Independence Day -- A TF story

[Feathertail]

... by popular demand! Sort of.

This story was commissioned by a fur on one of the messageboards that I frequent, and he asked for a lot of small edits and added scenes. He's not responsible for the unusual format, though, which was inspired by a certain website! I also gather the name's already been used someplace ...

Apologies in advance, because it's kind of long. In fact, I'm going to have to divide it into multiple parts just to post it. ^.^; I'll make the other ones replies to this thread, so as not to clutter the boards.














May 10th

Mood: Okay
Location: Home

LS keeps saying I should try this whole online journal thing. So here I am. Let the friends list requests begin! Gotta friend 'em all, right? I kid, I kid ...

Edit: Wow, srsly? I didn't even know some of you had online journals! I'm flattered.




May 19th

Mood: Impatient
Location: Still at home

Apparently if you have one of these online journaling whatnots, you're supposed to write about yourself in them. I'm not sure I see the point, because I lead the most boring life ever and you don't want to read about it. But LS keeps bothering me, so here goes ...

Today I read library books. All day. And tomorrow I'm taking them back. Or maybe the day after. Who knows. I'm lazy.

Exciting, huh?




May 22nd

Mood: Bored
Location: Still at home

My last entry didn't satisfy LS. So today I'm going to write until I hit the word count she gave me. Here goes ...

bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored bored

... okay fine.

I live in a fourth-story apartment in the City of Gray. That's not what it's called (no kidding), it's just what I like to think of it as. It's shinier downtown, but it's just a shinier shade of gray. Even the buildings with glass sides just reflect the gray sky and the gray buildings and streets. There was a tornado near here a few days ago, and I was wondering if it would sweep me off to the Land of Oz.

My apartment, which I would think of as "My rockin' bachelor pad" if it were, in fact, rockin', has four walls and a ceiling. This sets it apart from some of the other units in the building. The mice and cockroaches know this, which is why I spend lots of time with them. Of course, it helps that I don't do the dishes often enough.

I make a living by doing odd jobs online and collecting unemployment insurance. This is a rare skill, as they've made it so hard that only people who are able to read can apply. Did I mention I like reading? I hate going to the library, though -- I'd buy from Amazon, but I like being able to read while eating. And for some reason, you need money to eat. Imagine that! I also hate going to the store, but it's another prerequisite to eating.

I'm still about a thousand words short of the word count she gave me. But a picture is worth a thousand words, so here's a picture I snapped of the view outside my window:

Error: Picture not found.

Edit: Rats, I still can't get it to upload. Any ideas? What am I doing wrong?




May 30th

Mood: Scared, nervous and frustrated
Location: Heck

I am never using a public library terminal to look something up ever again.




June 3rd

Mood: Sarcastic
Location: Not heck

LS keeps needling me to write. So here goes.

Let's see ... today's writing prompt, up on the online journal website, says "Have you ever hugged somebody you didn't know in person? Has anyone you didn't know ever hugged you?"

Answer ... yes. When I was active in the furry fandom. And I will never do so again for as long as I live. >_<

Edit: Both.

Edit 2: A close personal friend has informed me that she happens to be in the furry fandom, and doesn't like hearing people make fun of it. So the comments thread for this entry is now closed. Sorry.




June 5th

Mood: Wry amusement
Location: Dry apartment

My refrigerator just gave up and died on me. This morning. While I was still asleep.

I am so glad I didn't have any meat or animal products in there, or I wouldn't be eating for the rest of the week. *munches on celery and carrot sticks*




June 6th

Mood: Bemused
Location: The place with four walls and a ceiling

Remember our talk about furries, earlier on? That's what our talk about vegans the other night reminded me of. Apparently, in order to be a good ol' red-blooded American one must eat steak from a Texas longhorn every night, just toasted enough so that it's still raw and squidgy in between the gray parts.

FYI, I have dietary restrictions that keep me from eating animal products. Any of them. At all. I've been this way for a year now, for reasons that are, frankly, none of your business. Sometimes I feel like I'd kill for a hamburger, but the last time I went to McDonald's (for a salad, mind you) the smell drove me away. It's like death warmed over, and deep-fried in lard. And I can remember liking that smell, but now it just makes me sick. It's like my body knows that it can't digest it, and it's keeping me from making a serious mistake.

How serious? To the wise guy who talked about sneaking an egg into my "soymilk smoothie:" That would've killed me. I mean it. One night I woke up with the worst stomach cramps, and not a clue what had caused it. So the next day I checked the ingredient label on the expired bread that I'd bought, and it turns out it had milk and eggs in it. Now I always check the ingredients, even at fast-food restaurants, and if it's not vegan I don't eat it.

And to the other wise guy, who went on about "rabbit food:" Shut up. SHUT. UP.




June 12th

Mood: Furious
Location: Barricaded inside my apartment

I hate dogs.

I don't mean I dislike dogs in general. I mean I hate dogs. I hate every one of them individually, from Great Danes and little yippers to Chihuahuas that work for Taco Bell. I hate them all.

I live down the hall from a couple that keeps two German Shepherds. And they take them out for walks at least four times a day. Every morning, I get jolted out of my sleep by barking and whining and claws scratching their door. Then I lay there as I hear the door open and these claws, tons of them, clicking across the hallway. Coming closer. And I'm tired, I don't want it to scare me, I've been through this a million times, but I have to stave off this feeling of terror every single time.

Sometimes I see them in the hallway or on the stairs, and I have to duck out of the way really fast. Because when those dogs see me, they start barking. And they have the loudest bark, that hurts my eardrums and just pierces right through whatever mood that I'm in and sends me into a panic. Yes, I know I'm a wimp. I don't care.

You know what happened today? I was walking back up the stairs, clutching my MP3 player, trying to restore my shattered nerves after this confrontation I'd had at the Post Office. And I was so absorbed in what I was listening to, and in wanting to get home, that I bumped into the German Shepherds coming down the stairs. They started barking right next to me, and I threw myself up against the wall, staring at them, unable to think, unable to realize that I'd just flung my MP3 player down two flights of stairs. And the guy apologized to me, but I barely heard him over the sound of my heart beating and those dogs barking like crazy.

I don't know how long I stood there hyperventilating. And when I finally managed to calm down, I realized what had just happened and ran downstairs, to find an MP3 player with a cracked screen. That thing was my lifeline, on my trips outside my apartment, and now it won't even turn on anymore.

At least my headset still works. My stupid, custom-rigged headset. With a broken microphone, and tape holding the two parts together. I hate it I hate it I hate it.

And I hate dogs.




June 14th

Mood: ...
Location: maybe this is heck after all

sometimes, i really wish i could just curl up and die.




June 21st

Mood: Shaken
Location: The place where I spend my whole life

I apologize for my last entry. I've been under a lot of stress this past year. And I try to hide it, but sometimes it shows.

To those of you who suggested that I seek counseling: Maybe it'd help, but I can't afford it. I'm not a student, and I don't have any insurance.

LS has been trying to talk me through some of my issues. I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about all of them, and I feel bad about imposing on her anyway. But she insists, and I'm kind of glad that she does, because as stressful as talking about it has been it's also been a relief.

I'll let you all know how things turn out.

[Feathertail]

June 29th

Mood: Nervous
Location: Here

Okay ... this post is friends-only. I don't want to do this, but I stayed up late last night talking to LS and she really thinks that I should. It doesn't seem like such a great idea now that I'm here and awake, but she made me promise to tell you all so I guess that I have to.

...

I keep distracting myself with other websites. This ... this is really uncomfortable to talk about! And I mean, it's almost funny how nervous I am, and I can laugh at it if I think about it, but then I get ready to type and I start to sweat and I ... I ...

... I have Zooanthropy.

Permanent. Not cyclical.

I've avoided talking about it, because I try not to think about it. I don't want to think about it. I spend so much time on the computer because it's easier to pretend that I'm normal. But I'm not. I'm not even human.

The doctors say I'm a Sylvilagus Floridanus Sapiens, which is what you say when you don't want to tell your patient he's a half-human half-rabbit freak. Here in the city I get weird looks, but if one of you people saw me out in the real world you'd cross to the other side of the street, or cover your kids' eyes and pull them away from me. I wouldn't blame you. I don't want to see me, either.
 
The worst part is, I've always wanted this. Back when I was in grade school, I read about the loup-garou of medieval France. And they were these sick people who were killing and eating their neighbors' livestock, but I saw that and thought "That's so cool." And then we were taught all about how the Native Americans were like lycanthropes and such, and how some of their tribes would deliberately eat diseased animals so that their saliva would carry the disease. And it was savage and inhuman, but I just thought "Why wouldn't anyone want to be part animal?"

I knew that ... that it was a terrible disease that scarred people for life, and could kill you if it wasn't treated. But it just had this hold on me that I couldn't explain. And I'd look at pictures and photographs of infected people, and I don't know why I was so interested but I had to stare at them. I just had this feeling of wonder, like there's more to life than ... than four walls and a ceiling. And like there are things that are still possible that we haven't dreamed of.

Maybe part of it was my upbringing. I went to an elite private school, had next to no friends, and spent all of my free time in front of the computer.

But my parents did alow pets. For my birthday one year they bought me a rabbit. He was black and inquisitive and full of energy, and he kept me company while I was doing homework and playing on the computer. He was one of my only friends. And I'd look at him curled up in the cage every night, and I couldn't help but feel that he was better off than I was.

And for some reason, that idea took hold of me and wouldn't let go. I wanted to be a rabbit. So I read Watership Down, and wrote these stories based on it, and roleplayed being a rabbit with these people I met online. I even got into furry, and the people there aren't as crazy as the media makes them out to be ...

Well, most of them aren't. I was one of the crazy ones. I hung out on DA, on the normal messageboards, on the mainstream furry hangouts where they're all talking about art and things. But I also hung out on a zooanthrophile website. Where it was all like "You must be 18 or over" and "For educational purposes only," and other disclaimers that should have scared me off but didn't. And you wouldn't believe the things that they had there.

I was on the edge of my seat reading this long series of diary entries on their messageboard, by a person who was being transformed by the infection. He posted photos. He took a (low-quality) video, and showed how his voice was changing, and I could barely bring myself to click on it I was so scared. I'd never seen an infected person before, and thought that I never would. And when you spend that much time dreaming about something, to be faced with it for real is terrifying.

He wasn't taking any medicine for it at all ... he was just letting the disease run its course. I read all the posts in between his, and the other zooanthrophiles were cheering him on, and congratulating him for documenting the whole thing for everyone to see.

Then he stopped posting, and I read where people had been speculating as to what had happened. Then I read a post by his sister. He'd gone feral and attacked someone, and the both of them had died. After that and a couple of shocked responses, a mod reminded everyone that their website did not condone this type of experimentation, and closed the thread.

My heart was in my throat, and my sides were plastered with sweat. I felt like I'd been through the whole thing with him, and I hadn't been able to stop reading because I'd had to know what had happened. After finding out, I swore off my interest in that kind of thing altogether, and resolved never to even think about it again.

You may be surprised that I only mentioned one person who had done this, when everyone there wanted to. The reason they didn't was because it's hard, like ... like killing yourself is hard. The kind of thing that you think about doing, but for one reason or another you can't follow through with it. And that'd take a lot of effort and planning. I mean, getting bitten by a wild animal is easy, but the animal might not be a carrier, so you'd have to go through multiple animal bites to be sure of getting infected. The animals would all have to be killed to be tested. And in the process, you'd probably come down with all kinds of other diseases.

That's not something you can explain to others. You put your life at risk on purpose, and your family and friends are right to think that you're messed up in the head.

Messed up in the head ...

What was I thinking?

They wanted us to do volunteer work at the college I studied at. And I could've done all sorts of things, but my friend was working at the raptor center so I decided to join him. They take care of the city's peregrine falcons, that nest up on the sides of the buildings. The ones out in the country got killed off by DDT and scared farmers, and we've got one of the only surviving populations in the world. Some people want to get rid of them and the pigeons, because they're afraid that they'll spread disease. But crazy people like me wanted to keep them alive, so we did crazy things like keep track of each nest, and take care of their young when the parents get killed. And when an adult falcon got injured, we had to care for it personally, until it could be reintroduced into the wild.

Did I mention that this was volunteer work? As in, they didn't get paid for it? Any bird they had there could be a carrier, could infect them with this life-threatening disease if they made a mistake, and they took care of those birds anyway. I thought the people who worked there were heroes, but knew I was too scared to do the most dangerous things that they did. Then all of a sudden they needed my help, and I had no time to argue.

We were trying to tag one of the falcons, before letting it go. And I tried to hold the bird down, but I made a mistake and it sliced the side of my wrist below the glove. Then I made another mistake -- I let go.

You wouldn't believe how quickly we got out of there. And the lady I worked with and I exchanged this look, like "Did we just survive that?" Then she looked down at my hand, and her eyes went wide. And she told me to hurry and wash it off, while she got the disinfectant.

The bird was no longer an issue. It'd have to be killed to be tested. Now we had a medical emergency on our hands, with a potentially life-threatening condition. And I was in shock, because I was scared from the attack and my heart was beating so fast that I couldn't think straight. It was like that cut on my arm was the most fascinating thing in the world. And then there was this voice in my head that told me "Wouldn't it be neat to find out what it's like?" And I let that voice keep talking, because it meant that I didn't have to move or do anything except watch blood run down my forearm. I was so scared.

The lady I worked with -- it wouldn't be right to call her by name -- came back with the disinfectant, and she started to apologize for taking so long but then she stopped in midsentence, and stared down at my wound. And she was like "Why didn't you wash that off? Do you want to get infected?"

And I didn't know what to tell her.

She dragged me to the sink, and made me scrub down for a whole minute while she got the bandages ready. Then she dried my wrist off with some paper towels, smeared disinfectant all over the cut and wrapped gauze around it. And then she made me go back on campus and report to the infirmary, because my tuition only covered their medical care.

And then I waited. They let me take the next few days off from class. I could've asked my roommate what they covered, but I didn't. All I did was sit there in the dorm and wait for the test results to come back. Every time the phone rang, I jumped. At one point I thought about letting my furry friends know, but how could I tell them how I felt about it when I didn't even know? I wanted to get up and pace, and I probably could have walked circles around campus. But I'd given them my dorm room's phone number instead of my cell, so instead I practically dug a hole into the room below. I don't know if I ate anything that whole day.

The phone finally rang on the second day. And the person on the other end told me that that falcon had been a carrier of Zooanthropomorphosis Virulens, and I needed to go in for treatment right away. And I was sweating, and my hand was shaking, and I kept stuttering as I asked her to repeat herself because the line was so quiet. But when I finally hung up, I felt relieved. And I just sort of slid down the wall to the floor and let out my breath, still shaking but laughing at how silly I was, now that the tension was over.

Now that I'd had a whole day to think about it, and to realize how serious it was, I knew that I didn't want to let the infection manifest. I wanted to go in for treatment, and get it all taken care of so that I could go back to my classes. I knew that it'd take at least a few days just to take hold, though, so I didn't like run right back to the infirmary or anything. Instead, the first thing I did was I went on my favorite (sane) furry messageboard, and let them know what had happened.

I told them all of my feelings about it. I told them about the crazy site that I'd been to, and I admitted to having an unhealthy fascination with this kind of thing. But I ended by letting them know that I wasn't going to put my life in danger or make my family nervous. I was going to do the responsible thing, and get myself treated.

Then I ran straight to the infirmary. They made me take this liquid medicine that was like a chalk milkshake. And they gave me this huge bottle of it, and said that I had to take it three times a day until it was empty. It was nasty, but I did as I was told. And I was nauseous the whole rest of that week, but I "chalked" it up to the awful medicine.

Then my hair started to fall out.

I sprinted to the infirmary. They did all kinds of tests on me, and drew blood samples and everything. And then they told me the awful news. My infection wasn't responding to the treatment, because the disease had become resistant.

They put me on chemo. Retroviral therapy. All of it. It lasted for months. All of my hair fell out. I missed all my classes that whole semester. I could barely eat anything, and I eventually had to be hospitalized and put on an IV drip. There, I was in and out of consciousness, and they had a TV on the whole time but I couldn't tell what was on. I'd just have these weird dreams, then not even wake up but realize I was watching the television.

They finally contained the infection. But the damage had already been done. And I remember I was drugged up and incoherent, but I was screaming and waving my arms at the nurse -- the arms that were still hooked up to IVs -- and demanding that they cure me. And I hadn't even looked in a mirror or noticed a change or anything, I was so incoherent. They'd just told me that the disease had taken effect partway, and I didn't want that. I wanted to be better again. I wanted everything to go back to normal and for this stupid nightmare to be over, and I couldn't accept that it wasn't.

They told me all sorts of things trying to get me to calm down, everything from "It's barely noticeable" to "People with your condition can still live long, healthy lives." But none of it prepared me for what was to come.

When they discharged me I was still incoherent, and I just sort of sprawled there in the backseat of my roommate's car while he drove me back to the dorms. He told me that he was glad to see me again, everyone wished me well, so on and so forth ... oh, and someone had found this thing online where I'd said that I'd gotten infected on purpose, and people were talking about that. And the insurance company had gotten wind of it, and they were denying my claim, which he'd found out because he had "accidentally" opened a letter they'd sent.

I just sorta bobbed my head and looked out the window, and thought it was funny how this reflection of a rabbit's face was looking back at me. Then we got there, and my roommate helped me upstairs, and I crashed.

The next day I woke up. And for precisely two seconds, I was glad to be home. Then I realized what'd happened and had a panic attack, right there. My thoughts were like "AAAHHHH my face is messed up my hands my arms everything! I'm not cured! They sent me home and I'm not cured! But I can't be cured but I have to be but I can't but this isn't right! This is not supposed to happen!" And I don't know if I was screaming or what, but my roommate heard something and opened the door, and I dove under the covers and shouted at him to go away.

I spent the next half-hour there, sweating and breathing fast, unable to move and unwilling to get up. I'd finally remembered what my roommate had said, and I knew right then that my life was over. All the feelings I'd kept private, all the dreams and secret longings, and now my whole family if not the whole world knew. And I would be paying for it 'till I died.

I didn't want to be a rabbit in real life.

College was over, my friendships were over, everything I had was gone. And when I remembered seeing my face in the car window, and realized what I had become, it was like being physically socked in the gut. I contorted with the impact, and held that position until it hurt. Because it was the cruelest thing that'd ever happened to me.

Finally I got up, looked in the mirror, and cried.

Thus began my education.

[Feathertail]

My first lesson? Nothing in all of modern society is designed for people who have fur. Here are a few examples: Zippers. Clothes. Showers. I used half a bottle of shampoo on my first attempt at cleaning myself, and I looked like a disheveled wreck afterwards. Nowadays I just use bar soap, and I look even worse.

As for clothes, I practically killed myself trying to get dressed, only to find out that everything was too tight ... like putting your belt on around a fur coat. My pants wouldn't fit because my legs bent in different ways now. I looked ridiculous, and felt like an idiot. Then I almost passed out from heatstroke before I finally got the clothes off. And maybe it wasn't that bad, but it sure felt like it at the time. I've never worn a fursuit before or since being infected, but I can't imagine it being that much more uncomfortable.

So clothes were out. I couldn't register for classes without them, and I couldn't go out to the dining hall, either. But I had to do something, because I couldn't eat anything that we had in the room. What I ended up doing was wrapping a sheet around myself while I sat in front of the computer, trying to adjust to typing with claws and looking around a muzzle with eyes on the sides of my head.

The first place I went to was that furry messageboard that I'd posted on. I read the replies to the thread that I'd posted, and they were all congratulating me, but then I got to this one where he called me out for being a zooanthrophile. He said that I was a sorry excuse for a fur, an example of why one should never do things like what I did, and a waste of medical treatment that could've gone to someone who needed it. And he hoped that I got what I deserved.

I closed the browser right there, but I'd already begun to cry. I've never gone back to that messageboard.

My roommate finally brought back a salad after his classes, but by then I wanted to starve myself and just let the pain blend in with everything else. I ended up scarfing it down after he'd gone to bed, then staying up late that night and crashing the whole of the next day.

You may be thinking that this was not a sustainable lifestyle. You would be right. Pretty soon the college kicked me out and sent me back home to live with my parents. And you can't imagine how awkward that first meeting was.

I don't remember half the things that they said to me on the long drive home. My dad kept addressing the person he thought I was, the irresponsible freak who had done this to himself, and barking about how a man had to own up to his responsibilities. And my mom was trying to calm him down and reassure me, but she had no idea how to do either.

I didn't respond to either of them. I was so scared. I didn't know how to cope with any of this, and I wanted to curl into a ball and wait for it all to go away. So that's what I did. The whole ride home I was curled up in the back seat of the car, sandwiched in between my boxes of books and the door, trying to hide myself and knowing I couldn't. And the few short weeks I spent at home -- which seemed like an eternity -- I hid as best as I could, sleeping during the day and reading and going online at night.

The whole time I felt nervous, terrified, trapped ... I felt like I had been tossed in a sack, and had no idea when the hunters were going to skin me and eat me. I could barely leave my room without quaking in fear. Slowly, I began to realize that I wasn't even thinking like a human anymore, that the rabbit part of my brain was telling me that everything was dangerous and everyone was a predator and that I should be afraid all the time. And the human part of me knew that was irrational, but I couldn't help it. The most I could do was try to distract myself, between episodes where I'd curl up and shake and wish that the world would leave me alone.

I had one of those when my dad finally decided to have a "talk" with me, a stern talking-to about "independence." He said he didn't care what kind of foolish mistakes I had made, but whatever I looked like I was still a man, and that meant that I had to get out there and work. And I just nodded to whatever he said, still curled up in my sheet, barely comprehending the ramifications of what he was talking about.

Long story short -- he found me a position here that lasted just long enough to qualify me for unemployment insurance, after I cracked under the pressure. And I tried, I honestly did, but one never knows what kinds of monsters are hiding behind office file cabinets to eat little bunnies like me. *rolls eyes*

So that's it. That's why my life is heck, and why I stay indoors all the time. I can't deal with going outside, and even when I have to go out there I come back feeling like I barely survived. I've got these baggy clothes I can wear now, but ... it's just too much. It's like all of the feelings I used to have are intensified. Every sound out there is like listening to headphones with the volume turned up too loud. The sun is too bright, the air is too humid, and dark alleys have sharp, pointy teeth. And everyone on the sidewalk is either staring at me or trying to ignore me, and not succeeding. No matter how confident (or even resentful) I feel when I walk out the door, I'm reduced to a quivering wreck inside of five minutes.

I hate having these stupid instincts, and I hate having this stupid body. And I know that I'd always wanted this, but frankly, I don't care anymore. You couldn't have done more to disillusion me if you'd walked up to my ten-year-old self and slapped him.

Maybe someday things will get better. But I doubt it. I don't have a job, I don't have a car, and I have no way to get either of them as long as I'm living like this.

And now that I've given you all Too Much Information, I'm going to logout and never come back to this website again. >.>

[Feathertail]

June 30th

Mood: Nervous
Location: In front of my PC

You have no idea how hard it was to log back on and see what comments you people left.

And you have no idea how much they mean to me. <.<; This is the only place I can go to talk to other people where I actually feel like a person. And to be able to ... to tell you what this is like, what I'm like, it's just ...

Thank you.

I don't know how you'd act if you met me in person. And you probably don't either. But I know you'd at least try, and for that I am grateful. Most people don't even try; they don't want to think about who and what I am any more than I do. But I have to be around them, and see the looks on their faces, and it hurts because I feel like I don't matter. And then I feel like they're going to eat me. And my brain tries to protest, but my instincts remind it about what people used to do to people who look like me, and ... and I just turn into a wreck.

The black lady behind the counter at the store that I go to is more sympathetic than most. Maybe she understands what it's like to be stared at.

"Hello, Mister *my last name*," she says, when I get up there with my handbasket, in my long wool coat and the pants and hat that are too big for me. "How are you today?" And I cringe as soon as I hear her voice, but I force myself to reply.

"Fine," I say in a near-whisper, unconsciously scanning the room for hiding places.

"Some weather we're having, isn't it?"

I nod, too quickly, to whatever she says, looking away nervously. She's the nicest lady in the world, but it scares me out of my mind to talk to her. It's like ... like I said, it feels like everyone I'm around could eat me, if they wanted, and they're likely to do so at any moment. And there's nothing I can do except hide, and try not to be noticed. Then if somebody talks to me, it's like being a deer in a semi's headlights. Because rabbits do the same thing. When a car is heading right for them, they ... we're too scared to move, so we just freeze right there in the middle of the road. And that's what I do when somebody tries to talk to me.

I don't know if any of you would have the patience to try to talk to me. Because I'd have to fight off that panic as soon as you said anything, and I don't know how long it would take me. You'd probably get bored, or frustrated, or even nervous, and awkwardly excuse yourself. I've seen it happen before. That's why that lady stands out -- I know she can sense how afraid I am. She tries her best to put me at ease, and she doesn't act like there's anything out of the ordinary about me or the way that I'm not responding to her. By the time that she's done checking me out, I'm shaking so bad I can barely grab the receipt. But when I finally leave the store and she waves a cheerful goodbye, I feel both relieved and grateful.

The people who work at the library aren't half as nice. They look at me suspiciously, and they handle the books I pick out like they're contaminated. (I thought everyone knew you couldn't get infected from other people ... ) Do you remember that time I posted about the library here? That was because I had decided to look something up on their computers, and I hadn't known you were supposed to fill out a time card.

The librarian got mad. She came over and gave me a talking-to, and it sounded like she'd been waiting for a chance to do so. And if you thought I sounded like a mess just trying to talk to normal people, you have no idea how bad it got when I was talking to someone who hated my guts.

I had no coherent thought whatsoever. I didn't feel even a little bit like a person anymore, I felt like a scared rabbit. Everything was BRIGHT LIGHTS! SCARY NOISES! BIG THINGS TRYING TO EAT ME! I curled up in a ball underneath the table, scratching at the edge of it with my hind legs like I was digging a burrow. And they tried to pull me out, but I clung to whatever I could because I just knew that I would die if they got me out of there.

I don't know how long I stayed there. Long enough for people to come by and stare at me. I couldn't see them, because of the way I was curled up, but I knew that they were there. I'd just about convinced myself that this was ridiculous, and it was time for me to come out, when someone else who worked at the library came over and tried to coax me into coming out, and it was like my brain locked up again. I had to fight to ignore her and pretend that she wasn't there, and that I was coming out of there and standing up all of my own volition.

I filled out the timecard and sat down in front of the computer, acting like everything was normal and I hadn't just been curled up trying to hide from a predator. Like I was an ordinary human being, and I was just doing what I came there to do. Then I broke down and cried as soon as she left, and buried my face in my coat until it was over.

After that, I wrote that one entry.

You think you know what fear is? You don't. You have no idea. You're human. You eat scared little animals every day.

When I became part rabbit, I didn't just get long ears and a poofy tail. I got Fear. The kind that takes over your mind, body, and soul. The kind that makes you forget you were ever a human being and just makes you want to escape, to hide, to do anything in order to get away from the thing that is chasing you.

When I'm having a good day, and I'm all cozy in front of my computer, I like to pretend that I'm still an intelligent being, and that it's okay to live in a human world. Then I meet actual humans ... and even though I've forgotten my place on the food chain, my instincts remember.

*takes a few deep breaths; tries to calm down*

Okay. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that. I guess it just sounded like some of you really don't get what this is like, so I'm trying to help you all understand.

I'm not sure you can understand ... but I really appreciate the fact that you're trying. Thank you all, so much, especially the ones who took the time to listen to me on IM. I'll try not to be so depressing in my next entry, I promise.




July 4th

Mood: A little frustrated
Location: Standing in front of the computer

Computer users and Internet addicts everywhere will be able to sympathize with today's post.

Yes, I'm talking to you, with the dirty dishes stacked next to soda can pyramids. I've got those too, just like everyone else who's too lazy to clean up after themselves. But you know what else I have?

Fur. Everywhere.

It's all over my chair. It's all over my bed. It's stuck to the sides of the shower, and I think that it's merged with the threads of the carpet. The dust on my shelves is furry, and my library books are starting to sprout hairs in between all the pages.

I thought of it now because the sun just shone in through the window, and I spent about five minutes mesmerized by all the glowing fur in its rays. Then I realized where it had come from, and groaned.

That would be the morning sun, incidentally. Which reminds me of something else I need to do. Good morning night!
 


July 4th, 2:08 PM

Mood: !
Location: theplacethatilive

im going to die im going to die im going to die im going to die someone help me please




July 4th, 6:32 PM

Mood: In awe
Location: Home, sweet home

I'm sorry to leave you all hanging like that! I'm glad that I posted that, though, because ... well, just let me explain what happened.

Today the repairmen were scheduled to come and finally fix my refrigerator. But I didn't find out about it until half an hour before they were supposed to show up. Because I kinda slept in late, if you'll recall.

I had a panic attack. A full-blown, cold sweat, lump-builds-up-in-your-throat-and-you-scream-'till-the-neighbors-beat-on-the-walls panic attack. My house was a mess (a furry mess), I was a mess, I didn't know how long they would be there and I had noplace to hide.

I went online and posted that last entry. Then I still didn't know what to do, so I jumped on the IMing client. I told the first person I found, who just happened to be Ell Ess, that I didn't know what to do and I thought I was going to die. And right there and then, she offered to call me on the phone and talk me through what was happening.

On any other day I would've panicked at the thought of that, but today I was willing to do anything. So I agreed, hastily. She was on dial-up, so she had to logout before she would call me. And I was crying and shivering still, but as soon as she signed off I held my breath.

Then the phone rang, and my heart jumped into my throat. It stayed there for the second ring, and the third. Then I closed my eyes, and picked up the phone.

"This is *her name*," said a muffled-sounding female voice.

"H-hi," I said, and sniffled.

"What did you want to talk about?" she asked.

"I, I, I don't know ... "

There was a pause. Then she said "If you don't want to talk about this, that's okay," and started telling me about what was happening in the furry fandom. About the art that she drew, and the conventions she goes to to sell it. I didn't know if I wanted to hear about it at first, but I just kept listening, because I didn't know what would happen if I told her to stop. And then she told me about these furry webcomics that I can just barely remember, but some of them were so funny that I had to start laughing, even though I was still taking shuddering breaths and trying to settle down.

Then I heard footsteps creaking up the stairs, and I froze. And she seemed to sense what was wrong, and asked "Are they there?"

I didn't say anything. I couldn't.

"*My name*," she said, "you need to go answer the door for them."

The footsteps came closer. I was pouring sweat under the clothes I'd thrown on.

I heard LS take a deep breath. Then she said "I'm going to tell you something I haven't told any of my online friends yet. But when I do, you have to promise to get up and answer the door."

Someone knocked.

"Okay?"

I swallowed. "Okay ... "

"Are you going to answer the door?"

I made myself stand. "Yes," I said, and started walking towards my front door, willing myself to believe that there was nothing on the other side.

"Okay," she said, and was silent for a few seconds. Then, "I'm a dog right now."

"What?"

"I have cyclical zooanthropy."

I opened the door, and I didn't even look at whomever was out there. I smelled human beings, and I heard their voices, but whatever they said I just nodded to. I watched out of the corner of my eye as they took apart my refrigerator and started doing things to it, and listened as LS explained.

Apparently she's a Cocker Spaniel like four times out of the year, for a week each time and then a few weeks on either side growing and shedding her canine features. She's been that way since she was little, and she's really shy about it. You'd think that she wouldn't be, since she's a furry artist and all! But apparently she's been hiding it for years. Her fursona isn't even a dog; she says it's not her fault that she is one in real life, and that she likes wolves a lot better.

She missed last year's furry convention in her area because she was only partway human at the time, and she didn't want them to see her like that. But there's one coming up in a few months that she thinks is going to be when she'll be a full anthro. And she didn't want to go, and couldn't even remember the last time she'd gone out in public like that, but she agreed to go this time ... on the condition that I join her. So if you're a fan of her art, you'd better start trying to talk me into it like right now. ^.^;

To be honest, though ... the idea of a convention still scares me. A lot. But to be around people as supportive as some of the furs that I've known, and to even be there with another anthro, and for that anthro to actually be LS there in person, well ... I'm definitely considering it!

"So do you still hate dogs?" she asked, right before she hung up.

I just laughed, because I couldn't believe I was talking to one. And I still can't believe it! I don't know how she got me to do any of this. I don't know how I survived having people inside my house and even talking to one on the phone, let alone one who could literally eat me. But I have, and I feel so exhausted and relieved at the same time.

Maybe for you, this would be no big deal. But I feel like I just climbed a mountain. Or ran a marathon, or fought off a wild animal. And I know that going outside again, let alone to that furry convention of hers, is going to be very hard. But right now I feel like I can do anything, and I want to stay feeling like that for as long as I can.

You know what? I'm going to go down to the store and restock my refrigerator. And I'm going to thank that nice lady for all the times she's been patient with me.

After that, I'm going to come back and clean house a bit. Then I'm going to go watch the fireworks.

Happy Independence Day, everyone!

[Pontos]

Very nice!

I prefer the normal 1st or 3rd person perspective over the journal format, but that doesn't mean i don't like it. It's refreshing also
This is also the first story using LiveJournal style I've ever read XD

I'd recommend you posting this same story in either the TSA mailing list  or on Shifti. You'll get a lot of other readers and feedback there

[Feathertail]

I'd recommend you posting this same story in either the TSA mailing list  or on Shifti. You'll get a lot of other readers and feedback there

I'm familiar with both! The TSA was an early influence on me. The mailing list archives are closed though, which sort of creates the impression in my mind that they're a closed community as well. ^.^; At least, I wasn't sure that I wanted to subscribe to it sight-unseen.

There's also a lot of adult content on both TSA and on Shifti, and I'm not sure I'd like a subscription to that ...

[Pontos]

I'm familiar with both! The TSA was an early influence on me. The mailing list archives are closed though, which sort of creates the impression in my mind that they're a closed community as well. ^.^; At least, I wasn't sure that I wanted to subscribe to it sight-unseen.

There's also a lot of adult content on both TSA and on Shifti, and I'm not sure I'd like a subscription to that ...

The archive is closed because it was being maintained by only one person, and the work to add stories, and even filter those that were not up to the standard was quite a job.
Shifti replaced the TSA website in a way, but the mailing list is still going strong.

About adult stuff, I don't recall much of it on the TSA, and even if there is it should be tagged as such. Shifti has almost none of it.

I'm sure Phil Geuz and SlyRabbit will love this story

[Lopez]

Very nice! As usual, you have a strange talent for blending anthro ideas into the modern-day world seamlessly. This story could have been MUCH more awkward, but the way you handled it felt completely natural.

Hmmmmmmmm...the overall theme of overcoming instincts is present here. It's harder to read into because of the unique perspective, but the...narrator? of the story wants to use her experiences to prevent the same kind of fear that she has from taking over other people. Which is nice, and cheerful.

I look forward to your next story!

[Virmir]

Very impressive.  I love how you turn a bleak and depressing situation to a hopefull one at the end. Very nice conflictions with human intellect and animal instincts.  Loved this one all together.

[KaiAdin]

... and thats why it's better to TF into a predator! Sure you may want to Kill and eat something/one occasionally, at least your not scared of anything that moves!

<random personal thought> I've never been to a convention of any sort, the only ones here are for anime, and I'm not into it enough to drag myself to one, I wonder what their like </random personal thought>

Ayways a Cool story. It got me thinking a bit, which is always a good thing! Thanks for posting it!

[Feathertail]

You're welcome!

I should write a story like this about someone who gets turned into a predator, just to prove that it'd be worse. ^.^