Shifti - User contributions [en]

User talk:Feathertail

2009-07-29T19:54:26Z

Feathertail:

Well, Hello there! Welcome to Shifti, and enjoy your stay. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:06, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti! Always glad to see new contributors. This is a bit of a standard boilerplate introduction that will hopefully help get you started on some of the basics you might not have noticed. Firstly, there's a main index of help pages at [[Help:Contents]] - a link is provided in the default sidebar titled "Help." It's a good idea to browse through the table of contents there so you'll know what information is available should you need it.

If you're here to post stories, there's a guide specifically for the basics of that over at [[Help:Posting stories]]. General editing assistance is at [[Help:Editing]], and information about how to use talk pages (like this one) is at [[Help:Talk pages]]. If any of the formatting seems esoteric at first, don't worry - wikis are collaborative and other editors and administrators will come around to help tidy up anything that's left in a messy state, if you want. The more complex details can be learned later as you go.

You can set up a personal homepage for yourself at your root user page, which you can find by clicking on your user name at the top of the page. Use your user page however you see fit; most authors generally list their stories there, along with a bit of biographical information about themselves and perhaps some links to other websites. See [[Help:User pages]].

If you have any questions, you can either click the edit link for this page and write it here or you can follow the link in my signature to my own home page and leave it in the talk page over there. You can find a list of Shifti's administrators at [[Shifti:Administrators]]. Once you've got your bearings, feel free to delete this welcome message from your user talk page. [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

:With that boilerplate out of the way, Welcome to Shifti! -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti my comrade. I see that you have written way more stories then I have.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 15:32, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

Welcome aboard from the cervine admin. :) --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 00:06, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

:Hellos to people who've commented here! ^.^ --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:56, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

::Hi there. The categories: Stories by Genre, Stories by TF, and Stories by Author are not intended to add to the story pages themselves. --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 17:22, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

:::Ah, okay! Sorry about that! I'm still getting the hang of things here ... --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 19:54, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Categories ==

Please add categories to your stories, so we can know what they are about before reading them. [[User:Forestier|Forestier]] 13:02, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

:I'm on it! Sorry, it's taking me a little while to figure things out here. ^.^; --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Page Protection ==

For stories posted as sub-pages of your userpage there is no reason to apply protection. They are automatically protected by one of the extensions we have installed. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 16:54, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

:Okay, many thanks! --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

User talk:Feathertail

2009-07-29T16:57:00Z

Feathertail:

Well, Hello there! Welcome to Shifti, and enjoy your stay. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:06, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti! Always glad to see new contributors. This is a bit of a standard boilerplate introduction that will hopefully help get you started on some of the basics you might not have noticed. Firstly, there's a main index of help pages at [[Help:Contents]] - a link is provided in the default sidebar titled "Help." It's a good idea to browse through the table of contents there so you'll know what information is available should you need it.

If you're here to post stories, there's a guide specifically for the basics of that over at [[Help:Posting stories]]. General editing assistance is at [[Help:Editing]], and information about how to use talk pages (like this one) is at [[Help:Talk pages]]. If any of the formatting seems esoteric at first, don't worry - wikis are collaborative and other editors and administrators will come around to help tidy up anything that's left in a messy state, if you want. The more complex details can be learned later as you go.

You can set up a personal homepage for yourself at your root user page, which you can find by clicking on your user name at the top of the page. Use your user page however you see fit; most authors generally list their stories there, along with a bit of biographical information about themselves and perhaps some links to other websites. See [[Help:User pages]].

If you have any questions, you can either click the edit link for this page and write it here or you can follow the link in my signature to my own home page and leave it in the talk page over there. You can find a list of Shifti's administrators at [[Shifti:Administrators]]. Once you've got your bearings, feel free to delete this welcome message from your user talk page. [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

:With that boilerplate out of the way, Welcome to Shifti! -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti my comrade. I see that you have written way more stories then I have.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 15:32, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

Welcome aboard from the cervine admin. :) --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 00:06, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

:Hellos to people who've commented here! ^.^ --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:56, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Categories ==

Please add categories to your stories, so we can know what they are about before reading them. [[User:Forestier|Forestier]] 13:02, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

:I'm on it! Sorry, it's taking me a little while to figure things out here. ^.^; --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Page Protection ==

For stories posted as sub-pages of your userpage there is no reason to apply protection. They are automatically protected by one of the extensions we have installed. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 16:54, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

:Okay, many thanks! --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

User talk:Feathertail

2009-07-29T16:56:46Z

Feathertail:

Well, Hello there! Welcome to Shifti, and enjoy your stay. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:06, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti! Always glad to see new contributors. This is a bit of a standard boilerplate introduction that will hopefully help get you started on some of the basics you might not have noticed. Firstly, there's a main index of help pages at [[Help:Contents]] - a link is provided in the default sidebar titled "Help." It's a good idea to browse through the table of contents there so you'll know what information is available should you need it.

If you're here to post stories, there's a guide specifically for the basics of that over at [[Help:Posting stories]]. General editing assistance is at [[Help:Editing]], and information about how to use talk pages (like this one) is at [[Help:Talk pages]]. If any of the formatting seems esoteric at first, don't worry - wikis are collaborative and other editors and administrators will come around to help tidy up anything that's left in a messy state, if you want. The more complex details can be learned later as you go.

You can set up a personal homepage for yourself at your root user page, which you can find by clicking on your user name at the top of the page. Use your user page however you see fit; most authors generally list their stories there, along with a bit of biographical information about themselves and perhaps some links to other websites. See [[Help:User pages]].

If you have any questions, you can either click the edit link for this page and write it here or you can follow the link in my signature to my own home page and leave it in the talk page over there. You can find a list of Shifti's administrators at [[Shifti:Administrators]]. Once you've got your bearings, feel free to delete this welcome message from your user talk page. [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

:With that boilerplate out of the way, Welcome to Shifti! -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti my comrade. I see that you have written way more stories then I have.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 15:32, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

Welcome aboard from the cervine admin. :) --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 00:06, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

:Hellos to people who've commented here! ^.^ --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:56, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Categories ==

Please add categories to your stories, so we can know what they are about before reading them. [[User:Forestier|Forestier]] 13:02, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

I'm on it! Sorry, it's taking me a little while to figure things out here. ^.^; --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Page Protection ==

For stories posted as sub-pages of your userpage there is no reason to apply protection. They are automatically protected by one of the extensions we have installed. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 16:54, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

Okay, many thanks! --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

User talk:Feathertail

2009-07-29T16:56:23Z

Feathertail:

Well, Hello there! Welcome to Shifti, and enjoy your stay. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:06, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti! Always glad to see new contributors. This is a bit of a standard boilerplate introduction that will hopefully help get you started on some of the basics you might not have noticed. Firstly, there's a main index of help pages at [[Help:Contents]] - a link is provided in the default sidebar titled "Help." It's a good idea to browse through the table of contents there so you'll know what information is available should you need it.

If you're here to post stories, there's a guide specifically for the basics of that over at [[Help:Posting stories]]. General editing assistance is at [[Help:Editing]], and information about how to use talk pages (like this one) is at [[Help:Talk pages]]. If any of the formatting seems esoteric at first, don't worry - wikis are collaborative and other editors and administrators will come around to help tidy up anything that's left in a messy state, if you want. The more complex details can be learned later as you go.

You can set up a personal homepage for yourself at your root user page, which you can find by clicking on your user name at the top of the page. Use your user page however you see fit; most authors generally list their stories there, along with a bit of biographical information about themselves and perhaps some links to other websites. See [[Help:User pages]].

If you have any questions, you can either click the edit link for this page and write it here or you can follow the link in my signature to my own home page and leave it in the talk page over there. You can find a list of Shifti's administrators at [[Shifti:Administrators]]. Once you've got your bearings, feel free to delete this welcome message from your user talk page. [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

:With that boilerplate out of the way, Welcome to Shifti! -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti my comrade. I see that you have written way more stories then I have.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 15:32, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

Welcome aboard from the cervine admin. :) --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 00:06, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

Hellos! ^.^ --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:56, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Categories ==

Please add categories to your stories, so we can know what they are about before reading them. [[User:Forestier|Forestier]] 13:02, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

I'm on it! Sorry, it's taking me a little while to figure things out here. ^.^; --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Page Protection ==

For stories posted as sub-pages of your userpage there is no reason to apply protection. They are automatically protected by one of the extensions we have installed. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 16:54, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

Okay, many thanks! --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

User talk:Feathertail

2009-07-29T16:55:58Z

Feathertail: /* Categories */

Well, Hello there! Welcome to Shifti, and enjoy your stay. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:06, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti! Always glad to see new contributors. This is a bit of a standard boilerplate introduction that will hopefully help get you started on some of the basics you might not have noticed. Firstly, there's a main index of help pages at [[Help:Contents]] - a link is provided in the default sidebar titled "Help." It's a good idea to browse through the table of contents there so you'll know what information is available should you need it.

If you're here to post stories, there's a guide specifically for the basics of that over at [[Help:Posting stories]]. General editing assistance is at [[Help:Editing]], and information about how to use talk pages (like this one) is at [[Help:Talk pages]]. If any of the formatting seems esoteric at first, don't worry - wikis are collaborative and other editors and administrators will come around to help tidy up anything that's left in a messy state, if you want. The more complex details can be learned later as you go.

You can set up a personal homepage for yourself at your root user page, which you can find by clicking on your user name at the top of the page. Use your user page however you see fit; most authors generally list their stories there, along with a bit of biographical information about themselves and perhaps some links to other websites. See [[Help:User pages]].

If you have any questions, you can either click the edit link for this page and write it here or you can follow the link in my signature to my own home page and leave it in the talk page over there. You can find a list of Shifti's administrators at [[Shifti:Administrators]]. Once you've got your bearings, feel free to delete this welcome message from your user talk page. [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

:With that boilerplate out of the way, Welcome to Shifti! -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti my comrade. I see that you have written way more stories then I have.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 15:32, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

Welcome aboard from the cervine admin. :) --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 00:06, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Categories ==

Please add categories to your stories, so we can know what they are about before reading them. [[User:Forestier|Forestier]] 13:02, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

I'm on it! Sorry, it's taking me a little while to figure things out here. ^.^; --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Page Protection ==

For stories posted as sub-pages of your userpage there is no reason to apply protection. They are automatically protected by one of the extensions we have installed. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 16:54, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

Okay, many thanks! --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

User talk:Feathertail

2009-07-29T16:55:24Z

Feathertail: /* Page Protection */

Well, Hello there! Welcome to Shifti, and enjoy your stay. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:06, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti! Always glad to see new contributors. This is a bit of a standard boilerplate introduction that will hopefully help get you started on some of the basics you might not have noticed. Firstly, there's a main index of help pages at [[Help:Contents]] - a link is provided in the default sidebar titled "Help." It's a good idea to browse through the table of contents there so you'll know what information is available should you need it.

If you're here to post stories, there's a guide specifically for the basics of that over at [[Help:Posting stories]]. General editing assistance is at [[Help:Editing]], and information about how to use talk pages (like this one) is at [[Help:Talk pages]]. If any of the formatting seems esoteric at first, don't worry - wikis are collaborative and other editors and administrators will come around to help tidy up anything that's left in a messy state, if you want. The more complex details can be learned later as you go.

You can set up a personal homepage for yourself at your root user page, which you can find by clicking on your user name at the top of the page. Use your user page however you see fit; most authors generally list their stories there, along with a bit of biographical information about themselves and perhaps some links to other websites. See [[Help:User pages]].

If you have any questions, you can either click the edit link for this page and write it here or you can follow the link in my signature to my own home page and leave it in the talk page over there. You can find a list of Shifti's administrators at [[Shifti:Administrators]]. Once you've got your bearings, feel free to delete this welcome message from your user talk page. [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

:With that boilerplate out of the way, Welcome to Shifti! -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 09:55, 30 June 2009 (UTC)

Welcome to Shifti my comrade. I see that you have written way more stories then I have.--[[User:Guvnor Of Space|Guvnor Of Space]] 15:32, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

Welcome aboard from the cervine admin. :) --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 00:06, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

== Categories ==

Please add categories to your stories, so we can know what they are about before reading them.

[[User:Forestier|Forestier]] 13:02, 28 July 2009 (UTC)

== Page Protection ==

For stories posted as sub-pages of your userpage there is no reason to apply protection. They are automatically protected by one of the extensions we have installed. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 16:54, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

Okay, many thanks! --[[User:Feathertail|Feathertail]] 16:55, 29 July 2009 (UTC)

User:Feathertail/Rough Landing

2009-07-29T16:54:28Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/Rough Landing" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

User:Feathertail/Onnaneko

2009-07-29T16:54:16Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/Onnaneko" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

User:Feathertail/Magic Can Happen

2009-07-29T16:54:00Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/Magic Can Happen" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

User:Feathertail/Independence Day

2009-07-29T16:53:47Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/Independence Day" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

'''Legal Info''': This story is copyrighted by Jared Spurbeck, aka Tachyon Feathertail, and is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0] license. You may write your own stories based on it or post it on your own website, so long as you credit me as the orignal author (preferably with a link to [http://feathertail.livejournal.com/ my LiveJournal]) and license your own story under the same license. Have you hugged a penguin today?

Arbutus' fursona is an unregistered trademark belonging to him, and may not be used without his permission.

'''Independence Day'''

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.

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.

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. >.>

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 <del>morning</del> 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!

[[Category:Feathertail]] [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Furry]] [[Category:Stories by author]] [[Category:Stories by tf]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Rabbit]] [[Category:Stories by genre]] [[Category:Science fiction]]

User:Feathertail/Imaginary Friends

2009-07-29T16:53:36Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/Imaginary Friends" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

User:Feathertail/Help Wanted

2009-07-29T16:53:23Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/Help Wanted" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

User:Feathertail/A Dream Come True

2009-07-29T16:53:12Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/A Dream Come True" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

{{author note|'''Legal Info''': This story is copyrighted by Jared Spurbeck, aka Tachyon Feathertail, and is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0] license. You may write your own stories based on it or post it on your own website, so long as you credit me as the orignal author (preferably with a link to [http://feathertail.livejournal.com/ my LiveJournal]) and license your own story under the same license. Have you hugged a penguin today? 

Hayaikawa's fursona is an unregistered trademark belonging to him, and may not be used without his permission.}}

{{title
|name=A Dream Come True
|author=Jared Spurbeck
|user=Feathertail}}

"Hayaikawa!" His mother pounded on the door again. "Hayaikawa Iwao! Come out of there at once! We're not paying for your Internet if you're not going to get a job."

One ear on top of his head cocked towards the door. And a part of Hayaikawa's brain, the part that hadn't panicked, thought "Hey, that's kind of neat." The rest of him just stared at his fox ears and muzzle, and the white fur and claws on his hands, and the bushy tail that was brushing the bathroom wall as he crouched on the sink in front of the mirror. And he was so scared that he was starting to have those detached thoughts, because it was like the part of his brain that could think and the part of his brain that could feel were no longer speaking to each other.

"I wonder what my friends online will think?" the part of his brain that was still working thought, and it was like the thought just came to him without his having to think it. The rest of him was gripped with this panic that was just getting worse and worse.

More pounding on the door. "Hayaikawa! You don't have time to be staying in there. I'm supposed to be at work right now. Come out of there, I still need to drop you off at the bus stop!"

"That would not be a good idea," his brain thought, unbidden.

His throat began to tighten.

"What if somebody saw me?"

An animal whine started to build up in his throat, and he fought it back, not knowing what would happen if his family heard it.

"I mean, if you saw me, for instance. You'd start crying and screaming ... "

He tried to hold it back as best as he could, but his eyes began to water. He could no longer breathe.

" ... and you've already been mad at me for not getting the grades that you want me to. So what're you going to do when you see ... that ... "

The whine came out of his throat.

"What was that?" His mother was startled.

Hayaikawa jumped down from the sink and curled up next to the bathtub, hugging his shoulders and burying his head in his arms and rocking back and forth slowly, too terrified to do anything else. "Go away go away go away ... "

He kept repeating that in his head, as his fox ears cocked towards the door and listened to his mom and his dad arguing. They were talking about what to do with him, and they had switched to Japanese but he still understood most of it. So he knew that his mom was talking about grounding him for life, and his dad was being patient with her and suggesting that she wait on that.

Finally his mom left for work, and his dad knocked on the door. "Hayaikawa?" he asked. "Are you alright?"

"Go away go away please just go away ... "

"Your mother is worried about you. You're not talking to us, and we don't know what's happened."

The thought came to him that "I'd like to talk to you right now, but I don't know what my voice will sound like and I'm scared that you'll find out what's happened."

"She's worried that you are using drugs, and are trying to hide their effects from us."

"I'm not, dad. I've just been having these strange dreams lately, and they've been getting so real and vivid ... "

"I told her that that was preposterous, because our son would never do that. But it's hard to defend you to her when you are refusing to talk to us."

" ... and I learned how to control them, and I looked forward to them every night. And that's why I started getting my homework done fast, so I could get to sleep and get back to the dreams ... "

"I would very much like it if you would talk to us."

" ... and I never ... I ... I ... "

"Are you alright?"

Another short whine escaped his throat. He buried his face in his arms and shook as he cried his new eyes out silently, choking back the noise that he wanted to make and just screaming inside.

His father stood outside, saying nothing, the entire time. Then, finally, "I have got to leave for work, or I will be late. You have my cellphone number. Please call me and let me know how you are."

Footsteps went away from the bathroom door. Then the front door opened and closed, and the car door opened and closed, and the engine started and his dad drove off. Hayaikawa was amazed at how clearly he could hear it all.

Then he heard a loud CLICK somewhere in the house, and it made him jump up and look around, fur standing on end. A second later there was another click, and then the heater vents turned on. Warm air blew into the room.

Hayaikawa huddled next to the heater vent, letting it dry his tears. He sniffled, and grabbed a tissue from off the sink to dry his muzzle with. Then another, and another, until he had a small pile of them. He threw them all in the trash, and shivered next to the vent.

What was he supposed to do now?

The thought came to him that what was happening was impossible. Because of that, he realized, he had to be dreaming still. The thought gave him hope, and helped him to calm down.

How had he lost control of the dream? How had he forgotten that he was dreaming? Hayaikawa did not know. But he knew a few ways to find out.

The first way he knew was to look in the mirror. If he wasn't himself when he looked in the mirror inside a dream, his reflection was always distorted, and he was unable to look at it clearly. Hayaikawa had already looked in the mirror that morning, but he wanted to be thorough, because dreaming could mess up one's perception of time. (He made a mental note to make sure that the clock readouts made sense.) So he crawled back onto the sink, and looked at his face.

His face was not even the slightest bit human. It looked just like that of an arctic fox, with thin white fur that was tinged with ice blue. His nose was black and his eyes were brown, and he stared into them, seeing a wide-eyed fox on the other side of the mirror and unable to comprehend that it was him.

He touched the tip of his muzzle, and could feel the pressure placed on his nose bone. Then he pinched it shut and tried to breathe through it, and was unable to. Finally he traced one claw all the way up to his forehead, and it made him want to sneeze. A thought came to him, and he scritched at the top of his head, but he wasn't sure what to make of the feeling.

He held up his hands to the mirror. They looked strange, but he could see them clearly, too. He did not have fingernails anymore, but dull claws, which he could not retract and which stretched out past his fingertips. And the undersides of his fingers and the palms of his hands were coated in black, leathery pads. He pressed his two palms together, and it felt like he was wearing gloves. But from the back, his hands looked almost normal.

So did his arms, except that they had thin white fur on them. These are my arms, he thought, looking at them. And yet they're not. They weren't like his face, which looked all fox. They almost looked human. He traced a claw along the top of his forearm, feeling the hairs part in front of it. And then he carefully pinched himself. It hurt, just like it always had, and he smoothed out his fur afterwards.

Okay ... he thought, and looked in the mirror again. Now what?

Behind him, his tail swished, and he turned around to look at it. It was bushy and pure white, and looked spectacular. Hayaikawa wished that it weren't stuck behind him, because he very much wanted to look at it. He reached around and felt it, running his hand all along it, and it felt fluffy and soft. But it was uncomfortable for him to do that, because his tail didn't want to be pulled upwards in the arc that his arm was traveling. He let go of it and let it do what it wanted to, and it swished itself as he looked at it and grinned.

Hayaikawa sniffled and blew his muzzle again, then tossed the tissue into the trash and looked back up at the mirror. There he was, a real live fox, with ears and tail and a muzzle.

He shrank from himself, because he didn't want to accept it. It wasn't a thought so much as a feeling; his subconscious was scared, and wanted his human parts to be him, and to think that his fox features weren't. It felt like it had been violated, and was refusing to let itself be this.

Hayaikawa closed his eyes, and counted to ten in his mind. And when he opened them and looked in the mirror again, he was the fox, tail and facial features and all. And he sniffled, and grinned nervously, and let his subconscious stop worring about "How can I be that?" and just accept that he was.

Then he hopped down from the sink, unlocked and opened the door, and went to go set up his webcam.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
Hayaikawa took a whole slew of pictures of himself, after drawing the curtains and making sure that the front and back doors were locked. Then he realized that he hadn't showered yet, and decided he might as well do so.

It took him a long time, because his fur wanted to tangle instead of wash. By the time that he finally got out he was covered in soaking wet fur, which stayed damp even after he'd used two thick towels. He wiped the fog off of the mirror and looked at his messed-up fur, and decided that it was a good thing that he'd already taken the pictures. Afterwards he put on his pants backwards, so that his tail would have someplace to go.

It was eleven o'clock when he finally ate breakfast. Sugary cereal didn't appeal to him at the moment, so he fried up some vegetarian sausage instead. It was warm and delicious, and he didn't even need to add cheese.

He tried not to think as he ate, because he knew if he did he'd be scared again. But he couldn't help it, because his mind was starting to wander. "What's going to happen to me?" it thought. "What should I do?"

"What can I do?"

He tried to think of a government agency he could call. Then he imagined men in black suitcoats quarantining his house, their guns photoshopped into walkie-talkies as people in spacesuits climbed through the windows. And he didn't think that he liked that idea.

Try as he might, though, Hayaikawa couldn't think of any scenario in which that didn't end up happening. The only question was, what would he tell his parents?

He did not want to face them, because he was scared of how his mother would panic and he had no idea what his father's response might be. So he decided instead that he'd write them a letter, and somehow manage to be outside the house by the time they came back home. He wasn't sure how he'd get anywhere on foot in suburbia without being noticed, but he decided he had to try ...

... after he was done on the 'net.

It was easy to get distracted on the Internet, because Hayaikawa really wanted to be distracted right now. He didn't want to think about what he'd have to do, or how badly things would turn out, or what sort of panic his mom would be in. So he sat there on the chair in his messy room, in front of his old computer, and played Flash games for two hours.

After that he decided he needed to start planning what he would do. He wanted to pace, but there was nowhere in his room where he could, so he crawled over the clothes and things on the floor and went out to the hallway. Then he started pacing, going up and down the hallway, thinking with hands clasped behind his back and occasionally fiddling with his tail.

He had to go someplace. But where? Who could he trust? Was there anyone he knew online well enough? Would his relatives take him in?

His tail really was fluffy, he thought.

Hayaikawa began pacing faster and faster, not because he felt nervous but because he was forgetting how nervous he was, and realizing that he wanted to be out and about. He included the kitchen and living room in his circuit, weaving around obstacles and moving them aside when he could, surprised by how good it felt just to move around.

The lights were off, and the only light came from through the cracks in the drawn curtains. Hayaikawa wanted to look outside, but he didn't want to be seen in case a car was driving past outside. And he knew what he'd see out there, anyway ... suburbia, with its two-car garages and seven-foot fences that went all the way down to the curb.

All of a sudden, Hayaikawa wished that his family still lived at their old house up in the hills. His mom had hated driving down their dirt path to get into town, then coming back home when it was raining and driving uphill over ice and slush. He remembered looking out the window at wet branches that brushed over the window, and clanked along the roof, and went on forever in the thick forest ... and he remembered breathing onto the window, in the chill air, and drawing faces in the fog.

But he also remembered how he had cringed, as his mother had shouted and swore and stepped on the gas pedal, making the wheels whine as they struggled to pull their car up. And he remembered sitting there in the stuck car for over an hour, listening to furious silence from his mom and talk radio from the speakers, and waiting for his dad to come down there and tow them up. By the time his dad had shown up, he'd really needed to use the restroom, and the jarring motions of the tow cable on his mom's car hadn't helped matters any.

Hayaikawa remembered curling up next to the wood-burning stove in a blanket, sipping hot cocoa and thawing out from the cold. He remembered looking outside at the rain, and thinking of how it would snow soon, and of how much he loved to sled down the hill that his house was on top of. And he realized that he missed it terribly, and wanted so much to be out there again.

"Maybe that's what I'm supposed to do," he said, talking aloud to himself and listening to the sound of his voice. It sounded like it always had. "I could go out and live in the forest ... I've got the instincts for it, right?" And he knew that this was a big thing that he was suggesting, but it seemed so unreal that the impact did not even register. All he knew was that he had to get away, because being seen by his parents -- or by anyone -- was not an option. He didn't want to think about what would happen afterwards.

Hayaikawa imagined himself catching rabbits, fishing with his bare hands, and climbing up trees to get away from bears. It didn't seem like it'd be so hard. After all, foxes were designed to live in the woods, and he was a fox now, wasn't he?

He set a pizza cooking for dinner while he thought about what he would do, and imagined himself living off of the land, running barefoot through the trees and starting a tribe of fox people with other outcasts like him. These thoughts kept him occupied, and helped to take his mind off of things. But pretty soon his mom pulled up in the driveway, and Hayaikawa took off for his room and shut and locked the door.

He knew that it didn't make sense. But somehow, the thought of how he would deal with his parents didn't seem half as upsetting as the fact that he'd had to leave that pizza behind.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
For awhile, the house was silent. He heard his mom watching TV in the living room, and after a little while he smelled smoke and heard her open the oven.

When his dad came home they started to talk around the table while eating his pizza, and Hayaikawa realized that he did not want to hear what they said. So he put on his headphones and turned up his loudest MP3s, and played more Flash games with the curtains drawn and the door locked. Later on, when his dad knocked on the door, he turned the volume up even louder, until he couldn't hear anything his dad was saying.

The headphones were kind of uncomfortable, since they weren't designed to fit onto a fox's ears. But he made himself tolerate it, because he did not want to talk to his parents. He couldn't talk to his parents. He was barely sane as it was, and if he had to confront them and see their reactions he knew that he would break down again. And he did not want that to happen. So he turned up the volume as loud as it would go, and felt like a heel for it but knew that he had to.

Finally his parents went to bed. And he took off the headphones and sat there in silence, and knew that he was just delaying the inevitable. But he couldn't deal with it now ... he didn't know when he'd be able to deal with it.

Hayaikawa was hungry, and his throat was dry. But he didn't want to go out there yet, not until they were sound asleep. So he kept on surfing the 'net.

An interesting idea occurred to Hayaikawa, and it was late enough at night that it made sense to him. So he went into his favorite IRC chat, and onto his favorite messageboards, and showed everyone the pictures he'd taken, just to see what would happen.

His thread didn't get too many hits, and most of the people on IRC ignored him. But a few of them said "o.o;;;" and told him that he was amazing with Photoshop, while the people on the messageboards said "lol" and told him that'd made their day. One person posted a lengthy critique, saying that Hayaikawa should have used better lighting conditions, and that he could see the seam where he'd cut-and-pasted the fox's head onto himself.

Hayaikawa was amused, and reiterated that he hadn't used photo editing software at all. Pretty soon somebody called him on it, and made him take a video on his webcam. But his webcam was an older model, and was not very light-sensitive. And in the light of his 40-watt overhead bulb, all that could be seen was a blur.

Most of the people who'd clicked on the link stopped watching him, but a handful of them continued, in between doing other things. And when Hayaikawa finally held his flashlight right up to his face and waved at the camera, and spoke for the microphone, and held open his muzzle and ran his tongue along his teeth, they said "o.o;;;" again and started telling everyone else to watch.

Hayaikawa was sweating by now, but it was late and he didn't feel he could back out. So he did his routine a few more times, and started taking requests like picking things up and balancing them on his nose. As time went on the requests got weirder and weirder, but it wasn't until someone insulted him that he got embarrassed and turned off the webcam. After that, he watched people speculate as to how he had done that, and realized that he did not want to tell them.

He went back to the forums, to see that he'd gotten a personal message:

<tt>i kno that u did not fotoshop thos pics. u r a real fox n i believ that u r.</tt>

Hayaikawa grinned. But that grin was frozen on his face as he read the next part:

<tt>my dad works for the fbi. i am teling him about u. i traced ur ip adress so i kno wher u live. he is coming to lok u away 4 EVER.

Beter start runing</tt>

And Hayaikawa knew, in his head, that this person was just a troll. But that's not what his heart thought. As soon as he read that, it said "I knew it. I knew this would happen. I'm dead. I'm so dead. My life is over, and I won't even get to tell my parents how much I ... "

He turned off the computer right there and curled up on his bed, rocking back and forth softly and holding his knees to his face. But he only did that for a second, because it reminded him of how long he had locked himself in his room, and when the last time he had used the restroom had been.

Hayaikawa got back to his feet, crawled over the piles of things on the floor and pressed one ear up to the door. When he heard nothing on the other side, he turned off the light, and carefully unlocked the door and went out.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
When he got out of the restroom, it occurred to him that there was probably some leftover pizza in the refrigerator. He went down to the kitchen and got it out on a plate, then set it microwaving. By this time he was starving, but he was worried about the noise he was making, which seemed loud to his ears.

Finally, the microwave dinged, and he took the pizza out of it. Some of the cheese on top had charred, but it smelled and looked delicious, with tiny pools of hot grease amid deep-fried vegetables. Hayaikawa was about to start eating when he heard a door open elsewhere in the house, and his heart stopped.

He held his breath. He felt nothing but fear. His mind went blank. And the footsteps were almost there.

Hayaikawa dropped the dish next to the microwave, then dove behind the counter and cried "Stop!"

The footsteps stopped. Whomever it was said nothing.

Hayaikawa's mind raced. He tried to think of something to say. "I ... you ... you can't look at me right now!"

"What's wrong?" It was his father's voice, quiet as always.

Sweat poured down Hayaikawa's sides. "I don't know!" he cried. "It just happened!"

"What happened?"

"I can't tell you!" Now he wanted to cry.

The footsteps came closer, and Hayaikawa panicked. "Please, stop!" he cried.

"I got up to make sure that I locked the car. I will not look at you."

His father walked past him, opened the front door and went outside. There was the sound of a horn honking for a split-second, and the locks on the car cycling. Then his father came inside and closed and locked the door with his eyes closed.

He went back into the hallway without looking at Hayaikawa. And then he stopped there, as if waiting for something.

Hayaikawa let out his breath. "I'm sorry," he said.

"I know."

"I'll tell you what happened tomorrow," he said, without even thinking about it. "Okay?"

"Okay."

There was a pause. Then, finally, "Good night, Hayaikawa." His father went back to the bedroom, and Hayaikawa exhaled.

He sat down on the kitchen floor, his shirt soaked with sweat, too exhausted to do anything else. His eyes flicked up to the clock on the microwave; it was late, much later than he was used to staying up.

He microwaved another slice of pizza, then ate it and got out another. A little while after that he went to bed, so tired that he couldn't think straight. His last thought before falling asleep was that he'd committed to showing himself. But somehow, the thought no longer held much fear for him.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
That night, he had control of his dreams again, and imagined himself becoming a human. The next morning, the start of the weekend, he woke up to find that it'd come true. This made explaining things to his parents a bit awkward. But he made french toast for them, and helped clean the house, and got all of his homework done early so that they could go watch a movie together. They all had a good time, and his parents soon forgot about the whole incident (or at least acted like they did).

Hayaikawa, however, did not. He still had those pics, and when he logged on to check his email he found that he had quite a following. But as the months went on, and turned into years, they forgot about what they'd seen, and explained it away in ways that made sense to him. Later on he was amused to hear people tell him about "the guy who put uploaded vids of himself as a fox," and to see how many hits those videos had.

He never gave any sign of recognizing his fox self, except for a knowing grin. But later on, when he'd moved out to live on his own, more videos started to circulate on the Internet, from the mysterious real anthro fox. Who knew how to mask his IP address, just in case.

And that real anthro fox was soon joined by others ...

[[Category:Feathertail]] [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Furry]] [[Category:Stories by author]] [[Category:Stories by tf]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Fox]] [[Category:Stories by genre]] [[Category: Modern magic]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Dream Come True, A}}

User:Feathertail/Blind As A ...

2009-07-29T16:53:00Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/Blind As A ..." ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

User:Feathertail/A Better Life

2009-07-29T16:52:47Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail/A Better Life" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite))

{{author note|'''Legal Info''': This story is copyrighted by Jared Spurbeck, aka Tachyon Feathertail, and is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0] license. You may write your own stories based on it or post it on your own website, so long as you credit me as the orignal author (preferably with a link to [http://feathertail.livejournal.com/ my LiveJournal]) and license your own story under the same license. Have you hugged a penguin today? Sasha's fursona is an unregistered trademark belong to him, and may not be used without his permission.}}

{{title
|name=A Better Life
|author=Jared Spurbeck
|user=Feathertail}}

The world was a comforting mass of darkness, which was slowly becoming lighter. Sasha knew he'd been having dreams inside of it, because he was still worried that he wouldn't be able to find enough platypus eggs to make an omelet. Somewhere in his muddled head he knew that that'd been a dream, but it seemed more real to him than the strange lights and colors outside.

He could tell, just barely, that there were people moving about him. People in white uniforms moving around him, writing things down on a clipboard, crouching next to him and doing something he couldn't see. He saw one of them pull a needle out of his arm, and stick in a new one. And he couldn't feel pinching of his skin, but he felt the icy coldness, and it made him shiver.

Everything was numb. His mouth felt like it was crammed full of cotton. He couldn't feel his tongue, and he didn't think he'd be able to speak. He saw strange, colored lights in the distance, and realized that they were the picture on a TV screen, up on the wall. He made himself focus on it 'till his eyes watered, and afterwards he was finally able to see the newscaster. But there was something else in front of his eyes, something large and oblong which took up a lot of his field of vision.

Sasha looked down gingerly and tried to see what it was, but could not. Then something occurred to him, and he looked up.

There, above his hospital bed, was the mirror that'd been there before he'd been wheeled into the operating room. And in the mirror was a pale white, hairless face, with pointed ears and a long wolf's muzzle. It was swollen, and there were bandages on it.

Sasha grinned drowsily, baring his teeth, and his tongue lolled out the side.

One of the nurses took his muzzle in her hands and held it open, before placing something on his tongue and making him swallow it. He barely felt anything, and didn't put up a struggle. He just kept looking at his face in the mirror.

A few minutes later he was back asleep again.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
The hospital had a separate room for people who were recovering from or preparing to undergo a trans-species procedure. It was kept dimly lit throughout the day, although Sasha could see the bright daylight outside in the cracks between the curtains. The nurses kept him on painkillers and made him take sleeping pills at odd hours, so that was the only way that he knew what time of day it was.

That, and the curtain. At night it separated him from the room's only other occupant: A sickly-looking boy with almond eyes and dark brown features, who couldn't be more than 10. His head had been shaved, just as Sasha's had been, and he got even more attention from the nurses than Sasha did. When they came to take care of him during the daytime he smiled at them and asked them questions, and they smiled back and told each other how cute he was. Because of him, they had the TV tuned to educational shows for most of the day, but whenever he got the remote he put on anime instead.

One day, Sasha was feeling coherent enough to turn his head and ask the boy a question during the commercials. "Hey ... " he tried to say, although it came out more like "Hrh ... "

The boy looked up. He was sitting up in bed, playing with toys.

Sasha moistened the inside of his dry muzzle, and tried again. This time he only slurred a little. "Whuush your name?"

"Aiden," he said. "What's yours?"

It took Sasha three tries to get his own name right. The boy giggled. "That's a girl's name!" he said.

"Yesh," Sasha said, and tried to smile.

"I saw you before you came in here," Aiden said. "How come you're an anthropomorphic wolf?" He did not trip over the word.

"Well," Sasha said, "there's two waysh to become one ... either you're born that way, or you pay the doctorsh to make you into one. Guesh which one I chose."

He grinned, and Aiden grinned back. "How come?" he asked.

"Alwaysh wanted to be one." Sasha looked up at the mirror again, one arm behind his head and the other hooked up to the IVs. The bandages were off of his head now, and he could see the scars clearly. They'd be visible until his fur grew out.

"Aren't you worried that people will look at you funny?"

"Hey." Sasha turned to look at him again. "I don' look at them funny for bein' ugly, hairless apes."

Aiden giggled again.

"So how come you're ... uh ... " Sasha's mind went blank all of a sudden, as the IV's timed painkillers were released into his system. " ... y'know?"

"Trans-species?" The boy perked up. "It was my parents' idea."

"Your mom and dad want you to ... "

"Yup."

"Seriously?" Sasha tried to sit up, and his stiff muscles protested.

"Uh-huh." Aiden watched.

"And you're okay with that?"

"Yup." He nodded, then looked back up at the TV. The commercials were over.

Sasha sat there a moment and thought about what it must be like to have a family that was supportive of his decision. His had disowned him when he'd told them about it; there had been a huge argument, and he hadn't heard from his parents or sister since. At least he still had his friends, he thought, as he started to become drowsy and laid back down ... at least he still had his friends.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
They came to visit him one day two weeks later, during his physical therapy. Sasha was happy to see them, and showed off. He'd opted to have synthetic muscles installed, to replace the mass that he'd lost during pre-op chemotherapy and retroviral infusion, and even with only a thin coat of fur he thought that he looked rather handsome. He suspected his friends thought as much, too, even though they were laughing and being sarcastic.

After they left, he found that he'd pulled every one of those muscles, since their nerve endings hadn't been formed yet and he hadn't been able to tell how far he was pushing himself. He spent the next week trying to lay still, unable to feel his aching muscles but knowing that if he moved them too far he might tear them apart, and have to have them surgically replaced. One time he reached for a cup of water on the nightstand, but his arm had simply refused to work and he'd knocked it over. Aiden had pressed the button to call for a nurse.

A week or two after that, almost his date of discharge, his friends snuck him out of the hospital. He still had trouble pronouncing some words, and they had to help him walk sometimes. But he felt alive and full of energy, and was tired of just doing exercises. The people at the front desk had looked surprised, but they waved to him and wished him good luck.

He couldn't remember what'd happened next. He remembered that there had been drinks, and pizza, and more pizza and drinks. He remembered making wild boasts to his friends, and pointedly calling a moustached man in a Stetson an "ugly, hairless ape." Sasha had been taller than him, and had been itching to start a fight. But to his surprise, the man had mumbled something and backed down, and he and his family had left the restaurant.

He remembered staggering back into the hospital, the nurses intercepting him and shooing his friends away. He remembered being helped back up the elevator, into his room next to Aiden, and collapsing into his bed. Now he was wide awake looking up at the ceiling, darkness outside the crack in the curtain, and realizing that something was wrong. What was it?

His stomach lurched. Oh yes, he thought ... that was what.

Sasha threw up, over and over again, and the noise woke Aiden up. He said something, panicked, but Sasha couldn't hear him because he was busy throwing up. Pretty soon after that the nurses came in, and by this time Sasha was glad they were there, because his stomach was twisting itself into knots but all that would come up was blood.

The nurses said lots of things to each other, and Sasha couldn't hear what they were saying because all he could do was feel pain. They pulled at his arm, but his arms were wrapped tight around himself and his hands were clutching his sides, digging in with his claws, trying to make the pain stop. But they kept pulling, and he finally lashed out, and the nurse fell and knocked something big and expensive over.

After that they forced a mask onto his muzzle, and he started to cough blood into it, too. But a few seconds later, that did not seem to matter. The world became black, and quiet.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
Sasha's release was postponed by a month. He barely knew what had happened; could barely think, could barely sit up. He was pretty sure that they'd operated on him, because his midsection stung like razors every time he coughed. And for the first few days he had to cough a lot, so the pain would become unbearable.

At one point, after a violent coughing fit, he started whimpering uncontrollably, tears running down his face. And Aiden had come over and watched for a moment, before placing one of his toy cars on the sheets next to him.

Things hadn't seemed so bad after that.

Sasha began to get better, to be able to sit up again, to have the bandages on his stomach removed. He began to talk to the nurses, to ask for things to read, to use his phone to respond to messages from his friends. He began to look at the light coming from between the curtain and the windowsill, and to think what it would be like once he finally stepped outside as his now-finely furred self.

And he began to look over at the opposite bed with concern. Because while he was getting progressively better, Aiden was getting progressively worse. The boy was taking all sorts of medicines and was barely coherent anymore, only lifting his eyes when his favorite anime came on. He didn't talk to the nurses anymore, and he didn't reply to Sasha when he talked to him. He just lay there, looking up at the wolf with a glazed-over look on his face.

Sasha felt terrible for him, and decided to keep talking to Aiden anyway ... partly to try to get a response out of him, and partly because he was feeling lonely and needed someone to talk to, even if they didn't respond. He told him what it was like working for one of the country's largest banks, and how his boss had been totally against his decision but would have to hire him back, thanks to the anti-discrimination laws. He told him what it'd been like seeing a natural-born anthropomorph, and reaching out and touching his fur and realizing he was alive, and how that had affected him and had changed his whole life.

He talked about befriending the anthropomorph. About going to the conventions together and meeting his current friends, who'd been supportive of his dream to become an anthropomorph himself. And he told Aiden how much he would like life as an anthropomorph ... how he'd be able to see, and hear, and smell things that he couldn't before, and out-wrestle anyone, and how awesome his friends would think he was. And he thought Aiden smiled at him, but he couldn't be sure.

Towards the end of Sasha's stay they let him get up sometimes, and walk around the hospital. He had an idea for where he wanted to go, and he told the nurses about it and they thought it was wonderful. That was how he got to visit the children's ward.

Sasha remembered what it'd been like to see people dressed up in costume like they were anthropomorphic animals, smiling and waving and hugging each other and little kids. He remembered hearing the people who did things like that talking about going to hospitals, and visiting children who'd come down with terminal illnesses, and putting smiles on their faces.

He wanted to do it too, as long as he was in a position to. And make them smile, and laugh, and ask weird questions he did. Some of the children could barely look up, or had to start coughing in mid-sentence, and those were the sad ones because he knew there was nothing he could do for them. But others were more cheerful, and would wave or even run up and hug him as soon as he entered the room. It made Sasha's heart melt.

Suddenly he no longer cared who was ugly and hairless and who wasn't. He was just happy to be alive, both because he'd come so close to dying and because he got to be around the greatest people ever. And he would look in the mirror and see someone else, and realize he liked being this someone else. He was acting the way that he'd wanted to act, but had never allowed himself to. And it was the most fun that he'd had in his life.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
Every day before he went out to visit the kids downstairs, he would try to get a smile out of Aiden. Today, though, he was still asleep. Sasha just tiptoed around him, and went down the hall towards the elevator.

When he came back, there were nurses rushing into and out of the room. They were bringing a crash cart inside, and giving each other orders.

Sasha watched, in shock, unable to realize what'd happened. He tapped a nurse on the shoulder and asked "What's going on in there?"

"We're trying to save that boy's life." Her face was grim.

Sasha wanted to step inside and see what was going on, but there were too many people in there. All he could do was stand in the hallway and watch, and try not to get in anyone's way. Sasha had never thought of himself as religious, but he couldn't help but pray that someone would save Aiden.

Finally he heard what sounded like Aiden choking and coughing. His ears perked, and he looked up. Then he heard the boy gasp, and let out the most horrible, anguished sound that he'd ever heard, trailing off into nothing. And the activity inside stopped.

For a second, Sasha did not know what that meant. Then he saw one of the nurses hang her head, and another begin crying, and he felt like his insides had frozen up.

He didn't cry at first, because he couldn't believe what had just happened. Then he remembered the pain that he'd had, of his insides tearing apart the night that his friends took him out; and, later, after the operation, the pain like his coughing would burst himself open. And he imagined that ten-year-old feeling that pain, and that pain getting worse and worse, and Aiden begging it to go away until finally something just gave.

That did it. Sasha began to cry too. And he remembered how morose Aiden had been the night before, and wished he'd said something to the nurses about it. He should have seen! He should have said something. He should have gotten one last smile out of him. He wished that he had.

He stood there in the hallway numbly watching people file out of the room ... doctors muttering something about malpractice insurance, nurses hugging and reassuring each other. They hugged Sasha, too, and let him know that they did their best and that it was okay to cry. And he did, all over again.

Finally there was just one nurse left, when Sasha went back in the room. She was standing over Aiden, and the way the curtains were drawn Sasha could not see his face. All he could see was the lifeless lump under the covers.

"I'm sorry," Sasha said.

"We all are." She didn't look up.

"He didn't even get to find out what it's like ... "

"What what's like?"

"What it's like to ... " Sasha coughed, and tried not to cry. He couldn't talk about that. "What happened to him?"

"His body rejected the human organs." The nurse's voice was a monotone. "We tried all kinds of therapy, but nothing was working on him. And so his organs stopped working on him, and he just gave out and died."

"Wait ... " Something about that didn't sound right. "His body rejected the human organs?"

"This boy was hatched as an anthropomorphic dragon." The nurse looked up at Sasha. "His parents were bred to fight in the People's Golden Army. When they moved here, they asked their son if he wanted to become a human. And he said yes."

The nurse finished writing something down on her clipboard. And Sasha could only stare, down at the lump on the bed that had once been a dragon.

"We're going to move you to another room," the nurse said, as another one entered the room. "Almost time for your discharge anyway. Come on, come with me."

She walked out, and Sasha walked out with her, looking over his shoulder until the door was out of sight.

[[Category:Feathertail]] [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Furry]] [[Category:Stories by author]] [[Category:Stories by tf]] [[Category:Wolf]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Dragon]] [[Category:Stories by genre]] [[Category:Science fiction]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Better Life, A}}

User:Feathertail

2009-07-29T16:52:27Z

Feathertail: Protected "User:Feathertail" ([edit=sysop] (indefinite) [move=sysop] (indefinite)) [cascading]

[[File:Tree_Swallow_Fursona_1.jpg]]

Hello!

That is a picture of my fursona, Tachyon Feathertail, drawn by the talented Millislim. I found the original TSA and Miavir's story archive back around the turn of the century, and spent way too much time on both, finding the family-friendlier and better written stories. My favorites included [http://tsa.transform.to/furry/equations.html Equations], [http://tsa.transform.to/furry/nogreaterlove.html No Greater Love], and some of the [http://woc-archive.xepher.net/index.php Winds of Change] stories, especially the start of Conna Stevenson's [http://woc-archive.xepher.net/stories/ifmusic1.htm If Music Be].

I love to write transformation stories, and I only write '''family-friendly''' ones. The stories listed here may deal with "mature" themes, like death and personal identity, but they contain no profanity or sexual content. I also do not write age-regression or transgender stories. Finally, I try not to write long drawn-out descriptions of transformations if I can help it, as I prefer to focus on the character's psychological state.

Most of these stories were written as requests or commissions for other people. I'm not currently taking requests, but I'd be happy to take a commission. If you would like your own story, let me know! I can be reached here, but it would be more reliable to contact me by email or instant messenger. My contact information is posted on [http://feathertail.livejournal.com/profile my LiveJournal].

Enjoy!

'''Tachyon Feathertail's Stories'''

[[User:Feathertail/A Better Life|A Better Life]]

A man in Australia undergoes expensive treatment to become the fur of his dreams. He then shares the recovery ward with a young child, who has a slightly different perspective on things ...

[[User:Feathertail/Blind As A ...|Blind As A ...]]

This is the only drawn-out transformation I've written. It takes place over the span of weeks, though, and the child that it happens to is blind ... which makes for an interesting combination! Set in Edwardian England.

[[User:Feathertail/A Dream Come True|A Dream Come True]]

A teenager becomes his fursona inside a dream, but finds out that he's changed inside the waking world. So he does what anyone would do -- he locks himself in his room!

[[User:Feathertail/Help Wanted|Help Wanted]] '''''(Feathertail's favorite)'''''

A newly-minted ''Kitsune'' discovers his powers, and is giddy with all the possibilities until reality smacks him upside the head with a two-by-four. But is it really reality, or just cynicism?

[[User:Feathertail/Imaginary Friends|Imaginary Friends]]

Not all transformations are physical. Sometimes your imagination can help you out, giving you the strength to press on and reminding you why it's important ... and who it's important to.

[[User:Feathertail/Independence Day|Independence Day]] '''''(Feathertail's second-favorite)'''''

Those angsty people on LiveJournal. It's fun to tweak them, isn't it? Maybe it wouldn't be if you knew what they had to go through. Written as a commission for Arbutus, and inspired by my experiences with autism.

[[User:Feathertail/Magic Can Happen|Magic Can Happen]]

Could you face life as an anthro? I mean in this world. It wouldn't be as much fun as you'd think. Just because something's magical, doesn't make it a good thing.

[[User:Feathertail/Onnaneko|Onnaneko]]

What would an anime-style catgirl ''really'' be like? I had a lot of fun writing this one.

[[User:Feathertail/Rough Landing|Rough Landing]]

This is the only kangaroo transformation I've ever written. It'll probably stay that way for a very long time. Also features a pizza delivery guy and a Halloween party!

[[User:Feathertail/A Seasonal Tale|A Seasonal Tale]]

What if you became your fursona, but nobody else could see you for who you were? Not unless they looked really closely, if even then. Would you think you were crazy? It'd be just your luck if it happened around Christmastime ...

[[User:Feathertail/Spirit Hunter|Spirit Hunter]]

I think that when the Apocalpyse hits, people will live in camps outside of large cities and raid the suburbs for supplies. Like canned food, smartphones, comic books ... and animals to change into!

[[User:Feathertail/Tiger at Play|Tiger at Play]]

This is my only script-format story, and I don't think it came out very well. It's pretty lighthearted, though, which is a plus!

[[Category:Author]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Feathertail}}

User:Feathertail

2009-07-29T16:50:07Z

Feathertail:

Onnaneko

2009-07-29T16:49:42Z

Feathertail: moved Onnaneko to User:Feathertail/Onnaneko: Rectifying an error!

#REDIRECT [[User:Feathertail/Onnaneko]]

User:Feathertail/Onnaneko

2009-07-29T16:49:42Z

Feathertail: moved Onnaneko to User:Feathertail/Onnaneko: Rectifying an error!

Template:Cc-by-sa

2009-07-29T16:47:24Z

Feathertail:

{| style="background:#eee; border: thin solid #ccc; margin-right:auto; margin-left:auto;" cellspacing="0"
|-
|[[Image:Cc-by-sa.png|Creative Commons License]]
|This story is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 license]. You may write your own stories based on it if you credit the original author, and license your story under the same license.
|}<noinclude>

This template tag lets people know that your story is free for them to build on, and to create their own works based on it! It also reminds them that their stories will then be part of a common body of literature that others -- including you! -- can draw on. Excellent for shared-world stories, and for encouraging participation.

If you would like to keep your own personal character / fursona from being featured in stories based on one using this license, you may want to append a disclaimer which says that that character is an unregistered trademark belonging to you.</noinclude>

Template:Cc-by-sa

2009-07-29T16:46:54Z

Feathertail:

Template:Cc-by-sa

2009-07-29T16:46:18Z

Feathertail:

{| style="background:#eee; border: thin solid #ccc; margin-right:auto; margin-left:auto;" cellspacing="0"
|-
|[[Image:Cc-by-sa.png|Creative Commons License]]
|This story is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 license]. You may write your own stories based on it if you credit the original author, and license your story under the same license.
|}<noinclude>

This template tag lets people know that your story is free for them to build on, and to create their own works based on it! It also reminds them that their stories will then be part of a common body of literature that others -- including you! -- can draw on. Excellent for shared-world stories, and for encouraging participation.

If you want to keep your own personal character / fursona from being featured in other's stories based on one using this license, you may want to append a disclaimer which says that that character is an unregistered trademark belonging to you. I may create a new template tag for that purpose.</noinclude>

Template:Cc-by-sa

2009-07-29T16:46:02Z

Feathertail:

{| style="background:#eee; border: thin solid #ccc; margin-right:auto; margin-left:auto;" cellspacing="0"
|-
|[[Image:Cc-by-sa.png|Creative Commons License]]
|This story is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 license]. You may write your own stories based on it if you credit the original author, and license your story under the same license.
|}<noinclude>

This template tag lets people know that your story is free for them to build on, and to create their own works based on it! It also reminds them that their stories will then be a part of a common body of literature that others -- including you! -- can draw on. Excellent for shared-world stories, and for encouraging participation.

If you want to keep your own personal character / fursona from being featured in other's stories based on one using this license, you may want to append a disclaimer which says that that character is an unregistered trademark belonging to you. I may create a new template tag for that purpose.</noinclude>

Template:Cc-by-sa

2009-07-29T16:44:17Z

Feathertail: Created page with '{| style="background:#eee; border: thin solid #ccc; margin-right:auto; margin-left:auto;" cellspacing="0" |- |Creative Commons License |This story is licen...'

{| style="background:#eee; border: thin solid #ccc; margin-right:auto; margin-left:auto;" cellspacing="0"
|-
|[[Image:Cc-by-sa.png|Creative Commons License]]
|This story is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 license]. You may write your own stories based on it if you credit the original author, and license your story under the same license.
|}<noinclude>

This template tag lets people know that your story is free for them to build on, and to create their own works based on it! It also reminds them that their stories will then be a part of the common body of literature that others can draw on. Excellent for shared-world stories, and for encouraging participation.

If you want to keep your own personal character / fursona from being featured in other's stories based on one using this license, you may want to append a disclaimer which says that that character is an unregistered trademark belonging to you. I may create a new template tag for that purpose.</noinclude>

File:Cc-by-sa.png

2009-07-29T16:39:51Z

Feathertail: A picture that indicates that the story in question is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike license. Used with the template tag cc-by-sa.

A picture that indicates that the story in question is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike license. Used with the template tag cc-by-sa.

User:Feathertail

2009-07-29T16:20:50Z

Feathertail:

[[File:Tree_Swallow_Fursona_1.jpg]]

Hello!

That is a picture of my fursona, Tachyon Feathertail, drawn by the talented Millislim. I found the original TSA and Miavir's story archive back around the turn of the century, and spent way too much time on both, finding the family-friendlier and better written stories. My favorites included [http://tsa.transform.to/furry/equations.html Equations], [http://tsa.transform.to/furry/nogreaterlove.html No Greater Love], and some of the [http://woc-archive.xepher.net/index.php Winds of Change] stories, especially the start of Conna Stevenson's [http://woc-archive.xepher.net/stories/ifmusic1.htm If Music Be].

I love to write transformation stories, and I only write '''family-friendly''' ones. The stories listed here may deal with "mature" themes, like death and personal identity, but they contain no profanity or sexual content. I also do not write age-regression or transgender stories. Finally, I try not to write long drawn-out descriptions of transformations if I can help it, as I prefer to focus on the character's psychological state.

Most of these stories were written as requests or commissions for other people. I'm not currently taking requests, but I'd be happy to take a commission. If you would like your own story, let me know! I can be reached here, but it would be more reliable to contact me by email or instant messenger. My contact information is posted on [http://feathertail.livejournal.com/profile my LiveJournal].

Enjoy!

'''Tachyon Feathertail's Stories'''

[[User:Feathertail/A Better Life|A Better Life]]

A man in Australia undergoes expensive treatment to become the fur of his dreams. He then shares the recovery ward with a young child, who has a slightly different perspective on things ...

[[User:Feathertail/Blind As A ...|Blind As A ...]]

This is the only drawn-out transformation I've written. It takes place over the span of weeks, though, and the child that it happens to is blind ... which makes for an interesting combination! Set in Edwardian England.

[[User:Feathertail/A Dream Come True|A Dream Come True]]

A teenager becomes his fursona inside a dream, but finds out that he's changed inside the waking world. So he does what anyone would do -- he locks himself in his room!

[[User:Feathertail/Help Wanted|Help Wanted]] '''''(Feathertail's favorite)'''''

A newly-minted ''Kitsune'' discovers his powers, and is giddy with all the possibilities until reality smacks him upside the head with a two-by-four. But is it really reality, or just cynicism?

[[User:Feathertail/Imaginary Friends|Imaginary Friends]]

Not all transformations are physical. Sometimes your imagination can help you out, giving you the strength to press on and reminding you why it's important ... and who it's important to.

[[User:Feathertail/Independence Day|Independence Day]] '''''(Feathertail's second-favorite)'''''

Those angsty people on LiveJournal. It's fun to tweak them, isn't it? Maybe it wouldn't be if you knew what they had to go through. Written as a commission for Arbutus, and inspired by my experiences with autism.

[[User:Feathertail/Magic Can Happen|Magic Can Happen]]

Could you face life as an anthro? I mean in this world. It wouldn't be as much fun as you'd think. Just because something's magical, doesn't make it a good thing.

[[Onnaneko]]

What would an anime-style catgirl ''really'' be like? I had a lot of fun writing this one.

[[User:Feathertail/Rough Landing|Rough Landing]]

This is the only kangaroo transformation I've ever written. It'll probably stay that way for a very long time. Also features a pizza delivery guy and a Halloween party!

[[User:Feathertail/A Seasonal Tale|A Seasonal Tale]]

What if you became your fursona, but nobody else could see you for who you were? Not unless they looked really closely, if even then. Would you think you were crazy? It'd be just your luck if it happened around Christmastime ...

[[User:Feathertail/Spirit Hunter|Spirit Hunter]]

I think that when the Apocalpyse hits, people will live in camps outside of large cities and raid the suburbs for supplies. Like canned food, smartphones, comic books ... and animals to change into!

[[User:Feathertail/Tiger at Play|Tiger at Play]]

This is my only script-format story, and I don't think it came out very well. It's pretty lighthearted, though, which is a plus!

[[Category:Author]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Feathertail}}

User:Feathertail/Rough Landing

2009-07-29T16:19:27Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Magic Can Happen

2009-07-29T16:17:54Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Independence Day

2009-07-29T16:17:22Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Imaginary Friends

2009-07-29T16:16:54Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Help Wanted

2009-07-29T16:16:25Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Blind As A ...

2009-07-29T16:15:59Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/A Seasonal Tale

2009-07-29T16:14:53Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/A Dream Come True

2009-07-29T16:14:17Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/A Better Life

2009-07-29T16:13:21Z

Feathertail:

{{author note|'''Legal Info''': This story is copyrighted by Jared Spurbeck, aka Tachyon Feathertail, and is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0] license. You may write your own stories based on it or post it on your own website, so long as you credit me as the orignal author (preferably with a link to [http://feathertail.livejournal.com/ my LiveJournal]) and license your own story under the same license. Have you hugged a penguin today? Sasha's fursona is an unregistered trademark belong to him, and may not be used without his permission.}}

{{title
|name=A Better Life
|author=Jared Spurbeck
|user=Feathertail}}

The world was a comforting mass of darkness, which was slowly becoming lighter. Sasha knew he'd been having dreams inside of it, because he was still worried that he wouldn't be able to find enough platypus eggs to make an omelet. Somewhere in his muddled head he knew that that'd been a dream, but it seemed more real to him than the strange lights and colors outside.

He could tell, just barely, that there were people moving about him. People in white uniforms moving around him, writing things down on a clipboard, crouching next to him and doing something he couldn't see. He saw one of them pull a needle out of his arm, and stick in a new one. And he couldn't feel pinching of his skin, but he felt the icy coldness, and it made him shiver.

Everything was numb. His mouth felt like it was crammed full of cotton. He couldn't feel his tongue, and he didn't think he'd be able to speak. He saw strange, colored lights in the distance, and realized that they were the picture on a TV screen, up on the wall. He made himself focus on it 'till his eyes watered, and afterwards he was finally able to see the newscaster. But there was something else in front of his eyes, something large and oblong which took up a lot of his field of vision.

Sasha looked down gingerly and tried to see what it was, but could not. Then something occurred to him, and he looked up.

There, above his hospital bed, was the mirror that'd been there before he'd been wheeled into the operating room. And in the mirror was a pale white, hairless face, with pointed ears and a long wolf's muzzle. It was swollen, and there were bandages on it.

Sasha grinned drowsily, baring his teeth, and his tongue lolled out the side.

One of the nurses took his muzzle in her hands and held it open, before placing something on his tongue and making him swallow it. He barely felt anything, and didn't put up a struggle. He just kept looking at his face in the mirror.

A few minutes later he was back asleep again.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
The hospital had a separate room for people who were recovering from or preparing to undergo a trans-species procedure. It was kept dimly lit throughout the day, although Sasha could see the bright daylight outside in the cracks between the curtains. The nurses kept him on painkillers and made him take sleeping pills at odd hours, so that was the only way that he knew what time of day it was.

That, and the curtain. At night it separated him from the room's only other occupant: A sickly-looking boy with almond eyes and dark brown features, who couldn't be more than 10. His head had been shaved, just as Sasha's had been, and he got even more attention from the nurses than Sasha did. When they came to take care of him during the daytime he smiled at them and asked them questions, and they smiled back and told each other how cute he was. Because of him, they had the TV tuned to educational shows for most of the day, but whenever he got the remote he put on anime instead.

One day, Sasha was feeling coherent enough to turn his head and ask the boy a question during the commercials. "Hey ... " he tried to say, although it came out more like "Hrh ... "

The boy looked up. He was sitting up in bed, playing with toys.

Sasha moistened the inside of his dry muzzle, and tried again. This time he only slurred a little. "Whuush your name?"

"Aiden," he said. "What's yours?"

It took Sasha three tries to get his own name right. The boy giggled. "That's a girl's name!" he said.

"Yesh," Sasha said, and tried to smile.

"I saw you before you came in here," Aiden said. "How come you're an anthropomorphic wolf?" He did not trip over the word.

"Well," Sasha said, "there's two waysh to become one ... either you're born that way, or you pay the doctorsh to make you into one. Guesh which one I chose."

He grinned, and Aiden grinned back. "How come?" he asked.

"Alwaysh wanted to be one." Sasha looked up at the mirror again, one arm behind his head and the other hooked up to the IVs. The bandages were off of his head now, and he could see the scars clearly. They'd be visible until his fur grew out.

"Aren't you worried that people will look at you funny?"

"Hey." Sasha turned to look at him again. "I don' look at them funny for bein' ugly, hairless apes."

Aiden giggled again.

"So how come you're ... uh ... " Sasha's mind went blank all of a sudden, as the IV's timed painkillers were released into his system. " ... y'know?"

"Trans-species?" The boy perked up. "It was my parents' idea."

"Your mom and dad want you to ... "

"Yup."

"Seriously?" Sasha tried to sit up, and his stiff muscles protested.

"Uh-huh." Aiden watched.

"And you're okay with that?"

"Yup." He nodded, then looked back up at the TV. The commercials were over.

Sasha sat there a moment and thought about what it must be like to have a family that was supportive of his decision. His had disowned him when he'd told them about it; there had been a huge argument, and he hadn't heard from his parents or sister since. At least he still had his friends, he thought, as he started to become drowsy and laid back down ... at least he still had his friends.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
They came to visit him one day two weeks later, during his physical therapy. Sasha was happy to see them, and showed off. He'd opted to have synthetic muscles installed, to replace the mass that he'd lost during pre-op chemotherapy and retroviral infusion, and even with only a thin coat of fur he thought that he looked rather handsome. He suspected his friends thought as much, too, even though they were laughing and being sarcastic.

After they left, he found that he'd pulled every one of those muscles, since their nerve endings hadn't been formed yet and he hadn't been able to tell how far he was pushing himself. He spent the next week trying to lay still, unable to feel his aching muscles but knowing that if he moved them too far he might tear them apart, and have to have them surgically replaced. One time he reached for a cup of water on the nightstand, but his arm had simply refused to work and he'd knocked it over. Aiden had pressed the button to call for a nurse.

A week or two after that, almost his date of discharge, his friends snuck him out of the hospital. He still had trouble pronouncing some words, and they had to help him walk sometimes. But he felt alive and full of energy, and was tired of just doing exercises. The people at the front desk had looked surprised, but they waved to him and wished him good luck.

He couldn't remember what'd happened next. He remembered that there had been drinks, and pizza, and more pizza and drinks. He remembered making wild boasts to his friends, and pointedly calling a moustached man in a Stetson an "ugly, hairless ape." Sasha had been taller than him, and had been itching to start a fight. But to his surprise, the man had mumbled something and backed down, and he and his family had left the restaurant.

He remembered staggering back into the hospital, the nurses intercepting him and shooing his friends away. He remembered being helped back up the elevator, into his room next to Aiden, and collapsing into his bed. Now he was wide awake looking up at the ceiling, darkness outside the crack in the curtain, and realizing that something was wrong. What was it?

His stomach lurched. Oh yes, he thought ... that was what.

Sasha threw up, over and over again, and the noise woke Aiden up. He said something, panicked, but Sasha couldn't hear him because he was busy throwing up. Pretty soon after that the nurses came in, and by this time Sasha was glad they were there, because his stomach was twisting itself into knots but all that would come up was blood.

The nurses said lots of things to each other, and Sasha couldn't hear what they were saying because all he could do was feel pain. They pulled at his arm, but his arms were wrapped tight around himself and his hands were clutching his sides, digging in with his claws, trying to make the pain stop. But they kept pulling, and he finally lashed out, and the nurse fell and knocked something big and expensive over.

After that they forced a mask onto his muzzle, and he started to cough blood into it, too. But a few seconds later, that did not seem to matter. The world became black, and quiet.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
Sasha's release was postponed by a month. He barely knew what had happened; could barely think, could barely sit up. He was pretty sure that they'd operated on him, because his midsection stung like razors every time he coughed. And for the first few days he had to cough a lot, so the pain would become unbearable.

At one point, after a violent coughing fit, he started whimpering uncontrollably, tears running down his face. And Aiden had come over and watched for a moment, before placing one of his toy cars on the sheets next to him.

Things hadn't seemed so bad after that.

Sasha began to get better, to be able to sit up again, to have the bandages on his stomach removed. He began to talk to the nurses, to ask for things to read, to use his phone to respond to messages from his friends. He began to look at the light coming from between the curtain and the windowsill, and to think what it would be like once he finally stepped outside as his now-finely furred self.

And he began to look over at the opposite bed with concern. Because while he was getting progressively better, Aiden was getting progressively worse. The boy was taking all sorts of medicines and was barely coherent anymore, only lifting his eyes when his favorite anime came on. He didn't talk to the nurses anymore, and he didn't reply to Sasha when he talked to him. He just lay there, looking up at the wolf with a glazed-over look on his face.

Sasha felt terrible for him, and decided to keep talking to Aiden anyway ... partly to try to get a response out of him, and partly because he was feeling lonely and needed someone to talk to, even if they didn't respond. He told him what it was like working for one of the country's largest banks, and how his boss had been totally against his decision but would have to hire him back, thanks to the anti-discrimination laws. He told him what it'd been like seeing a natural-born anthropomorph, and reaching out and touching his fur and realizing he was alive, and how that had affected him and had changed his whole life.

He talked about befriending the anthropomorph. About going to the conventions together and meeting his current friends, who'd been supportive of his dream to become an anthropomorph himself. And he told Aiden how much he would like life as an anthropomorph ... how he'd be able to see, and hear, and smell things that he couldn't before, and out-wrestle anyone, and how awesome his friends would think he was. And he thought Aiden smiled at him, but he couldn't be sure.

Towards the end of Sasha's stay they let him get up sometimes, and walk around the hospital. He had an idea for where he wanted to go, and he told the nurses about it and they thought it was wonderful. That was how he got to visit the children's ward.

Sasha remembered what it'd been like to see people dressed up in costume like they were anthropomorphic animals, smiling and waving and hugging each other and little kids. He remembered hearing the people who did things like that talking about going to hospitals, and visiting children who'd come down with terminal illnesses, and putting smiles on their faces.

He wanted to do it too, as long as he was in a position to. And make them smile, and laugh, and ask weird questions he did. Some of the children could barely look up, or had to start coughing in mid-sentence, and those were the sad ones because he knew there was nothing he could do for them. But others were more cheerful, and would wave or even run up and hug him as soon as he entered the room. It made Sasha's heart melt.

Suddenly he no longer cared who was ugly and hairless and who wasn't. He was just happy to be alive, both because he'd come so close to dying and because he got to be around the greatest people ever. And he would look in the mirror and see someone else, and realize he liked being this someone else. He was acting the way that he'd wanted to act, but had never allowed himself to. And it was the most fun that he'd had in his life.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
Every day before he went out to visit the kids downstairs, he would try to get a smile out of Aiden. Today, though, he was still asleep. Sasha just tiptoed around him, and went down the hall towards the elevator.

When he came back, there were nurses rushing into and out of the room. They were bringing a crash cart inside, and giving each other orders.

Sasha watched, in shock, unable to realize what'd happened. He tapped a nurse on the shoulder and asked "What's going on in there?"

"We're trying to save that boy's life." Her face was grim.

Sasha wanted to step inside and see what was going on, but there were too many people in there. All he could do was stand in the hallway and watch, and try not to get in anyone's way. Sasha had never thought of himself as religious, but he couldn't help but pray that someone would save Aiden.

Finally he heard what sounded like Aiden choking and coughing. His ears perked, and he looked up. Then he heard the boy gasp, and let out the most horrible, anguished sound that he'd ever heard, trailing off into nothing. And the activity inside stopped.

For a second, Sasha did not know what that meant. Then he saw one of the nurses hang her head, and another begin crying, and he felt like his insides had frozen up.

He didn't cry at first, because he couldn't believe what had just happened. Then he remembered the pain that he'd had, of his insides tearing apart the night that his friends took him out; and, later, after the operation, the pain like his coughing would burst himself open. And he imagined that ten-year-old feeling that pain, and that pain getting worse and worse, and Aiden begging it to go away until finally something just gave.

That did it. Sasha began to cry too. And he remembered how morose Aiden had been the night before, and wished he'd said something to the nurses about it. He should have seen! He should have said something. He should have gotten one last smile out of him. He wished that he had.

He stood there in the hallway numbly watching people file out of the room ... doctors muttering something about malpractice insurance, nurses hugging and reassuring each other. They hugged Sasha, too, and let him know that they did their best and that it was okay to cry. And he did, all over again.

Finally there was just one nurse left, when Sasha went back in the room. She was standing over Aiden, and the way the curtains were drawn Sasha could not see his face. All he could see was the lifeless lump under the covers.

"I'm sorry," Sasha said.

"We all are." She didn't look up.

"He didn't even get to find out what it's like ... "

"What what's like?"

"What it's like to ... " Sasha coughed, and tried not to cry. He couldn't talk about that. "What happened to him?"

"His body rejected the human organs." The nurse's voice was a monotone. "We tried all kinds of therapy, but nothing was working on him. And so his organs stopped working on him, and he just gave out and died."

"Wait ... " Something about that didn't sound right. "His body rejected the human organs?"

"This boy was hatched as an anthropomorphic dragon." The nurse looked up at Sasha. "His parents were bred to fight in the People's Golden Army. When they moved here, they asked their son if he wanted to become a human. And he said yes."

The nurse finished writing something down on her clipboard. And Sasha could only stare, down at the lump on the bed that had once been a dragon.

"We're going to move you to another room," the nurse said, as another one entered the room. "Almost time for your discharge anyway. Come on, come with me."

She walked out, and Sasha walked out with her, looking over his shoulder until the door was out of sight.

[[Category:Feathertail]] [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Furry]] [[Category:Stories by author]] [[Category:Stories by tf]] [[Category:Wolf]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Dragon]] [[Category:Stories by genre]] [[Category:Science fiction]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Better Life, A}}

User:Feathertail/Tiger at Play

2009-07-29T16:12:30Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Spirit Hunter

2009-07-29T16:11:54Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Rough Landing

2009-07-29T15:57:50Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Onnaneko

2009-07-29T15:57:05Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Magic Can Happen

2009-07-29T15:55:45Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Imaginary Friends

2009-07-29T15:53:29Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Help Wanted

2009-07-29T15:53:13Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Blind As A ...

2009-07-29T15:52:57Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/A Seasonal Tale

2009-07-29T15:52:32Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/A Dream Come True

2009-07-29T15:52:16Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/A Better Life

2009-07-29T15:52:00Z

Feathertail:

{{author note|'''Legal Info''': This story is copyrighted by Jared Spurbeck, aka Tachyon Feathertail, and is licensed under a [http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/us/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0] license. You may write your own stories based on it or post it on your own website, so long as you credit me as the orignal author (preferably with a link to [http://feathertail.livejournal.com/ my LiveJournal]) and license your own story under the same license. Have you hugged a penguin today? Sasha's fursona is an unregistered trademark belong to him, and may not be used without his permission.}}

{{title
|name=A Better Life
|author=Jared Spurbeck
|user=Feathertail}}

The world was a comforting mass of darkness, which was slowly becoming lighter. Sasha knew he'd been having dreams inside of it, because he was still worried that he wouldn't be able to find enough platypus eggs to make an omelet. Somewhere in his muddled head he knew that that'd been a dream, but it seemed more real to him than the strange lights and colors outside.

He could tell, just barely, that there were people moving about him. People in white uniforms moving around him, writing things down on a clipboard, crouching next to him and doing something he couldn't see. He saw one of them pull a needle out of his arm, and stick in a new one. And he couldn't feel pinching of his skin, but he felt the icy coldness, and it made him shiver.

Everything was numb. His mouth felt like it was crammed full of cotton. He couldn't feel his tongue, and he didn't think he'd be able to speak. He saw strange, colored lights in the distance, and realized that they were the picture on a TV screen, up on the wall. He made himself focus on it 'till his eyes watered, and afterwards he was finally able to see the newscaster. But there was something else in front of his eyes, something large and oblong which took up a lot of his field of vision.

Sasha looked down gingerly and tried to see what it was, but could not. Then something occurred to him, and he looked up.

There, above his hospital bed, was the mirror that'd been there before he'd been wheeled into the operating room. And in the mirror was a pale white, hairless face, with pointed ears and a long wolf's muzzle. It was swollen, and there were bandages on it.

Sasha grinned drowsily, baring his teeth, and his tongue lolled out the side.

One of the nurses took his muzzle in her hands and held it open, before placing something on his tongue and making him swallow it. He barely felt anything, and didn't put up a struggle. He just kept looking at his face in the mirror.

A few minutes later he was back asleep again.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
The hospital had a separate room for people who were recovering from or preparing to undergo a trans-species procedure. It was kept dimly lit throughout the day, although Sasha could see the bright daylight outside in the cracks between the curtains. The nurses kept him on painkillers and made him take sleeping pills at odd hours, so that was the only way that he knew what time of day it was.

That, and the curtain. At night it separated him from the room's only other occupant: A sickly-looking boy with almond eyes and dark brown features, who couldn't be more than 10. His head had been shaved, just as Sasha's had been, and he got even more attention from the nurses than Sasha did. When they came to take care of him during the daytime he smiled at them and asked them questions, and they smiled back and told each other how cute he was. Because of him, they had the TV tuned to educational shows for most of the day, but whenever he got the remote he put on anime instead.

One day, Sasha was feeling coherent enough to turn his head and ask the boy a question during the commercials. "Hey ... " he tried to say, although it came out more like "Hrh ... "

The boy looked up. He was sitting up in bed, playing with toys.

Sasha moistened the inside of his dry muzzle, and tried again. This time he only slurred a little. "Whuush your name?"

"Aiden," he said. "What's yours?"

It took Sasha three tries to get his own name right. The boy giggled. "That's a girl's name!" he said.

"Yesh," Sasha said, and tried to smile.

"I saw you before you came in here," Aiden said. "How come you're an anthropomorphic wolf?" He did not trip over the word.

"Well," Sasha said, "there's two waysh to become one ... either you're born that way, or you pay the doctorsh to make you into one. Guesh which one I chose."

He grinned, and Aiden grinned back. "How come?" he asked.

"Alwaysh wanted to be one." Sasha looked up at the mirror again, one arm behind his head and the other hooked up to the IVs. The bandages were off of his head now, and he could see the scars clearly. They'd be visible until his fur grew out.

"Aren't you worried that people will look at you funny?"

"Hey." Sasha turned to look at him again. "I don' look at them funny for bein' ugly, hairless apes."

Aiden giggled again.

"So how come you're ... uh ... " Sasha's mind went blank all of a sudden, as the IV's timed painkillers were released into his system. " ... y'know?"

"Trans-species?" The boy perked up. "It was my parents' idea."

"Your mom and dad want you to ... "

"Yup."

"Seriously?" Sasha tried to sit up, and his stiff muscles protested.

"Uh-huh." Aiden watched.

"And you're okay with that?"

"Yup." He nodded, then looked back up at the TV. The commercials were over.

Sasha sat there a moment and thought about what it must be like to have a family that was supportive of his decision. His had disowned him when he'd told them about it; there had been a huge argument, and he hadn't heard from his parents or sister since. At least he still had his friends, he thought, as he started to become drowsy and laid back down ... at least he still had his friends.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
They came to visit him one day two weeks later, during his physical therapy. Sasha was happy to see them, and showed off. He'd opted to have synthetic muscles installed, to replace the mass that he'd lost during pre-op chemotherapy and retroviral infusion, and even with only a thin coat of fur he thought that he looked rather handsome. He suspected his friends thought as much, too, even though they were laughing and being sarcastic.

After they left, he found that he'd pulled every one of those muscles, since their nerve endings hadn't been formed yet and he hadn't been able to tell how far he was pushing himself. He spent the next week trying to lay still, unable to feel his aching muscles but knowing that if he moved them too far he might tear them apart, and have to have them surgically replaced. One time he reached for a cup of water on the nightstand, but his arm had simply refused to work and he'd knocked it over. Aiden had pressed the button to call for a nurse.

A week or two after that, almost his date of discharge, his friends snuck him out of the hospital. He still had trouble pronouncing some words, and they had to help him walk sometimes. But he felt alive and full of energy, and was tired of just doing exercises. The people at the front desk had looked surprised, but they waved to him and wished him good luck.

He couldn't remember what'd happened next. He remembered that there had been drinks, and pizza, and more pizza and drinks. He remembered making wild boasts to his friends, and pointedly calling a moustached man in a Stetson an "ugly, hairless ape." Sasha had been taller than him, and had been itching to start a fight. But to his surprise, the man had mumbled something and backed down, and he and his family had left the restaurant.

He remembered staggering back into the hospital, the nurses intercepting him and shooing his friends away. He remembered being helped back up the elevator, into his room next to Aiden, and collapsing into his bed. Now he was wide awake looking up at the ceiling, darkness outside the crack in the curtain, and realizing that something was wrong. What was it?

His stomach lurched. Oh yes, he thought ... that was what.

Sasha threw up, over and over again, and the noise woke Aiden up. He said something, panicked, but Sasha couldn't hear him because he was busy throwing up. Pretty soon after that the nurses came in, and by this time Sasha was glad they were there, because his stomach was twisting itself into knots but all that would come up was blood.

The nurses said lots of things to each other, and Sasha couldn't hear what they were saying because all he could do was feel pain. They pulled at his arm, but his arms were wrapped tight around himself and his hands were clutching his sides, digging in with his claws, trying to make the pain stop. But they kept pulling, and he finally lashed out, and the nurse fell and knocked something big and expensive over.

After that they forced a mask onto his muzzle, and he started to cough blood into it, too. But a few seconds later, that did not seem to matter. The world became black, and quiet.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
Sasha's release was postponed by a month. He barely knew what had happened; could barely think, could barely sit up. He was pretty sure that they'd operated on him, because his midsection stung like razors every time he coughed. And for the first few days he had to cough a lot, so the pain would become unbearable.

At one point, after a violent coughing fit, he started whimpering uncontrollably, tears running down his face. And Aiden had come over and watched for a moment, before placing one of his toy cars on the sheets next to him.

Things hadn't seemed so bad after that.

Sasha began to get better, to be able to sit up again, to have the bandages on his stomach removed. He began to talk to the nurses, to ask for things to read, to use his phone to respond to messages from his friends. He began to look at the light coming from between the curtain and the windowsill, and to think what it would be like once he finally stepped outside as his now-finely furred self.

And he began to look over at the opposite bed with concern. Because while he was getting progressively better, Aiden was getting progressively worse. The boy was taking all sorts of medicines and was barely coherent anymore, only lifting his eyes when his favorite anime came on. He didn't talk to the nurses anymore, and he didn't reply to Sasha when he talked to him. He just lay there, looking up at the wolf with a glazed-over look on his face.

Sasha felt terrible for him, and decided to keep talking to Aiden anyway ... partly to try to get a response out of him, and partly because he was feeling lonely and needed someone to talk to, even if they didn't respond. He told him what it was like working for one of the country's largest banks, and how his boss had been totally against his decision but would have to hire him back, thanks to the anti-discrimination laws. He told him what it'd been like seeing a natural-born anthropomorph, and reaching out and touching his fur and realizing he was alive, and how that had affected him and had changed his whole life.

He talked about befriending the anthropomorph. About going to the conventions together and meeting his current friends, who'd been supportive of his dream to become an anthropomorph himself. And he told Aiden how much he would like life as an anthropomorph ... how he'd be able to see, and hear, and smell things that he couldn't before, and out-wrestle anyone, and how awesome his friends would think he was. And he thought Aiden smiled at him, but he couldn't be sure.

Towards the end of Sasha's stay they let him get up sometimes, and walk around the hospital. He had an idea for where he wanted to go, and he told the nurses about it and they thought it was wonderful. That was how he got to visit the children's ward.

Sasha remembered what it'd been like to see people dressed up in costume like they were anthropomorphic animals, smiling and waving and hugging each other and little kids. He remembered hearing the people who did things like that talking about going to hospitals, and visiting children who'd come down with terminal illnesses, and putting smiles on their faces.

He wanted to do it too, as long as he was in a position to. And make them smile, and laugh, and ask weird questions he did. Some of the children could barely look up, or had to start coughing in mid-sentence, and those were the sad ones because he knew there was nothing he could do for them. But others were more cheerful, and would wave or even run up and hug him as soon as he entered the room. It made Sasha's heart melt.

Suddenly he no longer cared who was ugly and hairless and who wasn't. He was just happy to be alive, both because he'd come so close to dying and because he got to be around the greatest people ever. And he would look in the mirror and see someone else, and realize he liked being this someone else. He was acting the way that he'd wanted to act, but had never allowed himself to. And it was the most fun that he'd had in his life.

<div align="center">* * *</div>
Every day before he went out to visit the kids downstairs, he would try to get a smile out of Aiden. Today, though, he was still asleep. Sasha just tiptoed around him, and went down the hall towards the elevator.

When he came back, there were nurses rushing into and out of the room. They were bringing a crash cart inside, and giving each other orders.

Sasha watched, in shock, unable to realize what'd happened. He tapped a nurse on the shoulder and asked "What's going on in there?"

"We're trying to save that boy's life." Her face was grim.

Sasha wanted to step inside and see what was going on, but there were too many people in there. All he could do was stand in the hallway and watch, and try not to get in anyone's way. Sasha had never thought of himself as religious, but he couldn't help but pray that someone would save Aiden.

Finally he heard what sounded like Aiden choking and coughing. His ears perked, and he looked up. Then he heard the boy gasp, and let out the most horrible, anguished sound that he'd ever heard, trailing off into nothing. And the activity inside stopped.

For a second, Sasha did not know what that meant. Then he saw one of the nurses hang her head, and another begin crying, and he felt like his insides had frozen up.

He didn't cry at first, because he couldn't believe what had just happened. Then he remembered the pain that he'd had, of his insides tearing apart the night that his friends took him out; and, later, after the operation, the pain like his coughing would burst himself open. And he imagined that ten-year-old feeling that pain, and that pain getting worse and worse, and Aiden begging it to go away until finally something just gave.

That did it. Sasha began to cry too. And he remembered how morose Aiden had been the night before, and wished he'd said something to the nurses about it. He should have seen! He should have said something. He should have gotten one last smile out of him. He wished that he had.

He stood there in the hallway numbly watching people file out of the room ... doctors muttering something about malpractice insurance, nurses hugging and reassuring each other. They hugged Sasha, too, and let him know that they did their best and that it was okay to cry. And he did, all over again.

Finally there was just one nurse left, when Sasha went back in the room. She was standing over Aiden, and the way the curtains were drawn Sasha could not see his face. All he could see was the lifeless lump under the covers.

"I'm sorry," Sasha said.

"We all are." She didn't look up.

"He didn't even get to find out what it's like ... "

"What what's like?"

"What it's like to ... " Sasha coughed, and tried not to cry. He couldn't talk about that. "What happened to him?"

"His body rejected the human organs." The nurse's voice was a monotone. "We tried all kinds of therapy, but nothing was working on him. And so his organs stopped working on him, and he just gave out and died."

"Wait ... " Something about that didn't sound right. "His body rejected the human organs?"

"This boy was hatched as an anthropomorphic dragon." The nurse looked up at Sasha. "His parents were bred to fight in the People's Golden Army. When they moved here, they asked their son if he wanted to become a human. And he said yes."

The nurse finished writing something down on her clipboard. And Sasha could only stare, down at the lump on the bed that had once been a dragon.

"We're going to move you to another room," the nurse said, as another one entered the room. "Almost time for your discharge anyway. Come on, come with me."

She walked out, and Sasha walked out with her, looking over his shoulder until the door was out of sight.

[[Category:Feathertail]] [[Category:Story]] [[Category:Furry]] [[Category:Stories by author]] [[Category:Stories by tf]] [[Category:Wolf]] [[Category:Anthropomorphic]] [[Category:Dragon]] {{DEFAULTSORT:Better Life, A}}

User:Feathertail/Independence Day

2009-07-29T15:51:42Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Imaginary Friends

2009-07-29T15:50:13Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Help Wanted

2009-07-29T15:49:48Z

Feathertail:

User:Feathertail/Help Wanted

2009-07-29T15:48:50Z

Feathertail: