down. That's bad news for you, as if layoffs become necessary you'll be the the first one on the chopping block. Being a new hire is rough. You can't say that the fading popularity surprises you, it's been the same stale strip for years now. But apparently some investors were really upset. Some suits were prowling around today, asking questions and taking names.

You stop for a minute, pulling out your phone to confirm a sneaking suspicion. Yup, you're headed the wrong way, you shouldn't be anywhere near the park. It's easy to get lost in the rain. You sigh and turn around, resigning yourself to another miserable 10 minutes of slogging through the rain.

There's a figure a ways ahead of you, standing still under a streetlight.

You stop again, mildly unsettled by this. You call out to them, asking if they are okay, but no response comes. Instead the figure begins to plod forwards, taking a step into the light.

The baggy suit slumps and sags with each step, the matted orange fur too dirty to be slicked down by the rain. The lazy-eyed face is at an angle, crudely propped up upon the head, swaying as it advances. The tail drags in the puddles, only adding on to the stains already coating it and the rest of the body.

It hefts the old baseball bat it carries, picking up speed.

You stumble back, beginning to run away as your fear catches in your throat, emerging as a strangled cry. You alternate between turning around and glancing back over your shoulder, desperate to escape but unwilling to let the thing out of your sight. It thumps the bat against the fence as it runs, a sickening thwack sounding with each blow.

Too focused on the beast, you don't avoid the puddle and your foot slides out from under you, sending you crashing to the ground. As the world whirls around you, seeing nothing but darkness and rain, a low agonized meow sounds from above you, immediately followed by a crushing blow to the hip. You scream out in pain, but as you gasp for breath a horrible, wet tearing noise fills the air accompanied by another guttural screech. Then, a dripping, slimy mass is slammed into your face, and your monstrous assailant begins forcing fistfuls more down your throat.

Man, you hate Mondays.

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