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Aaron was drowning in piss.

"How had it come to this?" He wondered; thinking back. He was closing his third year of college, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do. He was lonely, he wasn't working to his full potential, and he was tired. He was frustrated. His siblings were doing so well. His big sister, the vocal performance graduate turned published author, whose nerdy fellow German Shepard of a husband was an entrepreneur and web designer with his own big plans for the future. His third oldest brother, the high school band director, had married an energetic raccoon with the same passions. They both struggled to find jobs at first, but they got ones they were satisfied with, for now. His oldest brother, the high school art teacher, and his kind corgi and coworker of a wife had an adorable daughter. They hated the school district they worked for, but they had both happily gotten through college and found each other. At this point, Aaron was doing worse than he had starting out.

I struggled to the surface of the yellow liquid for air, and gasped as I managed to get a breath. I could see the athletes dancing drunkenly at the party beyond the horrid tank they'd left me in.

His second oldest brother was a professional student finally turned lawyer. He had two kids of his own with his Carolina Dog wife who was once a dental hygienist. His younger sister had been the problem child. Now she was doing great in college with her second boyfriend. But there was also Aaron. He had started out great. It had been even easier than high school. But this didn't last. The last five semesters had been a rollercoaster when they should have been a carousel. He hadn't been partying or much of anything. He was a serious introvert. He hadn't done anything crazier than playing games online from time to time.

The coach approached the tank with a satisfied smirk on his Doberman muzzle; a small ball of brown fur lying unmoving in his grip. "Logan," I thought, watching it with concern. He tossed Logan into the tank and gave me a look that said only one thing: I was next. He landed in the tank with a splash, and I rushed to help him stay afloat.

The otter had reached out as Aaron despaired over where he was in life, and for once he saw it and reached out himself to take hold of the offered hand-paw. They found out that they had similar interests, and both had been hiding part of themselves. Within a few weeks they were more than friends; they were each other's reason for holding on. The semester might have been going down in flames, but he had been looking forward to a summer with Logan to figure things out. Earlier the same night, they had been hiding away on a shadowed bench in the campus's hedge maze; cuddling, kissing, and thinking about the future as they watched the stars and moon. Two football players came out of the dark and studied them in disgust.

"Ugh. And to think I made out with Kelsey there just last week."

"Yeah. These will be perfect for the party. Say goodbye to your miserable lives fags!"

With that, the second one pulled out some sort of gun and fired it at them. They didn't feel anything at first, but then everything started to grow around them at a rapid rate. Or rather, they shrank. When it was over they were only a couple inches tall; sitting buried in their clothes on the bench. Aaron and Logan managed to struggle out of them; only to scream and cling to each other as the football players stepped forward to take them. They tore them from each other's grasp, as each took one; then hurried off into the night. The next few minutes were a blur, but after much brutal handling they had been thrown into this dirty tank. It had started out empty, but as the night went on whenever one of the male athletes in this room needed to pee, they did it on Aaron and Logan. The smell of alcohol-laced urine had quickly become unbearable, and it cooled quickly, leaving them freezing.

Then the coach had decided he wanted a micro otter for something. He reached into the tank to take Logan, but Aaron had refused to let go; and ended up dangling as he clung to Logan's legs. The coach laughed, and then almost dislocated Aaron's arms as he pulled him brutally away with his free hand. He then threw him back into the tank and walked away as the two called out for each other.

Now Logan was back, but something was wrong. I reached him and tried to hold his head above the surface. He was coughing up blood, and wheezing loudly for each breath. I looked down to see that one of his lower legs was bent at a horrible angle, his left arm seemed dislocated. But worst was the cloud of red coming from his chest.

"Stay with me Logan!" His eyes seemed a little glazed over and he fought to keep them open as he continued wheezing. "We'll find a way out this. Stay with me; I need you." I held onto him as the party beyond continued. His breathing started getting progressively slower. Eventually it had almost stopped. I shifted my hold so that I could see his face again. His eyes regained clarity and he managed to squeeze me with his right arm. I kissed him as I continued to struggle to keep us afloat, and I felt a warm sensation pass my muzzle and move down my neck and chest to its middle. He looked me in the eyes, and smiled before he closed his own and went limp.

"No! Stay with me! Logan!" He didn't respond at all. I put one hand against his neck, but I couldn't find a pulse.

"No." The brightest part of the last three years was now dead in my arms.

"No." I couldn't believe it; it would kill me to believe it. No one outside the tank seemed to notice as I continued to hold on Logan and broke down sobbing. Then the two football players who brought us here approached.

"What's going on here? Still cuddling as you drown in our urine?"

Logan was gone, and they didn't know or care. I snapped.

The next thing I knew I was back to normal size, and holding a still-micro Logan. The tank must have shattered, and I looked down to see cuts on my arms legs from the glass now scattered around, on, and beneath me; but I was numb. I didn't feel anything, except rage.

I stood up as the party goers started to notice, and the two football players backed up in surprise. "What the hell! How did you do that?"

I didn't hear the question as I felt my rage continue to build, and consume my thoughts. I couldn't think about my dead lover. No. He couldn't be dead. But I knew he was. I had watched the life fade from his eyes.

The entire party had stopped, and everyone was staring at me. The coach barged his way to the front of the crowd. "What's goin' on here? What the hell have you done you little fag?"

"You killed him." I said in barely a mutter.

"What?"

"You killed him." I said it at just above talking volume.

"What are you talking about? I just had some fun with him!"

"You killed him!" I shouted finally. I couldn't even think of anything else to say than this chant as numb rage continued to fill me. I felt the warm sensation from earlier travel up to my throat.

"What the hell is wrong with you boy? Have you lost yer mind?"

"YOU KILLED HIM!" I shouted as loud as I could; overflowing with rage now. The air seemed to ripple in front of me, and the coach and two football players went flying backward. I didn't know how I did that, but I didn't care; I was still full of rage. People were looking at me in confused fear, and then I shouted on more time.

"WHY...!" The air rippled again, but this time everyone in the room started clutching their ears; then collapsing. I also seemed to be losing my normal size again as held onto to the shout for as long as possible. When I finally stopped and gasped for air the room was silent, and I was the same size as Logan again.

He had slipped from my hands to the floor as I shrank and he became too heavy to hold again. I collapsed on my knees and pulled his head into my lap. I checked his pulse, still hopeful; still desperate to deny fact. It wasn't there. I broke down into sobbing again with my head on his chest as I started to feel the pain from the glass cuts.

This was how the cheetah found me. He sprinted into the room at some point. I didn't know how long it had been. Logan was dead. Nothing had meaning.

I looked up to see him surveying the room quickly. The others still weren't moving. He went over to one them and checked them over; then he pulled out a radio.

"Steven, I've gotten to the scene. I don't know what happened, but everyone but the victims appears to be unconscious. You'd better send the others, and an ambulance."

Then he carefully approached me and Logan and kneeled down, careful of the glass, to check on us. Surely he could see that there was no need to ask. I didn't want to answer that question. Not now. But the question was in his eyes all the same.

I felt myself going numb again as I managed to choke out: "H-h-he's d-dead." I still clung to his body. This couldn't be happening. The cheetah pulled the radio back out.

"I need medical assistance here now! One of the victims isn't breathing!"

"Not breathing? He's dead you fucking bastard!" Oh God. Logan was dead.