Standing over the carcass, observing the crisp, the curled shape the animal had taken as it waited to die, Johnny examined the body, gaping at the grotesque form it had taken on. It didn't appear to have been struck by a passing car, and at the same time it didn't look as though it had died of natural causes.
It's fur was dirty and disheveled, over a face that had been pulled back in an endless bearing of the teeth. It's eyes were still wide open, in shock.
As Johnny looked closer, he saw that the fox's back had been cracked at the centre, it's spine broken in two and torn through the skin, revealing the frame of the creature's skeleton, covered in pink flesh and darker, dried blood.
Johnny felt sick. He almost choked, the vomit rising in his throat. It was like the fox had been purposely murdered or tortured. Killed in a devastatingly evil way.