FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Just look at me. You don't even have to say hi, or even smile. Just tilt your head up a little. Let me know you can see me. Please. Just one more time.

Did that sound desperate? Well, I probably am. I am one of those people that dream of the whole cliché romance thing; love at first sight, the egotistical bad boy with a heart of gold, the beautiful, charismatic, noble hero that comes along and fixes everything. Basically a hopeless romantic you know? Oh, and let's not forget, we can't have all that stuff without happily ever after. That's the kind of stuff I dream about. Sometimes, anyway.

The rest of the time, I realize that I am way too awkward, strange, and emotionally unstable to find someone like that. The most I can really hope for is someone who will try to tolerate my negatives and focus on any positives I might have. And I don't just say that from a lack of self-esteem, though that is probably a contributing factor (who has that nowadays anyway?). I have a bit of a history. Basically, I'm a basket case, and I don't really know what else someone could see me as.

To paint a physical picture though, I'm a Fox, orange, not red. 19 years old, going on twenty. I have the usual Fox markings, black gloves on my arms and legs, orange and white in the appropriate places. My eyes are brown, not a deep, warm brown, not a sweet, chocolate brown, just a dark hard-to-tell-pupil-from-iris brown. I'm tallish, at five foot ten, and kind of skinny. Not really scary toothpick skinny, just not-muscled skinny. Overall, I'm physically average. Well, except for my hair. It's a really dark brown, a few shades short of black, and long, a few inches short of reaching the point where my chest ends and my abdomen begins. When it's not too frizzy or too dead, some people have told me it looks pretty. Since I don't really know what to do with the rest of my body, I like to leave my hair long. We all need our saving graces, right?

But enough about me, back to the prince charming of the hour. He's a Tiger, with scruffy golden brown hair and icy blue eyes. He's sitting on a park bench, leaning down into a notebook or something, writing in it with a pencil.

Or maybe sketching?

For a moment I let myself imagine a picture of me in his notebook, sitting with my knees to my chest against a tree, rays of light shining down through the leaves, the lake glittering in front of me. The bench he sat on was on a turning point of the dirt path that weaved its way around one corner of the lake's inexact shape, which had him facing my right profile. Though I knew that his reason for sitting there probably had more to do with him being tired or wanting to look at the lake, a part of me clung to the fact that he chose to sit down where he would be facing me. Most people would probably avoid the proximity of a stranger and sit at the bench a little further down the path which had an equally if not better view of the lake. But that is where he sat, so this is where I stayed; I hadn't moved for almost an hour.

Yeah, definitely desperate. But in a way it strengthened my argument for why he sat down. It shouldn't take someone this long simply to rest, but it could take this long if someone is trying to draw something while they sit, right? I glanced at my left, seeing my backpack lying as rigidly against the tree as I was, reminding me how stiff I was starting to feel.

I'd been trying to control my breathing to make sure I didn't move too much, but I could only sit still for so long before my limbs started to complain. I decided to chance it and stretched my arms out in front of me. The movement felt good. Too good. The rest of my body was jealous of the special attention I was giving to my arms, each nerve groaning with increased aggravation. I could only hold it in for a few seconds before I gave in to their demands and stretched my legs out in front of me. The part of me that was worried about having broken my position too soon was overshadowed by the part of me that was in complete euphoria over the released tension. I brought my legs back in a bit and arched my back, stretching my arms to either side. I was about to pull my limbs back in and try to recreate my earlier position when a light breeze blew my hair out of the way and I noticed movement in the corner my eye.

The page of his notebook turned. Did he turn it thinking that this new pose was more appealing? I kept my legs half stretched out in front of me and rested my arms on my knees, still looking out over the lake. This was a much more comfortable position to hold. The fetal kind of position I was in earlier probably made me seem more like a troubled, mysterious kind of person. But maybe this relaxed position made me look more approachable and low maintenance, someone just outside enjoying nature.

Or maybe he was not actually drawing me.

Maybe.

This is the part where, unable to control himself any longer, he stands up and slowly starts walking toward me. His steps are silent, and I don't notice him crouching down behind me until he breathes a "hi" into my ear. I turn around, surprised.

_ "Hi," I answer back._

"Sorry," he smiles, "I didn't mean to scare you"

_ "Of course not,_" I reply back."It's perfectly normal to say hi to someone by sneaking up behind them and blowing into their ear"

"I didn't blow into your ear," he says, feigning indignity, "I whispered into it, which is perfectly normal." I laugh, unable to stop myself, and he smiles again. "You have a beautiful laugh."

My face flushes, "And I suppose saying something like that to someone is perfectly normal too."

_"It is when they look like you." _

I blush again at the second compliment. His smile widens, and it is warm and comforting.

"And what do I look like?" I ask shyly. Instead of answering, he pulls out his notebook from behind him and hands it to me. I take it, curious of what might be inside. He positions himself next to me and motions with his head for me to open it. Inside are numerous sketches of different sceneries and people. Their so well done that I can almost see the wind blowing through the trees or hear the airy echoes of the crowds on busy streets. I turn to one with two figures in an empty ballroom. One is on a balcony, facing away from me and towards another figure standing alone on an amazingly detailed tiled floor, hand out, inviting the figure on the balcony to dance. On the next page the two figures are dancing, bodies pressed close together in a standard waltz position. They are looking into each other's eyes, smiling in a way that implied that neither ever wanted the dance to end. The eyes of the figure that was on the balcony are glistening, as if tears are about to form. I want to ask why the figure is about to cry, but the picture is so life like I can practically see them twirling in that large empty room and hear the music that only they are supposed to hear, and I worry that by saying something they might stop and see me intruding in on them, so I can only manage to whisper a quiet "beautiful" before I turn the page.

_ I see myself, sitting under a tree. There is sunlight shining through the branches of the trees, and a few stray leaves are flying gracefully through the air. The sunlight is shimmering on the surface on the lake, and it is so bright I almost feel like I need to shade my eyes from the brightness._

Then I looked at myself. My hair is shimmering in the broken bits of sunlight, flowing behind me on a light breeze. My eyes look infinite and deep as I stare out over the lake.

"Beautiful," he repeats as he reaches over and turns to the next page. It's similar to the one before, but this time my body is more relaxed. And there is one other noticeable difference. Between me and the tree is my Tiger. I am leaning back into his chest with his arms around me. His chin is resting between my ears. I feel my face flushing once again as I look up from the page. He is staring at me intently now. His blue eyes are practically glowing in the shade of the tree. "When I saw you, I knew I needed to draw you, because I never wanted to forget your face. But then you moved, and when I started drawing again I couldn't help myself. Before I realized it, I had drawn us together." He reached over and clasped my hand between both of his. "But now...I don't know if this drawing is enough..."

_ He started leaning in towards me. I wanted to tell him how beautiful the drawings are, that his drawing of me was so much more beautiful than I was. But instead, I just found myself leaning in too..._ Then everything becomes fuzzy and I focus intently on the ducks swimming in the water in front of me. After a few minutes of watching them, I decided my favorite ones were the two black ones that seemed to be completely infatuated with a stick floating on the water.

When my limbs started to feel a little stiff again I looked over. The Tiger was gone. Unable to help myself, I tried to discreetly push my hair back and look behind me. No one there. I sighed, and then laughed at myself. I guess that means no romantic meeting under the tree, then. My fingers played with the ends of my hair while I tried to figure out what to do next. I had spent almost two hours just sitting here. This part of the park was further away from all the little playgrounds and scenic routes, causing it to both attract less attention as well as make it easier for me to hang out here without fear of running into someone, with the exception of actual runners; they were somewhat frequent.

I looked up at the cloudless sky. The blue had only the slightest hint of getting dark. That still left me with some time before I needed to go home. I decided to just walk around for a while and finally give my body a break. I grabbed my backpack and started on my way along the dirt path. The air was chilly, but the day was warm enough that it just felt refreshing.

It was easy to just lose myself to the relief of movement, but I guess I lost myself a little too far because without really deciding to, I started running. Quickly realizing I didn't want to be slowed down by pedestrian traffic, I ran off the path. It would have felt nicer if the edge of one of my textbooks was not stabbing me in the back through my backpack with each step, but the relief flooding the rest of my body was enough for me to ignore it. The trees were bright green with the new spring, and I loved how the wind in the trees made me feel like I was going faster than I really was.

I ran all the way to the back of the park, which was bordered by a simple but very tall chain link fence. After that was a few more yards of grass that dried out on the far side, then lots and lots of dirt, then what looked like factories for something or other farther in the distance. Beyond that I don't know, probably more streets and houses or just more dirt.

I'm coming. Wait for me.

I started picking up my speed, heading straight for the chain link fence. I didn't know whether or not there was anyone around to notice me and question my sanity, and I didn't care. I needed to get past that fence.

But then at the last possible second my resolve weakened and I hesitated, causing my steps to falter. My momentum carried me forward though, and I still found myself crashing into the oversized barrier.

The vibrations from the impact wobbled the fence, but despite its apparent age and rust it was sturdy and ultimately unaffected by me crashing into it. I leaned against it for moment, losing myself again, this time in the lines of pain from the impact with the springy yet still surprisingly hard metal.

But I'm not sure what to do next.

So I just stayed there, leaning against the fence. As the pain subsided I busied my mind by studying the weaving of the metal that made up the fence. The wind would start to pick up a few times and I could feel my heart beat a little faster in my chest, but each time the wind would fade within a few seconds, the world seemingly no different.

After what felt like an hour, though was probably only half that, I could no longer convince myself to stand still so I put down my backpack to mark where I had been standing. I took to pacing back and forth along the fence using two trees as borders that were about an equal distance from my backpack, letting my mind wander. I didn't want to risk missing it by straying too far, so when I got close to either edge I was already looking back over my shoulder to make sure I saw it when it happened. I couldn't tell you what exactly it was though.

Eventually real hours passed by and the sky had finally begun to darken, so I resolved that it probably wasn't going to happen today. I picked my backpack back up and started to retrace my steps out of the park. By this time most of the people had left. The park stays open throughout the night though, so there were still a few stragglers and even one or two people who looked like they had just arrived. The air was getting colder, and even with my jacket I was starting to shiver, the breezes turning icy and unpleasant. I looked at my cell phone to check the time and realized that I needed to hurry to get to the bus stop on time, otherwise I would have to walk the few miles home and risk freezing to death.

Was I being over dramatic? Logic said yes, but my body said start running again.

There were only a few stops before my house, so the ride wouldn't take too long. After I got on the bus I called my mother to let her know that I was going to be late. I looked out the window and let my mind wander while again.

_This is the part where I felt someone sit down beside me. I tried to see who it was through the reflection in the window but my face was in they was, and all I could see was a pair of legs and a pair of hands. The right thumb was idly spinning around the circular pad of an Ipod. My curiosity made me risk facing forward to see if I could catch any more features of whoever was next to me. But the moment I looked forward he turned to face me, and the surprise reflex kept me turning until I was face to face with a Wolf. He had a small scruff of fur on his chin and his eyes glowed silver like the moon. _

If only I lived farther away.

"Hey."

"Hi," I replied, a bit louder than I had planned.

But he just smiled and held out his hand to me, "I'm Tom."

His hand was warm. "I'm Chris."

"Hey, can I ask you a favor?"

"Oh, yeah sure."

"Can you listen to something for me?" he asked as he removed his headphones and handed one over to me.

"Sure."

"Cool. There's this person I like and I wanted-" (Oh. Darn.) "to play this when I ask them out, but I'm not even sure if they like this song. So do you think you can you listen to it and tell me if you think it's cool?"

"Alright," I nodded. He pressed play and we each held an earphone up to our ears. The song was slow, and when the lyrics came in they were sung softly. Yet the voice and the sounds still managed to carry raw and powerful emotions. It sounded unmistakably familiar but I just couldn't seem to remember why. Without realizing it, I started humming along.

"Have you heard this before?" Tom asked after maybe a minute of listening to the song.

"I don't know, it sounds familiar but I can't remember where I've heard it before."

"So, you like it?"

"Yeah. It might be my new favorite song, actually. There's no way your person isn't going to like it. It's amazing"

The smile on his face widened. "Yeah, I think he will too." He? So his person is a he. I wasn't sure how that made me feel. "In fact I absolutely know he will," he said pointedly. Self-consciously I looked around the bus to see if anyone overheard him, but it turned out that there were only two other people on the bus, farther in the back. Neither one of them gave any sigh of paying attention to our conversation.

"I take this bus almost every day around this time," he said, calling my attention back to him.

"Oh, yeah, I take this too. I usually try to get an earlier one though."

"Yeah, the guy I like takes this bus too." My mind flashes to an Otter I've seen a few times on the late bus. It would make sense. This is the last bus of the night, and I've seen the Otter running through the park every now and then when I had stayed later than I had meant to. Unless he jogged home too, it would make sense that he would have to catch this specific bus to get home. If I didn't space out all the time I might have noticed him more often. Which, come to think of it, might also be why I've never noticed Tom before either. Plus, lithe and toned, it would be obvious to see why he might like him. Admittedly I had stared a few times.

Suddenly recognition hits me and I look to the back of the bus again. He's there, his athletic clothes far too thin and short to be able to keep the Otter warm enough this time of night, but showing all too clearly how well toned he really was. I wasn'tt sure, but I thought his eyes might be gray too. A small surge of envy runs through me. They would look really nice together. I can't help but think how small of a chance I would stand even if Tom hadn't already decided to ask him out.

"Is he on the bus right now?" I ask, glancing back one more time to the Otter. TOM sits up and looks to the back of the bus. When he turns back there is a huge smile on his face, and another shot of envy runs through me for the Otter that will get to have that smile.

"Yeah." he says with a slight laugh.

_ "Well go then, ask him out." But I don't pull out the headphone. I can't bring myself to stop the music, even if it is meant for someone else. Instead of leaving, he takes my hand._

"Will you go out with me?"

_Again I am hit, this time with realization, though it felt more like it pulled the rug out from under me. Me. He meant me. I stare for a moment at my hand in his before looking up into his eyes, the gl_ow of a pink neon light passing by lets me know that I already missed my stop. I quickly reached out and tugged on the string for the bus to stop. The aged Raccoon next to me gets up at the next stop, allowing me to maneuver out of the crowded bus. The air was frigid, but I suppose I wouldn't die from the cold, though I would probably catch one if I dawdled.

I really needed to pay more attention. Now I had to walk the rest of the way home. Who knows how far I might have ridden that bus if I hadn't noticed the liquor store's sign. At least the stars were out. Maybe I could stare up at them and then run into a pole or something.

It was usually only a little over a thirty minute walk between the liquor store and where I lived, but the temperature and my backpack were slowing me down and it was closing in on an hour with still a quarter of the way to go. Not that I don't walk longer distances on a regular basis, but the night was unusually cold and my backpack was starting to feel really heavy.

An unusually strong gust of wind blew suddenly from my left. The result was a bush a few feet ahead of me using its long, brown hotdog tipped appendages to point down a dark alleyway.

In my defense, for what happens next, in the daytime the alley is not the least bit threatening. I think it might even be a little wide for an alley and some people cross it daily to avoid having to walk around the entire block. Heck, I've seen little kids walk through it, albeit in groups.

And I know none of those people would walk through it at night, I really do. It's not like it is hard to figure out; dark secluded alley, less than upscale part of town, basically empty street. Most would never cross it this time of night. And neither would I, honest and truly.

On any other night.

But on this particular night, the wind had happened to breeze by me just as I was coming up to the alley and used funny brown hotdog things to point into it. Now, this in itself was not enough to make me do something that could be as potentially dangerous as walking into that dark alley at night. I may have been sorely lacking in good sense, but in cases like these I more than made up for it in skittish behavior.

But on this particular night, not only were those brown hotdog things and the wind telling me to go into the alley, but a white leaf, which seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, skidded past my feet just as I came up to the alley and hurried on into the darkness.

A white leaf!

There were absolutely no white trees anywhere on this street, and yet there went a white leaf, flaunting its luminescence to all who saw it; that is to say, me. Alice followed the color white and it worked out for her, more or less. It seemed like such an obvious sign.

So you see, I had to go into that alley. There was absolutely noother thing I could do. It would practically have been morallywrong for me not to go in, right?

So I did.

The alley was dark, as I've said before, with no light from the moon or the street lamps to illuminate the concrete floor. There was a dumpster near the entrance, and the enclosed space made the smell linger in the air. I looked around the floor, hoping that the white leaf would be bright enough for me to make out despite the lack of visibility. The main portion of the alleyway cut through to the other side of the street, but another section a little less than halfway down branched left into a smaller alley.

I hadn't planned on going in there, not to say that I had any sort of premeditated idea of what I was doing in the first place, but then I heard what I thought was the sound of the leaf skidding along in that direction. I hesitated a moment, then took a deep breath and slowly made my way forward. I made the first left, then another, and then found myself in a slightly more open dead end. The moment I did I regretted it. The skidding sound, I saw, was coming from a piece of trash, some large wad of wrapping by the looks of it, which was being kicked around not by a white leaf, but by a white tennis shoe.

"The fuck are you looking at?" The less than congenial greeting came from a Doberman. Large in size and physic, he managed to look at me in a way that seemed to imply large in capacity to cause me extreme discomfort as well.

I choked on my words and only managed to spew out a half uttered excuse before a door behind him opened and a group of guys of equal size and build spilled out onto the pavement.

"The fuck is that?" asked a Bear, gesturing at me with a motion of his head.

"The fuck should I know, he just showed up," said the Doberman.

"Who the fuck are you?" This addressed to me by a Fox, hulking compared to me. He stood a little bit ahead of the others, so maybe he was like the alpha? Did groups of guys have alphas?

"Sorry, I was looking for something." The steadiness of my voice boosted my confidence some.

"I didn't fucking ask what you were doing, I asked who you are."

He did technically have a point. "My name's Jason." I lowered my left hand, which had been fidgeting with my zipper, and attempted to stand a bit more confidently without looking like I was challenging anyone.

"Who the fuck cares Vick, tell him to get the fuck out of here." A Rat, I think, though I couldn't quite tell in the dark. I assumed by his comment that I was right about the Fox being the central figure, if not leader. My instincts were telling me to leave, but I got the impression that I should wait until I was excused before taking off.

Which turned out to have probably been a bad idea because to the left of Vick was an Ermine, slightly thinner than the others, but that was mostly due to his body type. His eyes bore into me with an unnatural hatred that I didn't quite understand. Did me being here really make him that angry?

I guess my thoughts gave away something in my face, because Vick looked away from me towards the snow white Ermine. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I'm wanna fucking kick his ass."

The F***ers I decided to call them, because that word seemed to play an important factor in how they communicate. I wondered if it was a rule they established. All members of the F***ers must not speak more than a few words before inserting f*** into their sentence; acceptable as an adjective, adverb, noun, pronoun, interjection, or just because.

"Calm the fuck down," Vick ordered the Ermine.

But he just seemed too far gone in his hatred of me. "Look at this fucking long haired faggot." I felt a flare at the word. I don't like that word, never have. And why does me having long hair imply it? He was right of course, since I technically was, but still, a little bit of annoyance ran through me. "Probably fucking hoping we fuck the shit out of him." Annoyance started to boil over, but was then replaced by a shock of cold as I noticed the metal of the knife he had in his hand. He had begun to take a few steps closer to me, and he was already too close for comfort when Vick called out to him.

"Arnold, knock it off!" Thankfully he did. But he didn't take his hateful gaze off me for a second. I was looking him in the eyes, but I was acutely aware of the slight reflectance of the knife in his hand. I wasn't sure how the blade managed to look so shiny in this dark space; like shiny platinum.

From somewhere in the group I hear, "Just get the fuck out of here faggot!"

"There are other curse words besides fuck you know."

My voice was louder than I thought it would be. I didn't even meant to say it, honest. I'm not the kind of person who starts fights. Especially when I am not only outnumbered, but also would have no hope for victory going one on one with anyone of these people. Maybe it was a nervous reaction to the situation. Maybe I was braver than I gave myself credit for. Or maybe I just got tired of the letter F. Whatever the reason, it seemed that the sound of my voice had infuriated the Ermine.

"The Fuck did you just say?"

This is the part where I draw on courage that had lain dormant within me. My quick mind began assessing the situation, anticipating the Ermine's next move and planning my exit point if necessary.

"You heard me!" I shout back at him. He charges toward me, but I am ready. I take out my swords and prepare for his blow.

This is the part where Arnold's fury paralyzed my mind with fear. The only thing I could think of to do was answer his question. "I said...there are other-"

He charges towards me. I have no swords.

I was on the ground before the pain from his punch even began to register. Then he was on top of me, screaming at me, crushing my right arm with his knee. One hand was pulled back, pointing the knife at me. His other hand was pressing down on my chest; touching me, burning.

"I'm going to rip your fucking face off you fucking queer ass faggot!"

In a panic I thrust a free arm above me, my eyes shutting reflexively. I was aware of making contact with his arm, and then a drop of something warm on my cheek. I looked up and saw a small line of red on his white cheek as another bead of blood fell on me. I had pushed his knife into his face. The pause lasted for less than a second before he started growling his head off.

And then I felt the knife carving into my side.

The wound on his cheek was small; superficial. In my mind I saw it grow red and deep on my own body. I felt no pain for one merciful moment. Then it began distorting into something horrible, and no matter how hard I tried to cling to that emptiness it slipped through my fingers and everything turned from airy nothingness to thick red liquid. The knife tore through my clothes with relative ease, but to say he sliced through my skin would give the impression of a nice clean cut. He shredded through my side with his serrated knife blade.

My entire existence shifted and red, blinding pain became the center of my universe. At first it seemed like he was going to saw me in half. But back and forth the knife moved up from my side, spreading the wound over my stomach. My mouth opened and I felt my throat giving voice to my agony, but I could not tell if I was saying anything in particular or just screaming from the pain. I thrashed around under him, but he was naturally stronger and full of adrenaline too. One of his hands had moved to my throat, making me use my free hand to keep him from suffocating me. Through my faulty vision I could see his face twisted in some sort of horrible grimace as he began another cut under my jacket. I felt it less that time.

The knife tore through me a third time before the Ermine was pulled off of me by his friends. Someone hauled me up and roughly pushed me forward, sending shocks of pain up my side and throughout my body. I wanted to fall and writhe there on the floor, but Arnold was shouting profanities at me and I had the good sense to want to distance myself from him more. I used the momentum from the push to start running out of the ally while I clutched at my side, trying to hold myself in. My backpack, still holding on, had become five times heavier.

The farther I got from the Ermine though, the more I began to fear him. There was no way that his friends could hold back that much rage. At any moment I would hear his scream and he'd be on me once again, hacking away at my flesh. But I barely got past the first block before I was trying not to pass out from the pain and was reduced to a slow limp.

Tears blinded my vision as I stumbled my way home. Six times I had to try to hide the large dark stain on my jacket from people passing by, and once it actually worked. I had to walk away from three different people who were trying to convince me to let them take me to a hospital, telling them that my house was right on the next block. The sound of my voice and my ragged breathing probably didn't help to convince them though. By the time I really was only a block away from my house, my vision was starting to black out. I might have just given up right there and let myself pass out if it weren't for the sound of the sirens. I guessed at least one of the people I bumped into must have called an ambulance and told them about a bloody Fox walking around.

It gave me the boost I needed. I forced myself forward, trying to control my breathing to relax my body after each throb of pain. I climbed up the porch steps of our building, thankful that our apartment was on the first floor. It was the first door to the left. I leaned my head on the door and wiped at my eyes. My hand fumbled a bit with the key as I tried to line it with the keyhole, and then I took a few breathes to steady myself. It would be better if I didn't look quite so...disheveled when I walked into my house. I couldn't tell if the blood was still flowing, but after a wave of nausea I decided that trying to steady my breathing was pointless and that I needed to cover up the wound. Still, I pushed the key in slowly trying to make the least amount of noise as possible. I hoped against hope that my family would be out of the living room long enough for me to sneak into the bathroom. Knowing that this was unlikely, I kept my ruined side to the wall as I walked in to lessen the visual shock.

"Todd! Oh my God what happened?!" My mother and sister were sitting on the floor, the television turned on to something. My sister was 15, so hopefully she was old enough not to be forever scarred at the sight of her brother coming home bloodied up late at night.

"I fell," I answered my mother, not even trying to sound convincing. But knowing that I was standing on a carpeted floor made the prospect of falling over very appealing, and it was all I could do just to keep my legs from buckling out from under me. I hurried as much as I could past them to the bathroom, trying not to leave so many stains behind. Inside I tried to sit on the toilet which was thankfully closed, but lost all ability to hold myself up right and slid off and onto the ground. My mother came in through the door that I realized I had not even bothered to close. Her fur was a brighter orange than mine, prettier, a warm candle to her liquid light blue eyes.

"Todd, what happened?" she asked, worried but controlling it well.

"I had an accident." She helped me back up onto the toilet. I tried to hide my recoil from her stinging touch, trying to blame it on the pain.

"Let me see," she said. I pulled down my zipper with shaking hands and she carefully peeled my jacket off of me. I couldn't really lift my right arm and my mother knew better than to try to help me, so instead she brought a pair of scissors and I cut through the existing tears. My mother slid my left arm out and then carefully peeled the fabric from the wounds before doing the same with my right arm. My sister appeared in the doorway for a moment, but disappeared quickly when she saw the wounds.

Okay so, maybe not as bad as I thought? The three cuts were only slightly gaping, but the blood made it look like one big bloody mesh of flesh and fur. Just then we heard the sirens passing through our street. My mother looked down at me, but I avoided her eyes. I knew what I would see. She would be looking at the cuts, deciding whether or not they were going to need special attention, and whether or not we could afford it. I mean, it wasn't that we didn't have the money for it. Health insurance would cover it. But there were other complications that would come along with me and the hospital.

"Can you cover it?" I asked her. I wanted to distract her and hoped that covering it up would make it look more manageable. Also, I was starting to feel nauseous again. She looked at me, understanding the implications of what I was asking her.

"Are you sure?" But she was already reaching under the sink for gauze.

I had to be, so I told her I was. I lifted my right arm and held it up with my left as she began to clean the wound and wrap my abdomen, using up two rolls of gauze. I was twitching too much, so she gave me a third role to bite down on. I bit down and closed my eyes, clenching down on it every time her fingers grazed my bare fur, hoping she was almost done.

"There," she finally said, "we'll look at it tomorrow and decide what to do from there."

"Thanks mom." I said, trying to sound really grateful to cover up the guilt.

"Todd, what happened?" She asked again, and this time I knew there was no getting around giving a usable answer.

"I fell off a fence, and cut myself on some of the wires that were sticking out." This time I did a better job at sounding convincing. At least, I think I did.

"What were you doing on a fence?"

"I was at the park. One of my pens fell through it and I couldn't reach."

My mention of the park gets her thinking, and suddenly she asked "The rusty fence at the end?" and I realized my mistake.

"No, it wasn't rusty."

"Todd, if you got cut by a rusty wire..."

"It wasn't rusty mom."

"Then which fence was it?" My mother was almost as familiar with the park as I was. Our family spent plenty of Saturdays there when I was younger. She still went often enough to know that the park was old and that most of the back fences were rusty. Either I was lying, or I would have to go see a doctor. "I don't remember when was your last tetanus shot and-"

"Mom." I sighed, giving up. "Trust me, I don't have tetanus." I looked at her, making sure she understood my meaning. She did. Of course I didn't fall from a fence, but clearly I didn't want to tell her what happened. And she at the very least strongly suspected that the wounds were made by someone as opposed to something. But she didn't pry. My mom was always good at giving space, especially with me. Probably too good, but that was my fault.

"Alright," she sighed. I looked at her for a moment. Her light brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but wisps were floating around her head like a fuzzy halo. Her blue eyes were set in slight depressions, hinting at a life of many sleepless nights. On her face was a look of motherly concern and, though usually well hidden, sadness. It was nobody's fault; that's what my family believed, and a few others who understood the situation. I was never so sure. So to try to alleviate some of my guilt, I stood up and hugged my mother.

"Thanks," I told her. She froze in shock for a second but was quick to hug me back, being careful to keep her fingers in a fist.

"I love you," she said as she lowered my head and kissed my forehead, surprisingly one of the only things that was okay to do.

"Love you too." I walked out of the bathroom and saw my sister sitting on the sofa doing a decent job at acting like nothing had happened.

Since our apartment was in the front of the building, we had one window looking out over the street. Opposite that was our small kitchen, separated from the living room by a half wall. The bathroom was right at the start of the hallway to the back of the living room. My parents' room was at the end of the hall, and my room was in between. My sister had decided to move into the living room, choosing to sleep on the pullout sofa.

"Night," I told her lamely and headed to my room. It used to be our room, but it was small and she usually ended up falling asleep in the living room anyway. When she was thirteen she asked our parents if she could move in there, so they bought her a cupboard for her to put her stuff in. A few months ago she convinced them to let her put a lock on the doors for privacy, not that anyone went through her stuff anyway, but just in case.

After closing my door I had just enough energy to turn on the ceiling fan before letting myself fall face-first on my bed, which I instantly regretted. The pain that shot through my body was raw and unrelenting. It was all I could do to not cry out and alert my family. This was going to be a long night. After the worst of the pain subsided, I reached over and turned on my lamp. My bed was narrow, and next to it was a low desk and a fold up chair, and next to that a small bookshelf. My closet was at the foot of my bed, the sliding door slightly ajar. I closed my eyes, letting myself indulge in the cool air running over my exposed fur. This is the part where I open my eyes and see someone sitting on the desk chair. The chair has been moved so the person is sitting right next to my bed. They reach over and scratch behind my ear for a little while. I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the soothing motion. When I open them again they take my hand in theirs, rubbing the back of my hand with their thumb. We stay like that for a long while, the only sound coming from the ceiling fan overhead, and slowly I completely forget about the pain coming from my side.

I heard my dad coming home, knew my mother would tell him about what had happened. I considered pretending to be asleep but quickly decided that it would be better to talk to him about it while the injury was fresh. Hopefully pity and my obvious discomfort would make the conversation short. He opened the door and, once he saw that I was awake, came over and sat on my desk chair, making me cringe a bit.

"What happened?" he asked. I wasn't sure how much my mother told him so I decided to just stick to my story.

"I fell."

He sighed. "From what?"

"A fence."

"What were you doing climbing a fence?"

"I dropped my pen on the other side." I suddenly realized how bad that sounded. I should have said my cell phone.

"A pen? All this for a pen? Todd...you can't keep climbing fences or walking into busy streets or going into places you're not supposed to for things like that." So, I had a bit of a history of short sighted actions. To be fair though, I only ever walked into busy traffic once when I was nine. I was absolutely positive that I had seen something floating away from a bush across the street and I needed to see what it was. "You have to think, son. I know those fences in the park, you're lucky you didn't break your neck!"

"I know. Sorry."

"And it is not just for your sake. We can't afford all your mishaps forever you know."

For a moment I felt a twinge of hurt that my dad was talking about the burden of my actions rather than my wellbeing. But I quickly shrugged it off, knowing that my dad loved me and that he really did care about my health. And he was not really wrong to point it out anyway. I have probably cost a small fortune over the years. Another wave of guilt washed over me, but all I could do was offer a lame, "Sorry."

He sighed again. "Feel better." Then he reflexively put a hand on my shoulder. I wasn't expecting it, and before I could stop myself, I flinched. His hand instantly drew back, and on his face I saw shocked panic and, since he was not as skilled at hiding it, the same sadness I had seen in my mother. And I hated myself for it.

"Sorry," he said quickly.

"It's fine," I told him, shaking my head a bit.

After he left the room I twisted my body a bit, letting another wave of pain shoot through me as punishment. But that was all the self-pity I could manage just then. After that I just lied there, hoping the aches would stop long enough for me to fall asleep. They didn't, but I fell asleep anyway. Everything I could remember from my dreams that night was red and angry, filled with the sounds of swords and knives. Except one which left me with an odd feeling of triumph and satisfaction; a flash of white and the sound of a leaf blower.