FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Light creeps through the cracks in my eyelids, and though the light is not intense it's unwanted. I prefer waking up to darkness. With my curtains closed that's how it should be, but it becomes immediately apparent that I fell asleep without turning the reading lamp off. A groggy paw reaches out in attempt to correct my mistake, groping my bedside table clumsily. I find the switch, but something stops me from flipping it. What time is it? I have no clue.

I blindly grab at items on the table until reaching my phone. I pick it up, bring it to my face and turn on the screen. The brightness is too high. I scrunch my eyes shut, then open them slowly, letting them adjust to the vibrancy of the world before finally checking the time. It's just past 10am. I didn't set an alarm. No matter, I don't have work today. Plus, this means I actually got a decent bit of sleep in the end, almost six hours. Not bad going.

I stretch and yawn and, with great effort, sit up. I stroke a paw down the fur of my chest and blink several times, finding focus. Today is a new day. The words ring out in my head like a revelation.

Today is a new day.

I throw back the duvet, stand up, stretch my arms and legs and curl and uncurl my tail, limbering up. I let a long, drawn out yawn play it's course and... I smile. It feels good. It feels strange. It's been a while since I smiled, but you know what? Today is a new day. In fact, today is a new year. A chance to begin again.

It's funny. Last night I couldn't sleep for hours and hours. I got into bed at about midnight and cried my eyes out. There were moments where the sobs died down, but those moments didn't last, I found no peace. I was crying right up until I fell asleep, some time past 4am. Technically speaking that was the start of my new year: tears.

I was defeated, broken, adrift in despair. It felt like there was no way out. I felt stuck, worse, submerged. I couldn't breathe, I-

But eventually I found sleep. About six hours later I woke up, and here and I am. I thought I would feel devastated, distraught. I thought I wouldn't want to get out of bed, but no, nothing is further from the truth.

I head to the kitchen and set some water to boil. I'm ready for coffee. Another yawn finds me and I welcome it. For a moment I'm worried it might shake off my smile, but it doesn't. I open the curtains and look down at the streets outside. People are going about their business as they always do, another day, another year, it doesn't really matter to them. It never really mattered to me either, but today is different. I wish they could understand. If they look up now they'll see a fox standing here wearing nothing but his underwear, maybe that will bring a spark of the absurd to their day. Maybe I could cause a smile or two.

I think back as I pour the boiling water into my cafetiere. Something set me off last night, something led to all that crying, it's worth reflecting on. I was at a house party with my closest friend, Ralph, but I didn't really know anybody there other than him. Plus, they were all bears, which isn't a problem at all other than that I had to crane my neck up to talk to any of them and, well, that it added to my sense of alienation. It shouldn't have, but I can't deny that being with people of a shared culture - when it is a culture you do not share - while it can be enlightening, illuminating, wonderful, can also be lonely, and if that night I was anything, I was lonely.

With the coffee brewed I pour it into my favorite mug. A large, baby pink vessel with the words 'No Fox Given' on the side above a smirking cartoon fox. Just looking at it makes me giggle. It's ludicrous and garish, featuring a frankly lazy pun delivered with absolute sincerity and bravado. I love it. My sister, Rosa, gave it to me for my birthday earlier this, no, last year. She was laughing in my face as I took it out the box, posed with it and gave her an unamused glare. I couldn't maintain the facade, I burst out laughing alongside her seconds later. That was only six months ago, three months after she came out as transgender, three months before she died. Drug overdose. Was it suicide or an accident? I'll never know.

The months since have been... Well, they've not been good. I absorb the warmth of the coffee through the mug, cupping it between my paws, letting the heat seep through my body.

I left the house party at 11pm last night. I made some excuse and just ditched. I headed straight home. Got in. Paced. Almost pulled several patches of my fur out. Thought about ending all of this. Thought about never waking up again. Didn't make any move on that, hope I never would, but I thought about it. Thought about Rosa. Got into bed. Thought about... thought about everything I had been through that year.

That was exactly what I had left the party to avoid, all that thinking. We had assembled into a makeshift circle in the living room with plenty of booze between us, one of the guests suggested we talk about the best and worst things that had happened to us - to the world - that year. They got into it quickly, bashing the surge of nationalist politics, racism, injustice and inequality across the globe, talking about the climate crisis, global warming, the unsustainable nature of our fossil fuel focused way of life. All of these were things I could agree and commiserate with, but it was all just more kindling piled on the smoldering fire that was my life. It wasn't the right time for me to hear about it, talk about it, even among such like-minded folk.

You could be dismissive and see the group as a sort of echo chamber, me and Ralph are generally in accord socially and politically speaking - not exact copies, but compatible regardless - and it seemed his bear friends were on the same wavelength too, but I don't begrudge that. It's not like we're stuck in a bubble, not really. You can barely watch any major news station without some sort of pro-capital bias searing it's mark into the production. It can be subtle, but it's almost always there. It's obvious why, I mean who do you think is the news anchor's boss's boss? And who's their boss and their boss's boss? It's all about money, until it's about power. It's not just the news either, I mean it's not like you can go five minutes on Twitter without seeing some vapid, moronic take by some holier-than-thou douche who thinks they know 'the science' and 'the economics' of it all better than the actual fucking experts. You know most of these people have never read any of the source material they cite, and even if they have you know their source material doesn't even have it's own solid base of source material to cite in the first place. Forced conclusions based on supposition based on hatred, or greed. It's always hatred or greed. Until it's both.

Anyway, that wasn't the problem, the problem arose when they started getting personal, going around listening to each others' yearly highlights and lowlights. Just firing up those cogs in my mind was enough to send me spiraling. I was on the edge of a panic attack well before the group talk got to me. Ralph caught my eye, he knew this subject wasn't going to be good for me, but he didn't want to make a scene or draw attention to me either. When I made my excuses to leave he accepted them immediately. He's a great friend, one of the last I have left.

The panic attack hit on the way home.

I sit at my table now alone, sipping coffee, drifting in and out of analytical recollection. I feel fine. No, I shouldn't undersell it, I feel good. Maybe that's wrong of me. Maybe the weight of the past year, of my entire life, should be crushing me completely, but it's not. In fact, it's gone, all of it. I feel weightless, free. This is a new day, a new year, and anything could happen. Even good things, believe it or not.

When I got in last night I was shaking, head held in my paws. My breathing was ragged, fast, unstable. I had just slammed the door shut behind me and this was my moment of stillness, of despair, all encompassing. Then the moment ended and I let out a shriek. Loud, unrestricted, full of rage and misery. Directed at nothing. No, directed at everything. I paced across the apartment, found my reflection in the mirror, hated it, turned away, kept pacing and pacing. I was breathing too fast, still in panic mode. I tore off my shoes and socks, my shirt and pants. They were constricting me, I was overheating, I needed to deconstruct, to simplify. I couldn't. I shrieked again. I didn't give a fuck what the neighbors might have thought. I didn't give a fuck.

I saw myself in the mirror again. I wanted to claw my guts out. I wanted to tear myself apart. I let my claws glide between strands of my fur, over my soft skin. I grabbed patches of my fur and pulled. It stung, I let go before clumps came out. I saw myself in the mirror again. I was pathetic. I was awful. I couldn't take it. I started to cry.

I take my last sip and, done with the coffee, I place my mug in the sink. The design with the fox and those ludicrous words is incapable of failing to cheer me, even with all the memories it sets off in my mind. She knew I'd hate it, Rosa. She knew I'd love it too. She understood that about me, the duality, and I understood her.

When she told me and mom she was a girl, that her name was Rosa, I wasn't at all surprised. In fact I remember grinning from ear to ear and tackling her with a cuddle. She was so relieved, she giggled and held me tight. I remember her tail was wagging. Mom didn't totally understand it, but she was positive, she said you never really fit in with the boys anyway. She said as long as you were happy, she was happy. And you were happy, you were so happy.

You even stayed happy, for a little while.

The caffeine helps. I'm feeling more and more awake with every minute. I head to the shower, throw my underwear on the floor and get in. The warm water feels like a protective shield. In here I'm safe. The water washes away the grime of the last day, of the last year, of my entire life. I feel clean, refreshed. If it wasn't such a dramatic sentiment I would almost say I feel reborn.

I broke up with Rachel a couple months after Rosa came out. It hurt, obviously. I was dejected, lonely. The fallout of our breakup permeated throughout my life, robbing me repeatedly of energy and joy. It went that way for months. It still stings now in its own dulled, diluted sort of way, but at the time it was fresh and fierce. I was both angry and sad, not that the relationship had ended, but that it had gone on for so long, that it had taken me all that time to see what she had been doing to me. She was manipulative, my lord was she manipulative, but it was in that subtle, innocent way. In that she'd-never-admit-it way. In that nobody-had-ever-called-her-out-on-it way. So, when I finally called her out she was blown away, she acted like I was the villain for even implying such a thing, but she-

Breaking up with Rachel blinded me. Rosa needed me, though she would never say it so directly herself, she needed me. If not me, then someone. She had friends, she did, but she'd lost friends too. She needed somebody else to talk to and mom just didn't get it the same way I did. I was there for Rosa, in a sense. I didn't abandon her. I spent time with her. Encouraged her. But I wasn't there for her. I was more in my past than present, dwelling on my regrets and mistakes. I was thinking about Rachel, about how she would do just about anything to make me happy, until the moment it would inconvenience her. That was it. That was what it always was for her: convenience.

Our entire relationship, the year we spent together, was all convenience. She was a good looking vixen, she was sweet in her own way, but everything she ever did was either to get exactly what she wanted, or to make herself appear more kind, more thoughtful, more giving than she actually was. She was with me for sex on-demand, for a partner to flash to her friends and family like some sort of prize, somebody to take her on dates, somebody to share popcorn with, somebody to keep her occupied. That last one was key. She was always bored, the moment I would go out with other friends, or ask for an evening to myself she would pout, send me sad little texts. She would never deny me from doing those things, plausible deniability was the whole point, she would just make me regret doing them. She would emotionally manipulate me into feeling sorry for her when in reality I already spent almost all of my free time and money on her, on us. Somehow that wasn't enough, she wanted a little puppet, sure enough for some time that's what I became. When Rosa came out, and I wanted to spend more time with her, things only got worse between Rachel and I.

One day I woke up and felt different. I saw through it all in an instant, in a eureka moment of total clarity. I had already realized I was miserable, that I had been miserable for some time, but it was only then that I realized why. It was Rachel. I confronted her with my thoughts and feelings, gave her a chance to reason with me. She flat out denied everything, threw my concerns right back at me, treated me like I was the one doing everything wrong, made it out like I was bullying her. When I told her I wasn't sure we should be together she started to cry, she stopped responding. There was no adult conversation. No working things through. Just emotional blackmail, altered histories, pointed phrasings, misrememberings... pure, if subtle, manipulation. It almost fucking worked too. It took me a whole month to dump her after that.

I thought maybe I was going crazy. I talked to Rosa about it - putting my problems on her when she had enough to deal with for the both of us, but she was my sister and we were there for one another and... still, I regret it - I asked her if I was being paranoid, if perhaps I really was being irrational, if maybe I really was the bully. She looked me in the eyes and asked if I thought I was a bully. I said no. She looked me in the eyes and asked if I thought I was doing any of the things Rachel had accused me of. I shook my head. Of course I didn't. She looked me in my eyes and said she trusts me. She said that I'm a good person and that if I think Rachel is the problem, then Rachel is the problem and that I shouldn't let her make me doubt that. Rosa was a great sister.

I dumped Rachel a week later. My distaste and disdain towards her only grew after that. It consumed me for a while. Because of that I wasn't as committed to Rosa as I could've been, should've been, and now Rosa is gone, forever.

Before stepping out the shower I shake off the better part of the water. I brush my teeth while yet more drips to the floor. Look at me, getting up and ready for the day, almost like a functioning person, it's impressive, if only because it's been a struggle for me ever since Rosa died. My sister meant the world to me, she still does. I do my best to dry myself with a towel and I head back into the bedroom, opening the blinds finally to be greeted by sun and clear skies. It's a good day to be alive. It's a good day to start living.

Ralph was not my closest friend until quite recently. Since Rosa passed, everything changed. Before that there was Rory, I wouldn't have hesitated to call him my best friend. He was a gold-maned lion with a loud laugh, a lot of humor and a level-head, at least that's what I'd thought. Now I never want to see him again.

Before our relationship went up in flames I would hang out with him and Rick all the time. We would play games online, play D&D in person, often with other acquaintances joining in, we would go out drinking, you know, normal friend stuff. That's what we were for years, friends. I don't have any specific problem with Rick, even now, but after what happened with Rory he hasn't talked to me, and I haven't reached out to him. I shouldn't, but it's hard not to assume the worst, that deep inside he's every bit as vile as Rory is and that he wants as little to do with me as I want to do with the lion. At best he's as much a coward as I used to be.

The warning signs started going off around Rory seven months ago, I should have taken them more seriously. At that point Rosa had 'gone public' so to speak. She was finally truly living as the woman she had always been, but it wasn't easy. She was no fool and nor was I, we knew it wouldn't be easy, but however hard we thought it would be, it was harder.

I stretch once more, finally feeling fully awake. I go through my drawers and set clothes for the day out. I pull on a fresh pair of underwear and sit on the edge of my bed as I pull my socks on. Something catches my eyes, a screwed up photograph right there on the floor beside my feet. I reach down and pick it up, unfolding it carefully, face down. I don't want to see it, not quite yet, not crumpled as it is. I get it as flat as I can then place it on my side table, weighing it down with a large book. That's as best as I can do for now.

I remember mentioning Rosa in passing one evening at drinks. I didn't think much of it, she was just part of my life, but Rory's reaction was immediate. His nose wrinkled in apparent distaste, but he didn't say anything. I asked him what was wrong. He said did you just say your brother is going by Rosa now? I corrected him, I said she's my sister, but yes, that's her name. He laughed, he fucking laughed, and said no more. The worst part is I didn't speak up, I left it at that. I just left it at that. I was disappointed with his reaction, of course, but I didn't say a thing, I went on as if nothing had happened. He was my best friend and I didn't want to cause a rift between us. Coward. I was a fucking coward.

We didn't talk about it again for some time. I didn't want to bring it up, I was scared to. I was scared I would lose a friend. I shouldn't have been concerned about him though, he wasn't the one worth saving, not if his mind was already set on such ignorant dismissal, such banal hatred, and it was.

The next time it came up was when he, Rick and two of our role playing acquaintances were at my place for some D&D. Partway through the session there was a buzz for the door. Of course it was Rosa, she was nearby and had some time and wanted to see me. I let her in, telling her we were playing some D&D, she said that wasn't a problem, she just wanted to decompress and be around me, watching us play would be entertaining anyway. I didn't think about Rory being there until after she entered my apartment. I brought her through to where the others were sitting, anxiety building inside me, and before I could say anything she had greeted everyone with a sweeping, simple: hey y'all!

I still didn't have time to get a word in; Rory was quick on the draw. He said: hi ******!

As if it was nothing. As if it was the right thing to say. As if it didn't matter. He deadnamed her just like that, right in her face, in my face, in front of Rick and our other friends. I was stunned to silence. I looked to Rosa, aghast. She wasn't looking at me, she was looking at Rory. I could see her ears and the corners of her mouth twitch, I could see her tail go stiff. But still she was brave, she was so fucking brave. She said: It's Rosa now, actually.

Right, he said. Right. That's all he said. He drew out the word, filled the single syllable with such obvious doubt and derision that it was impossible not to catch it. I was disgusted. Rosa was... she was a saint. She faked a smile, said she hoped we'd have a good session, that she was just popping over to say hi, and that she could see we were busy so she'd be off again now.

I caught her at the door, unable to let her leave without another word. I told her I was sorry. I said: Rory's an asshole. I said: he has no idea what he's talking about.

She asked me if I had told him about her before today. I said I had. She asked if he had reacted positively. My mouth refused to form words. She asked why he was still my friend. I didn't know what to say. She shook her head. I told her I was sorry. She scrunched her eyes, inhaled, turned away, waved a paw at me dismissively and left. She would have heard me if I had more to say, but I didn't. I was useless, empty.

I press both paws down on the book, hoping this will be enough to preserve the photograph's form, at least to some extent. I know it will be far from perfect, but this is the only physical copy I have and it was never uploaded online. I had fished it out of its frame last night after getting into bed. I had held it in my paws and stared at it, crying. At some point I screamed, scrunched the damn thing up and threw it to the floor. It took a lot out of me, almost everything. I must have fallen asleep shortly after that.

After Rosa left that day I went back and joined the group. They were all deadly silent, they knew what had just happened. I pointed straight at Rory and asked him why the fuck he did that. He shrugged, said: you do know you don't have to pander to him just because he's wearing a blouse, right?

I stared at him, cold, a growl building at the back of my throat, and told him to never call my sister a he again. He regarded me strangely, I could tell he didn't want to comply to my command, but in the end he relented. Sort of. He said: she can call herself a woman all she wants, fine, that doesn't bother me, but doing that and calling herself Rosa doesn't mean she's actually a vixen.

Absolute silence. Nobody spoke for ten, twenty seconds. I said: are you fucking serious? He shrugged again, this was nothing to him. He said: let's agree to disagree.

I should have said no, argued, or just fucking thrown him out. I didn't do any of those things. I sat down and mulled it over in silence for a while longer. I said: stay away from my sister and keep your muzzle shut. He laughed, shook his head and said: sure thing.

That was that. We kept on playing like nothing had fucking happened. I let him off, just like that. He was my friend, I enjoyed spending time with him, talking to him, so I let him off. I was wrong to do so. The way he acted, the things he said, they were evil. The benign sort of evil, perhaps, or at least the sort of evil that seems benign without inspection. Really, such evil is perhaps the most dangerous of all. It is the sort of evil that dwells in plain sight and presents itself as impartiality or apathy. It is neither. It is hatred, or greed. It's always hatred or greed.

I move the book back to its rightful place and pick up the photograph, twisting it around so that I can actually see the picture. My mom took this photo on my birthday. It shows me holding up that ludicrous pink mug in one paw, my other arm draped around Rosa's shoulders. She has an arm around my shoulders too and she's laughing. I'm trying to keep a straight face but it's obvious I'm on the verge of cracking up. Rosa looks so alive. So full of joy.

I went to see her the morning after the encounter with Rory. She was still living with mom, but she was the one to answer the door. She let me in quietly, we went to her room and sat on the bed. Neither of us had said a thing. I felt like I had to start. I told her that I'd talked to Rory, that he was never gonna say shit like that again. She offered a soft smile and hugged me. I didn't feel I had deserved it. She asked if I was still friends with him. I admitted I was, with hesitance. She nodded almost imperceptibly. She said: he's a transphobe though, right?

I had never put it so starkly in my head - I didn't want to - but she was right, of course she was. I said I suppose so, but that I hoped he would grow out of it. She nodded that same small nod. She said: okay. She looked sad, so sad. She said: it's not worth fighting over. She said: I love you. I said: I love you too. She clung to me as if holding on for dear life. She said: I can't lose you, I've already lost so many people. I didn't know how to respond, so I just wrapped her in my arms.

I knew this year had been hard for her, so hard, and that all the joy she got from living as the woman she was was not always enough to make up for the pain of the rampant bigotry and phobia-soup that contaminated the world, the friends lost, the ties cut, the stares, the yes sirs. It was a constant daily fight for nothing more than simple acceptance. It was a constant daily fight for nothing less than fucking survival. And although I understood all that in some abstract sort of way, I hadn't lived it, I couldn't. I could never truly understand what it was like to be her.

She had good days, of course she did. She had great days. She loved being true to herself, you could see it in her eyes, in her face, in the way she carried herself so proud and sure. She was so happy being her, being Rosa. If only the rest of the world would stop getting in her way.

She knew I loved her. We talked every day after that. We reconciled, we grew, she seemed to be doing well. Then, one day, I got a call. Mom was crying her eyes out. Rosa was dead. Overdose. Was it suicide or an accident? I'll never know.

Looking at this photo now it's like she never died. I can still hear her laughing. I can feel her arm around me. I can smell her perfume.

A week after she died I was invited to drinks by Rory and Rick. I didn't really want to go, but Rory told me they wanted to be there for me and I let a spark of hope light inside of me. Maybe Rory had changed. Maybe there was some good in the world after all.

I got there, Rory ordered me a pint, they both pat me on my back, said they were sorry. We sat there quietly for a little while just sipping at our drinks. Honestly I was glad for the company and the silence didn't bother me. But Rory, being Rory, had to ruin everything. He had a question. He asked if we had a date for the funeral. I answered. I hoped to return to silence, but he had no such plans. You know, he said, it's tragic, what happened to your brother.

I could barely believe it. I was furious. I locked eyes with him and asked him a simple question: what the fuck did you just say?

He looked surprised, like honestly surprised, like he couldn't believe it. He said: look, he's passed on now, you don't need to keep on-

That's all he had time to say before I'd taken hold of his shirt and pulled him up from his seat. I pushed him back. He asked me what the hell I was doing. He said: your brother was driven to suicide because his mental illness convinced him he was a girl, can't you see th-?

He had absolutely no fucking idea what he was talking about. Rosa was a woman. She was my sister. She always had been.

I put the full force of my body into that punch.

His nose gushed blood as he flew backward and hit the floor hard.

FUCK YOU!

I screamed the words at him.

I kicked him hard in the ribs.

He was in too much pain to respond.

I bent down, shoved my face against his and roared it again.

FUCK YOU!

Everyone in the bar was staring at me. I growled wordlessly, stood straight, twisted on the spot and left. Nobody tried to stop me. Nobody said a word.

I've had no contact whatsoever with Rory or Rick since that day.

Carefully, ever so carefully, I place the photograph back into it's frame. It's creased now, all over, but it's still here nonetheless. I stare at it and smile.

Today is a new day. Today is a new year.

Last year I lost my lover and wished I had never met her. I lost Rory and Rick, my closest friends, and only wished I'd lost them faster. I lost my sister.

I lost my sister.

I lost the four people on this planet I spent the most time with. All four of them, gone from my life in one of earth's laps around the sun. Good riddance to three of them, I'm better off without them, but still, they left a void. One that could do with filling. And then there's my sister. Nothing could replace her.

So many months, no, years wasted on people who were never worth my time to begin with. It's infuriating. It's dreadful. It's the truth.

But that's the point, the real point: I'm glad they're gone. That's what matters. I'm progressing, improving. That they're gone long after I should have sent them packing is not ideal, but that's not my focus, not anymore. It never should have been. They are gone now and really, truly, that makes me happy. So happy.

All my life I've been living dead years, lifeless years, filled with rage and fear, pushed around and whispered lies by those that never deserved my ear. I was collared and kept down, until I was dragged around by tides that seemed outside my control, but no more. No more putting up with bullshit. I deserve better. Rosa deserved better.

I'm done saying okay to assholes. I'm done idly standing by while people step on those who are less fortunate than themselves, or step on those they simply don't understand, whether out of hatred or greed. It's always hatred or greed. I'm done with both. Rosa deserved better and, frankly, Rory deserved worse. Ignorance is one thing, hatred is quite another. I am not the cure to the worlds ills, I am just a passenger. It's not on me to draw blood from stones, to tell people things they don't want to know when it's obvious they won't listen. It's not even truly on me to be my sister's keeper, but I wish I still had the chance to be. That's a choice I would have made happily, should have. I loved her, she loved me, and now she's gone.

I hope it was an accident, that she didn't mean for her life to end, but the drugs she was taking... She was trying to numb her pain - no, not just her pain - she was trying to numb everything. She didn't want to feel anymore. That's no question, it's a fact. It should never have been that way, got that far. It should never have happened. I should never have let it happen, but I did, and now she's dead.

And I'm still here.

This should have been Rosa's story, not mine, but she's not around to tell it. Instead I, a cis straight guy, am here, so you get my spin. History repeats itself again. Stories of the marginalized told through an ally's eyes, and given historic precedent this is actually one of the better outcomes. It's depressing to think about that, about the state of the world, our bloody past our murky future.

There's nothing for it but a change of perspective. I can weep and mourn endlessly for all I have lost, for all I have yet to lose, I can let all of this defeat me, or I can accept what has gone before, I can grow and bloom and live and do my best to shine my light on the world. I can be better. I can be happy.

Rosa can't.

I love you, Rosa, I always will.

For you, I will carry on.

There will be no more dead years, only great ones.