Copyright © 2016 by Jenni Gisselbrecht Hyena
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means – except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews – without written permission from its publisher.
Danny “Claw” Menzelfricke
My heart sank deep into the pit of my already empty stomach with each and every painful, shuttering sob my newlywed, Emma Vardaman let out into the pure and bare off-white grey and white fur of my shoulder as Sekhmet steadily padded her sad, but usual graceful way up to the podium up center stage of the local Zion southeastern church; just outside the now grieving Charlotte city limits. Jenni and Leslie sat lovingly huddled together in the Pugh above us alongside the family of Keith Lamont Scott, as Sekhmet cleared her throat mild and softly before she spoke on the mic. “Good evening, all.” She started slowly with a disheartened sigh. “We are all formally huddled and single handedly gathered up here today to sincerely honor yet another friendly neighborhood hero cowardly shot down and slain by the all mighty bronze chest plated race soldiers; whose oath it was they took was simply to help, serve, and protect, rather than kill, maim, and destroy. Some of you lovely folks around here may indeed not at all know, but this is actually my fourth and most tiresome time my crew and I has had to undoubtedly attend another maddening tragedy and event such as this, and damn it, god and fellow goddess almighty is it for good and damn sure it’s going to be our last.” “Amen, sister.” Jenni and a few other voices chanted from deep within the crowd. Sekhmet nodded agreeably and continued. “Both the lion and hyena community are tired of seeing these endless bouts of suffering, injustice, and turmoil, just as much as the wolf, kangaroo, cheetah, snake, and all other earthly species jointly conspired together on the planet earth just as equally are as well. We indeed, as animal beings need to continue to stand up for our communities,” There was a chorus of “Yeah!” and “That’s right!” as she ascended her voice volume and tone slightly to continue. “We need to continue not only to stand up to these non-animal, savages and abominations and give them the simple, direct message of, ‘You take our rights away, we take your strife away, and quite possibly, your life away just the same as you took our dear brother, Keith Scott’s away, and that’s real talk for the record, my friends!” In the midst of all the coos, cheers, and hollers, my fur began to steadily stand a bit more poofy on end, my heart began to quicken in pace and my claws grew as I heard the gruff male voice of a lion say, “Get your hand out, bitch! Get out! Get your hand out my pocket!!” My heartbeat was ringing in my ears now and I let out a ferocious snarl as just before he could even get a single slug out of the sawed off shotgun he’d been holding in his hands, I lunged straight for him; with the gun involuntarily discharging a load of buckshot into the ceiling before tearing deep with razor sharp claws and bared lupine teeth into his flesh, as he screamed and hollered along with the few or so confused patrons that had unfortunately witnessed the whole crude and bloody ordeal.
About a week or so after the disastrous destruction of a deep south junction town due to the hordes of savage race soldiers or more commonly known as slave patrol dressed in blue, we say goodbye and a good life selection to one of the local hometown heroes of the district and a sweet loving father of four, before some new sellout asshole decides to show up in town and ruin the serenity for all of us, and definitely a certain someone especially.