FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

HI GUYS! I know it's been a long time since I've posted ANYTHING! I'm so sorry! I've been very busy. This is a serious piece of work that I've been working on in my free time. I know you're probably disappointed for All the Little Things if you're a fan of that series, but this is just as good! Follow Kayleb, a distraught fox kit who can't find his way! It is unsuitable for furs under the age of 18 to view due to COARSE LANGUAGE, PROFANITY, SEXUAL CONTENT, AGE DIFFERENCE, PEDOPHILIAL CONTENT, etc. If you don't like what you're reading, turn it off! But I hope you'll like it! Enjoy!

"I understand that you're not very good at talking out your issues. That's why we're here this week, this Monday. I hope you had a good weekend at least?" the doctor just sat across from me, acting all smug and pretentious, like he has all the answers to my problems. Psychology isn't even a real doctor's degree, they just give them the title so they don't complain and make them feel all powerful. They go to med school and all, but for a reason dealing with the mental and emotional statuses, not actually, you know, saving lives whose body parts are cut or bleeding.

My weekend wasn't good at all, it was shitty in fact. I rarely ever had a 'good weekend'. As a matter of fact, I rarely every have a good day. Why this so-called doctor insists on asking me every Monday is beyond me, since I rarely say anything anyway. All I ever ask is if I can go, or when we will be done, or why I'm even in this shit-hole to begin with. Of course I have an issue with telling people my issues, because if you had the kind of issues that I do, you wouldn't really be winning a Pulitzer anytime soon either.

This so-called doctor insists that I keep trying with the medications and the two times a week therapy sessions with him every Monday and Thursday, and that we will go over any 'issues' I've got at the time that seem to be on the surface. I hope he learns soon that nothing is going to work. He's just a jibber-jabber old fart of a monkey, and needs to retire already. His methods are totally old-school and way unorthodox for most of his patients, but then again we don't really have any sort of say in it, since we are the forgotten ones, the ones who get left behind because we're not good enough or we don't meet our parent's standards of who they think and want us to be. They try to force change down your throat in the beginning, and if they're lucky enough, it takes and then they have their image of a perfect little angel, of what they want their child to be. The unfortunate ones, or the ones simply put, like me, who can't change are sent away and forgotten about; 98% of the time, anyway.

I mean, that's not always the case. In rare instances a child will be so drugged up by the medication that this old timer ape prescribes that the child is basically a gelatin mold for them to form back up. Sometimes that does work. Other times, a child will undergo a mental breakdown and almost be at the brink of suicide when they have an epiphany and be 'reborn' or whatever the hell they call it. I'm not one of those cases, and most likely never will be. Because in about 60% of these mentioned things is that the child was brought by some snobby rich couple who didn't want to deal with the rebellious teenage years of childhood. This wasn't always the case of them being a teen, and quite a few were youngsters who felt like they don't belong because of their species, or breed, or class, or gender, or the way they suffered from depression, or they were gay or lesbian or whatever it was that drove their unloving parents to put them away in a shitty place such as this.

This place isn't a house, or a home, or whatever. It's not an orphanage or a shelter for the homeless or even some penitentiary for youngsters (even though they treat it like all of the above). This hellhole is, as I mentioned before, a place for children to be forgotten. This place is sort of like a lab but also has mixes of prison influence by the way this place is run. Tough mean guards, solitary confinement for the rowdy ones, three square shitty tasteless meals a day, poking and prodding on occasion by doctors who want to 'fix' you to your parent's standards and an eventual boot date of the day after you turn 18. I suppose you could call this a tiny bit orphanage since there were people who were single or a couple who couldn't have kids because of whatever reason, that could adopt you - a thing that sticks about 42% of the time. The actual adoption rarely ever happens because they see the kid, get scared and back out. That's just like usual anyway. This place sucked in every manner: the guards, therapy, testing, meds, and fellow 'inmates' even, it all sucks. A lot. I know the only way I'm getting out of this shit is by adoption or by the birthday of me turning 18. So I guess I've got a little under 6 years to go now.

I'm twelve, just turned about 3 months ago. The only reason I know that is because the doctor had brought me a chocolate cupcake with the number 12 in icing on top. I've done things no one even wants to hear at ghost story reading time. I'm sure it's not as bad as I'm saying it is, but whatever. The thing is, is that -

"Kayleb, hello? Kayleb? Still with me here?" I'm interrupted in the middle of my thoughts for this old buffoon of a baboon saying, "you really should talk things through with me, or at least someone. It's not good to keep things bottled up inside."

"Whatever doc, are we done here?" I ask impatiently as my claws curl around the metal edge of the uncomfortable foldable metal chair he makes me sit in that I swear he only makes me do to make my but cold, and then numb. My tail lays down still behind me and my ears pin to the back of my head. I'm a fucking cowards, I'm weak and inferior because I do this every time. I know I have problems, and I don't want to talk about any of them with anyone - nearly.

"You'll be getting a new therapist Thursday, and then the rest of the time, so I'll no longer have to deal with you. I mean you should be able to better get along with him. He's younger and since I know how you're so faggy, you'll probably find him hot."

"You know what you son of a bitch! You're an asshole motherfucker who deserves to go die somewhere! Nowhere nice because any place nice is too good for how much of a lowlife scum fuck you are! The deepest, darkest, hottest place in hell is too nice for you!" I was pissed now, he really got my blood boiling, and there was no way he should talk to me like this. He has no right to judge me or call me names like that! I swear I will kill him I think to myself as I stand up tall, growling and pulling at the chains they kept me in, my dirty red scrubs loose around my thin frail frame. There's nothing that matters. I'm forgotten and I know that, but it's still worth fighting for, even just the tiniest little bit in my mind. I may have given up hope a long time ago, but whatever kept me going other than spacing out helps.

"I'll give you that much. Guards! We're done here, come take him. He's being a little out of control, so you're going to need to sedate him," the doctor calls out and two of the guards who had been standing right outside the door came bursting in. Both of them were large, beefy cats, tough and stone hard. They removed the cuffs and pinned me to the ground. I struggled as hard as I could, growling and seething with rage squirming and fighting. It was obviously pointless and I was no match for the two large guards since I'm twelve and slightly undernourished. I struggled for freedom and my breath, and the move I tried the harder they squished me to the ground, and the harder it was for me to breathe. They stuck me with a syringe of their magical serum that makes you noxious and drowsy, and pretty much go limp, but not to sleep. The last thing I can remember the doctor telling me as I pass out from lack of oxygen is that I am not his issue anymore, thankfully, and all I was is a burden to him.

After the things I've done, I wouldn't want me either. I go on about this a lot, and I know it's not that bad, but it's still enough. All I do now is lay on my bed that the guards were gracious enough to throw me very roughly onto, uncomfortable and cold, but all I do is think so it doesn't really matter I suppose. I know I'm gay, and I always will be. There's nothing wrong with it, is there? I don't think so. I'm sure there are plenty of adults who are and they live their lives just fine. This damned state. The rules and the quality it's in. This place I'm in, I heard once, is state funded. Just barely, but they make it into the profit to keep this place just barely running smoothly enough. Anyone who was under 18 and above 6 who didn't have a home was sent to one of these places, and this one was the worst off of them all.

The problem is that I have problems and no parents and no place called a home, and I most likely never will.