Part 1: Countdown to Midnight.

---

Topher sat on a bench. The sun hot above. The wind; gentle.

It was Lunch time. But he was alone; avoided but not unnoticed.

Funny;

How the others pretended not to look;

Staring at the deer but only when Topher was turned the other way.

The deer; the young:

Unnoticeable deer;

Now wearing a skirt;

Now in…drag?..

..Had lost a bet? Or was he…you know…one of those types?

Whisper. Whisper. Whisper. What a mistake the deer had made.

Why did he ever feel the need to be seen?

Don’t look back, Topher; keep your eyes up. Gentle clouds. Or Down. Soft flowers. Count them: one, two, three. Deep breaths. What happens; happens. This was the price you must pay for being different; because in the end, the way the male uniform hung on his frame just never did quite feel so right. But Topher’s sorry to be such a bother. He really is.

If only you would give him a moment to explain…

It happened only an hour before…

“You should say something.” Erika; two years older. Lip pierced. Black eye-liner. Wearing only her bra and panties. A zebra. A friend. Broad shouldered; athletic. She was captain of the volley-ball team. “You shouldn’t be forced to wear anything you don’t want. Toph, it’s time we make a statement.”

Soft shrug. No eye-contact. Topher; wanting to leave; just-forget-I-said-anything-okay? “Can I get changed now?”

“Bull-shit!” Erika; Defiant; air shaking as she spoke. Why was she mad? Who was she mad at? “You deserve to live your truth!”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to cause trouble.” Topher; in front of the bathroom mirror; wearing a skirt: a grey curtain that hung over his thin legs. Brown fur; white spots. A tiny, lissom frame. Like a dancer;

(Though he had no coordination)

Even then there was Topher.

With long auburn hair; as long as he was allowed; and soft. No antlers; for they had shed for the season. Good! He found them awkward, messy. Unbecoming. For some a healthy rack meant pride; but it was a pride that was not meant for him.

Topher looked at the white shirt that Erika had pinned strategically to better fit his lesser frame; buttons on the left. Not on the right. It felt special. Erika’s school uniform felt special. Fitting as well as it could; like a magic cape; a reverse invisibility cloak. Topher saw his reflection and felt recognized. He could finally see himself. He wanted to cry.

He was sad;

Or rather he had been sad;

For a long time.

“You just look so beautiful.” Erika head; landing gently on Topher; white and black like ink weeping across a canvas. She was fire; she was furious. She called Topher sister and Topher was; Her sister. Erika loved pain and dark magic; a witch lost to the wild; or so she wholeheartedly claimed, but hated the pain and darkness that sat within Topher. “The principal won’t say anything. Or we’ll sue him.”

“We can do that?” Soft smirk; Erika always with her fantasies. A silver skull hung off an ear. A glimmer. A charm.

“Fuck, yeah we can!” Erika; a warrior.

Their school; a progressive school; the kind that had managed to keep its sex-ed lessons: Where Trans, Gay, Lesbian and all the other words were written on the blackboard. During class the other students would nod along and play whatever part was less likely to get them in trouble. But at night, they heard different lessons; there’s a war on masculinity; here’s what you have to do. Feminism is destroying the world. Trans is a plague. The liberal agenda…Ru-Paul is the anti-christ. The world was ending;

We’re on the verge of war…

But Topher wasn’t a plague. He didn’t have an agenda. He wanted only to graduate; to someday see those landmarks currently listed in his head: copplestone streets; gold-domed mosques; spicy noodles; bamboo forests; divine architecture and dark night clubs;

A whole other world was just an ocean away.

Topher loved the idea of flying; of all manner of aircraft; of those massive machines which defied gravity and cut through the sky. He had posters of Bombardier and Boeing and collectable cards of old fighter jets from WW2 and a special framed certification from the Aviation Camp that he had attended years ago. On his shelf remained a model concord half painted (he would finish it some day) above it an exact replica of the Challenger and the Apollo which sat like trophies above his bed; suspended in perfect stillness;

Stuck in a time before history started to unfold:

Fireballs, explosions, and crashes;

And the pull of ever persistent gravity.

Down-down-you-go...!

You should never fly too close to the sun!

See how the sky was streaked with debris?

All those heads shaking?

Don’t you know we landed on the moon?

But we never actually did land on the moon.

The government lies. Don’t you know?

It turns out we were never really there at all.

“Are you going to change your pronouns?” Erika; soft: angry no longer, but always two steps ahead.

“I don’t feel I should.”

“Okay. But do you want to?”

“I don’t know.” Topher; Heart-beating. Walls closing. Futures flashing: father’s arms crossed; disappointed. Strangers. Pointing. Words whispered: Say, your Son? He isn’t like other boys, is he? Bit of a fancy hoof, eh? Just a joke, but Topher remembered;

The words bleeding in from moments not meant for him to hear.

But he did..

On TV; an old news reel. A tower stood in memory; a monument to a past about to die. The image seemed still till the frames unfolded as the tower’s side burst into flames. On TV, the camera shook; streets baked in ash. Citizens running. Fate uncertain. The apocalypse: imminent;

Are we on the verge of war?

The new settled in; chaos growing; the world woefully liberated from what it thought it knew.

War?

Invasion?

Was it the end?

Then came; a scoff. A turned nose; messages had started to crop up across internet forums.

Jet Fuel can’t melt steel beams; of course not;

And so the world, once betrayed, twisted back to safety.

And Around the globe, came a collective sigh.

Everyone agreed; it’s always better to face the devil you know.

“Hell!” Topher’s Dad; sipping beer; still wearing his office slacks as he reached to increase the TV volume. “Is today the anniversary?”

“Guess so,” Erika’s Dad; a cushion between them.

Dad beside Dad;

He was a gruff Zebra with a beer-filled belly

(but not at his best)

(not like he used to be)

Hasn’t been for some time. Actually.

“I still think it was an inside job, ya know.”

Topher’s Dad stayed deaf to his neighbor’s insinuations as silence fell between the two. He felt desperate for an escape as he turned his head. He knew he was being watched; or so he felt. But when he checked, his son was nowhere to be seen. Topher was already gone.

“Getting kinda late, don’t you think?” Topher’s Dad; wanting to go to bed.

“Hey Topher’s, uh. He’s a good kid. I’m sure. Erika and him seem to get along really well. I think she might have a bit of a crush…”

Erika's Dad does not want to go home;

But he’s not ready to say why;

Because he’s never quite sure how to.

Men are like pillars, he was once told.

Don’t ever let them see you fall.

Topher had gone back to his room; to that place where the wallpaper was peeling (was being peeled.) That’s what Topher did when he heard what he heard, he picked and peeled; but he would never let his father know about the wardrobe; the wardrobe; he would never pick past it; always behind it. Keep it hidden. Behind the wardrobe; tall and heavy. Hide your shame; hide that place where the wallpaper was peeling,

(where he had been peeling it)

All…the way…strip by strip; like rockets streaking the air.

While he sobbed.

“I’m not ready for this.”

“Yes, you are.” Erika; pure rebellion.

Erika turned Topher to the mirror holding Lipstick like a missile;

Looming and ready to strike.

“Hold still.” Erika; at the ready.

“No. That’s…That’s too much.” Topher; hands raised. “I can’t do this.”

“Just try it. Just for lunch break. I’ll be by your side. I promise.”

“Erika. Please. Can we stop this?”

“What if I dare you?”

“Stop. Stop. Stop!”

"…Toph, what are you so afraid of?”

Part 2: A Quarter After

---

#

The lunch bell rang but Erika was gone, still arguing in the principal's office; a diversion to help Topher get away. She would be right behind him, she promised, and yet she remained fighting; fighting for both Topher and then for all the other injustices of the world;

"Homophobia; racism; xenophobia; industrial farming; the funding of foreign wars; the patriarchy; the death of the night goddess; derealization; the simulacrum: the destruction of reality: the loss of language; the loss of meaning; the loss of trust; the loss of heart; the ever persistent apathy towards a better tomorrow; the spirit within us all,"

She was determined to fix it all; right there in the principal's office.

Even as the principle rolled his eyes.

She should be done soon; Topher thought. Until then, he would simply run excuses in his head; Oh me? I’m only rehearsing for the school play:

Spotlight! Romeo, Romeo. It is me: Juliet; who once was a Romeo. But Romeo, Romeo. Where art thou Romeo? Just work on your lines…for that imaginary play; from a theatre club he actually was too nervous to ever join; creating conversations with the classmates that dared not approach him.

Then came the soccer ball. At his feet. Sudden in its appearance. As sudden as the towering pillar that had come to retrieve it. Standing before Topher came a vision of sun baked bars. Taut muscles captured under athletic wear; a blue tank-top over stripes; orange and black and white. He wore short black gym shorts; his chest rising against tight fabric. He arrived crowned by the sun with an uneasy expression that grew as he approached. For a moment, Topher caught his eye. Though he shouldn’t have. Look away Topher! Don’t draw attention...but the other male had already begun speaking.

“You gay or something?”

“No.”

It was Mike. Topher knew him well. He always saw him, he was always everywhere; impossible to avoid. Always the magnetic tiger; with an air of power of which he seemed mostly unaware. The type to assume goodness in the world; simply because others were good to him. His smile; simple, charming. His body: always fit and on display. As though no school uniform could quite fit his tiger frame; he was perpetually bulging. Even now, Topher felt too aware of the faint outline expressing from his shorts; but just don’t be a creep about it, okay?

“Oh, then you’re like…trans?” Mike; assuming.

“No.”

“Oh, then what's it called? Non-Binary?” Mike; searching.

Mike did not recognize Topher. Why would he? Topher, as slight in shape as he was unremarkable in frame. By comparison to Mike, it was clear what Topher was as other’s had labelled him; a sissy, soft-hoofed; faggot. They were the very same words that he had peeled from the wall-paper behind his wardrobe till all that remained was the inescapable wall behind it.

Topher had no jealousy towards Mike; for they seemed too opposite for any real comparison, but rather, that within Mike, he felt a deeper kind of wanting; more simple in its way; he wanted to be seen as Topher in the same way that Mike got to be seen as Mike. So perhaps it was jealousy afterall,

Even if it stung much deeper than jealousy ever could.

“Oh. Right.” Mike; crossing his large arms. “I’m not transphobic, or anything. You don’t have to be scared.”

“I know.”

But Topher actually wasn’t so sure.

It’s just, when I saw you from the field I was like…” Mike; letting out a chuckle, “Did you lose a bet or something?”

“Something like that,” Topher; avoiding further eye contact; hoping to end the conversation.

“No fucking way!” Mike; wide face. “What’s it like? Are you actually wearing panties right now? Can I see?”

Topher recoiled from the question, desperate for any kind of diversion. Even then, Mike reached for his phone, seconds from tapping record till Erika jumped between them.

"Mike. Seriously?” Erika; Sharp eyed. Protective; arms spread. Athena. With Topher wearing Erika’s school clothes, she had switched back to her street-wear; black, sleeveless; pentagrams and darkness and silver studs and generally a menace.

“Don’t start, Erika!” Mike; swiping a paw. But even then, he knew to pocket his phone. “Don’t make this into a whole thing.”

“Make what into a whole thing?” Erika; standing tall. “You’re clearly making her uncomfortable.”

“Her.” Topher; repeating.

The word hit Topher like a musical note; like a percussion, knocking his senses until his whole body was left ringing. Nothing else said mattered; he was floating; he was flying. Finally, in the air.

He felt within an unknowable emotion; like a spider stringing together many strands: fear, pride, validation, a loss of control; a light finally being turned on; a moth hitting its head against a bulb, over and over, until its wings came to finally settle.

“Oh my god,” Mike; pushing back. “Why are you always like this?”

Erika; wordless with an eye-roll.

Mike; responding with a retaliatory finger, ready to unload;

Only for a realization to interrupt him.

“Wait, did you say, ‘her?’”

Dread. Topher felt dread.

“No, she didn’t,” Topher; sweating. “It was just a joke.”

“Toph?” Erika; turning to her friend. “Really?”

“I can’t believe it.” Mike; defensive. “Why would you not just say that? I actually don’t have a problem with it at all. You are just assuming, I do. But I don’t. I actually have a cousin that has a friend who has an aunt that is trans…”

“Come on, Toph.” Erika; offering her hand. “We’re leaving.”

“But lunch is almost over.” Topher; a good student; well behaved.

“No. We’re leaving…leaving. The principal says we have to change clothes, so now we’re protesting.” Erika; speaking as though the matter were already fact. “We’re not going back to school until they remove our school uniform policy. We all deserve the right to express ourselves!”

Topher, on the other hand, had only tunnel vision.

“We can’t do that! If we skip school, the principal will call my Dad! And he will find out that I’m…” Topher; starting to spiral.

“He won’t!” Erika; eyes burning; a silver-earringed Valkyrie. “It’s against school policy. Otherwise we can sue him on account of it being sensitive information. My dad’s a lawyer, I know these things.”

“Didn’t I see him on TV? Something about injury claims?” Mike; butting in.

Topher found two nubs protruding from under his hair; his body already making preparations for next season. The young deer pulled on them, hoping to find a way he might fold into himself. His father; Oh, his father! His father rarely said much; but Topher dreaded more the moment when he would finally speak-up. There was peace in silence; peace in allowing his father’s quiet love to keep control.

“It’s okay, Toph.” Erika; pressing hand onto shoulder. “If anyone is in trouble, it’s me.”

“And me,” Mike; butting in. Again. “I mean, I’m coming too.”

“Erika; grace turning to guts. “Like, hell you are!”

“Come on, I want to protest too! She needs all the support she can get.”

“She.” Topher; repeating again; ears perked.

How quickly; how casual Mike had said it; such little effort or consideration, only for Topher to feel his gut turn. Suddenly, a pronouncement once liberating came to corner him; like he was supposed to admit to something that he had not quite figured out himself. Suddenly he became all too aware of how Erika’s school uniform, pinned into place, actually didn't fit him at all.

“Seriouisly?” Erika; dubious.

“I mean I’ve got this test this afternoon…”

“Right.”

“And…well I have a car.”

Erika; winking at Topher. ”And?”

“And a 6 pack of beer…”

Part 3: The Clock Strikes 6.

---

Tallside:

“The point where cliff overlooked the sea.”

A neighborhood of perfectly formed micro-mansions stapled into place and accented by the perfectly kept botanical garden at the road’s end. Within it; a public attraction: the butterfly house; a political peace offering paid for by tax-dollars. A kiosk near it offered pretty good ice-cream.

Taller still;

At the edge, a parking lot.

The most elevated point that offered vantage over the harbour. There sat a fleet of private vessels resting like tighly packed xanax in a row; overseen by the yacht club; another political peace offering. It was after all, exactly what the public needed. But how many people actually own boats these days?

Topher kept to himself; an unopened beer can remained in his hand. He counted each boat, if only to distract himself from the Zebra and Tiger behind him. Erika, leaning on the car door, Mike coming beside her. Paw and hand; lingering; the space between reducing; breaths suddenly caught. Memories; resurfacing; of tiger holding zebra flesh; cherry flavored shots mixing with stolen whiskey. Hard tiger cock finding…her passage…Nothing but the best for you, baby. That’s it, see if you can take all of me.

But Erika had a different idea. She skirted the tiger’s approach by crossing her arms.

“I hate this part of town.” Erika; speaking her thoughts out loud.

“Oh Yeah.” Mike; insecure, sipping his beer. “Me too.”

“Don’t you live here?” Erika; eyebrow raised.

“Just my Dad.” Mike; speaking into his can. “Mom went overseas.”

Erika; snarky. “She rich too?”

“No, she’s an artist.”

“Really?”

“I mean it feels like everyone wants to be an artist these days.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing. It’s just that no one wants to work.”

The fuse; lit.

“What do you mean?” Erika; temper rising. “Art IS work.”

“No, I mean like real stuff. Construction and shit.”

“Oh, you mean destroying the environment?”

“Erika, I’m just trying to have a conversation…”

“You always say that…”

Mike; paw on his head. “Come on! Don’t start.”

Mike; continuing. “Look I’m not a [ ] but [ ]”

Erike returning: “You are such a [ ].”

Then warfare.

Topher had to wonder: how many hours had each spent, every night, stockpiling their thoughts and ideas; creating 15-second bite-sized scud-missiles, loaded with memes and sarcasm. Fueling jet-bombers; dropping thought and rhetoric in a wide-spread carpet bombing; how much longer could they go till complete and total nuclear annihilation? Somewhere the doomsday clock ticked onward; trundle to pinion: tick…tick…tick.

Even then in their bickering laid a trace of memory; of one time when their beastly nature had felt unimpeded and enhanced; when desire was fueled by intoxication both sacred and safe; when they were merely formless, psychic, archetypes; when they were just dumb fucking teens doing dumb fucking things; finding in the mess a place where animal could meet animal and hold a questioning thought; Is this…? Could it be…” But rather, that neither could say aloud; for both feared what may come of it. That Mike had penetrated her, carefree and without a condom, seizing the moment to find his status; male and strong; and Erika looking into his eyes, watching as they slowly closed in strain; in vulnerability and fear; that when she saw him truly, she saw no grown tiger, but instead a small cub confused; what exactly were they doing, together? Was he any good? Could he make her cum? When she, through him, could feel this emotion; unnamable; shaking through his stripes; Is this…? Could it be…? But it was more like a nostalgia, but one for a moment never occurring: when they were kids playing building blocks together on a soft carpet, building the highest tower, together; higher and higher...and higher so, until there was nothing but joy between them; how he had started to make her insides quiver, making her want more before he roared with an early release; but it was okay while she waited, and waited for him to speak the words; Is this…? Could it be…?” Waited for him to become not so hard; but soft again, to hold her and whisper: I love you. But not. He couldn’t. She wouldn’t either. Because in this memory; a memory that never occurred; he had knocked down their tower; and laughed victoriously. Leaving that memory, and all other memories, completely obliterated; as though they were never really together at all. As if, it had all only ever been a dream.

“Feminist Bitch!”

“Fascist Pig!”

Suddenly, the beer was all drunk and Erika was ready to storm off. Mike avoided her glance, sipping at the last beer can; but it was already long emptied.

“Come on, Topher. We’re leaving. I’ll order us an uber.” Erika; expectant hand on her hip.

Topher knew he should leave; leave with his friend. He could see Erka. Hurt; twisted and ready to vent, but Mike was turning dark and wanting something deeper; eager to fix what Erika had left shattered across the pavement. Even now he was adjusting his crotch; openly. Eyes set forward with growing menace. Wordlessly he invited; did he?; for Topher to look, to see the jiggle beneath his athletic shorts; looking from the rim of his beer can, outward...

And then to Topher; suddenly predatory;

Suddenly hungry.

Is this what you want?

The deer watched; time slowing.

Mike. Mike. Dumb. Handsome. Mike.

Desire grew, becoming a sensation that played with Topher’s tongue like a fiddle; an oral fantasy that wished to run his long tongue round bicep, and chest; up the neck, into the mouth; round and round like licking an ice cream cone; or a bee circling for nectar.

“I haven’t even finished my beer.” Topher; opening his can.

“You don’t drink, Topher.” Erika; ever the wise one. “You can’t be serious right now.”

“Maybe he wants to start.” Mike; a peacock.

“Topher?”

Erika was old enough to know; to know about how friendship sometimes all powerful could sometimes also sting; how sisters aren’t always so sisterly when caught in the eyes of dumb muscle. She knew enough; that sometimes, those she called friends, would stumble onto a male, that would mush their brain chemistry and turn them dumb; but who existed really only to teach them a lesson: that for every dumb tiger in this world; there was a sister waiting; with bad snacks and plenty of kleenex. But that was the future, and this was now, and Erika right now, was…feeling pretty pissed off.

“You really are female,” Erika snorted.

I’m sorry, Topher; unable to speak.

I know. Erika; unwilling to respond. .

Alright, then; Mike. Smiling.

Part 4: A Quarter To...

---

#

As Mike began to close the space between him and Topher, the young deer felt helplessly nervous. That the more Mike approached him the more Topher could detect the intentions prompted within his scent. Topher’s instincts read through his magnetism; it was intense; combative and competitive; Hormones surging as though he were about to square off during a seasonal rut. It was dark, too. Alluring. Frustrations built from a wounded ego; frustrations mounting; danger increasing; uncertainty building; balls full and aching for release. Topher thought to run but then the tiger adjusted his crotch again; the gesture wider than last time.

“You going to say sorry to her?” Topher; full of intrusive thoughts.

“Nah.” Mike; playing it cool. “It’s Erika’s fault. She pisses me off so much. She treats me like I am dumb or something.”

“Things got pretty intense.” Topher; trying beer for the first time; trying not to wince.

“Fuck, she’s so hot though.” Mike; making small talk; muscular arms behind his head. The tiger took the bench space beside Topher, spreading his muscular legs wide.

“Yeah…” Topher; side-glancing; pretending not to notice.

“Can I be straight with you?” Mike, leaning in.

“Sure.” Topher, alarm bells going off; face hot under the fur.

“Are you like, really…trans? Like you want to be female?”

A moment. A pause.

“I don’t know.” Topher, leg shaking nervously. “I don’t want it to be this big deal.”

“You know what I think?” Mike; full of opinion. “I think the problem with females is that all they do is complain. But like males? We get stuff done. Like look at all of this. It’s like women just don’t see what we do for them, ya know? You get it, right?”

Topher; attempting diplomacy. “Maybe Erika has some points too, it’s just you don’t like how she says it.”

“Nah.” Mike; shaking head; not fully listening. “Did you hear her? They’re like, trying to feminize the world and shit..”

“Would that be such a bad thing?” Topher; strangely assertive. Was it the beer?

Topher checked his can. He was already halfway done with his first beer. At first, it tasted awful, only for it to become a habit as their conversation continued; that he discovered he drank beer as easily as his father who treated every sip like a punctuation mark.

“Hey!” Mike; reaching. “Pass it over.”

The tiger took a swig for himself, while Topher thought more of his father; a poor and quiet creature; who spent his days crunching numbers and crushing his back; before coming home to drink; just a can or two; within reason; to splash into a pool of its bitter taste; for relief; to fill his gut and swell his liver; to find a way to not count the days as they slowly passed; only to find an eventual hope that tomorrow would give him better answers; to realize before bed; how much his son meant to him; and to fear how deep that made him feel. Why can’t he just talk to me? Why are we so afraid of each other? Maybe he already knows; maybe he is ashamed not for Topher; but for himself. But really, Topher was just day dreaming. Not really being there at all.

“No, but, we need men in this world too. Ya know? Who’s going to protect us during wartimes?” Mike; still debating. “Like WW3 is coming. Our nation should be coming together more than ever!”

Topher; escaping fantasy. “You think you can stop a missile? Or a drone strike?”

“Would you just let me make my point?” Mike; with aggression; no, cooling off; not ready for another fight. “I think things were a lot better when we all got along. Like the old times. When we had respect for each other.”

Topher; head forward; watching a ship begin to leave the harbor. “That’s exactly what Erika was trying to say. She just wants mutual respect.”

Mike; relenting. “While she’s got a wild way to ask for it.”

“Maybe she says the same about you.”

“You think?” Mike; considering; offering the rest of the beer. Topher took the can, only to meet eyes with the tiger again. He gave the deer a quick glance, head tilting; suddenly smiling. “So, what about you? Are you going to like…chop it off?”

“You can’t just say that.” Topher;...giggling…strangely? The deer was surprised by his own reaction. Mike’s aloofness had a strange effect; ignorant as he was; he wasn’t without any charm.

“Are you gonna get like…boobs?” Mike; enjoying the laugh; joking further, cupping his own chest; checking sizes; holding melons. “Like big ones?”

Topher; snorting. “I’m gonna be classier than that.”

Mike, brave; placing his paws on Topher’s chest. “I like ‘em big! So big you can stick your face between them. Like this.”

“Huh?”

“Bleblebleble,” Mike; motorboating. Topher; stunned. Mike; suddenly aware of himself. A bell; ringing from the harbor. Sun setting; it’s getting late. Maybe we should get going. No. It’s okay. Let’s just chill here. Yeah. Okay. I got an hour or so. Why are you so far away? Come here. You cold? A little. There's a jacket in my car. No it's okay/ Can I comecloser? Sure. Body; warmer. Wait. Bodies; closer!? Arms; wrapping. Hip; pulled in. Action; unstoppable. Paws; contacting. Lips; meeting…

“Mike, what are you doing?”

“What? Nothing.” Mike; Wide-eyed. Breath close “I’m not doing anything.”

“Stop playing around.”

Mike reached for Topher’s wrist, guiding the young deer’s hand, closer to…him; closer to contact; firm and protruding. The tiger was so heavy; with scent. Topher hesitated; but not for too long. He took Mike within his grip; from base to tip; it was big; a fact that Mike was well aware of since he was fond of comparing sizes in the locker room.

Topher had only ever touched his own before; having never considered what it might mean to hold a size larger than his own. In response; Mike titled his head back.

“Shit.” Mike; growling…low; a porn star imitation.

“We’re in public.” Topher; playing with danger.

“You’re right. Let’s head back,’” Mike; knocking his head to the car.

Mike did not participate. Not at first. Topher was led only by his own enthusiasm; tugging away Mike’s shorts once they were inside the car. In the confines of the closed space, he let the other male’s scent overwhelm him; feeling beastly as his body activated with dumb lust. Mike’s large shoulders stretced across the car seat behind him; that it wasn’t long before the tiger finally took control, guiding the young deer further down; pushing Topher past his limits and over his hardened manhood.

“Do you like dirty talk?” Mike; genuinely offering.

“Fuck my mouth?” Topher; trying earnestly.

“Yeah. Okay.”

It was an invitation that Topher had not been ready to give; the action turning violent as Mike amped-up his aggression; sharp claws; tiger claws; gripping Topher by the neck, soft deer neck; squeezing more and more until Topher could feel sharp nails touching down on warm flesh; on warm…soft, pierceable flesh; Mike could hurt him; was going to hurt him? Ow! Is that okay for you? Yeah. No problem. And yet still Topher did not resist; in this moment he gave himself freely; that he started to lose himself while also feeling more in control than ever before;

Never before had he felt so certain and also so desired.

“You like that?” Mike; checking in.

“Yeah.” Topher; wanting to please.

“This is so hot.” Mike; affirming. “You’re doing great.”

The feeling of raw tiger strength, holding him down, keeping him in place, offered him a deep pleasure, even as he started to gag. How could it be, that in this moment, he felt so rewarded, even as he had turned his back on his only friend; when he had decided to skip school? When he would eventually have to face his father?

That it was at this moment; a moment of many firsts; that he found himself being face-fucked over a precipice; an abyss once avoided now seemingly all to inviting; that all his life he had felt wired to anticipate every incoming disaster; but in this moment he found he was totally getting off on it. Come. Come. Come annihilation. Destroy me, as I deserve to be destroyed.

Then Topher began to shudder; not in arousal; but in anger; an anger once hidden underneath the wallpaper. Topher thought of peeling; peeling the wallpaper in his bedroom, insistently, for it had once been the only way to cure his sadness; but rather, perhaps, it was always just a remedy for anger instead; the anger he kept down; but no more.

You can hurt me; but you cannot deny me.

Anger. Destruction. He wanted to destroy his house; to rip apart walls; to obliterate the home; his father; his world that refused to change; even as so many were screaming for salvation while they argued. He wanted it to happen; with every fibre of his being. He wanted to see explosions; for the world to be undone. He wanted ash. White, hot ash. He wanted Mike to explode, white and hot, into his sissy, feminine mouth (he wanted to be called something dirty); he didn’t want this life anymore; he wanted to live! To be horny and true and wild and free; to shout and to scream; and to shake wild-assed in front of old gods;

Come! Come Rockets! Bring in our new world. Blow-us all sky high; to kingdom come.

Mike wanted only to finish; to earn relief from the sensation, but then when he finally opened his eyes, he saw Topher; gobbling him up; a spark in his eye; lost in pleasing his first cock. But then Mike's tiger eyes sailed further down; towards damnation; towards the patch of wet arousal tenting from the deer’s skirt and for a moment; he could feel the ruin burning within Topher; that Topher was leading him to oblivion; that when he turned to the window; and saw all those homes, stacked perfectly in rows; he became like soft salt.

Framed within his car window was a world that looked up and admired him; that fed him and patted his head and gave him trophies and told him that he was the best. While here, in this moment of abandon, he was coming to face; that which he was not ready to face; that within his car; sealed from this world; he was only just a creature of instinct; trained to feel hunger, to seek constant reward and in turn, after turn, to become more desperate for approval; perhaps it was true; his whole reality was shapes like a wheel but being within it is what made him feel so strong. Without it, where would he be? Still Running; but in no particular direction. Still strong; but nothing more.

“Stop. ” Mike; losing steam. “I’m good. That’s enough.”

“What happened?” Topher; confused; bright eyes looking up.

“It’s the beer. I think.” Mike; caught in the stare. “I lost it.”

Topher; round-eyed; wiping saliva off his chin; still hard under his skirt. “Do we need to take a break? Or…”

Mike remained frozen; stone like a pillar; stuck as a sentinel. Topher leaned forward, lips matching lips, but the tiger did not kiss him back. Topher tried again; this time with more success. Just step a little further; come just a little further with me; one foot off the cliff. Mike raised his paw, pushing back Topher. The young doe whimpered; like a pet after its favorite toy.

“Mike, please. Just this once..."

“I can’t, Topher.”

The deer returned, towards the tiger, his own tongue coming to wrap around the other tongue like a vine twirling around a post, holding it in place; holding it in place. until Mike let out a growl, helpless as the deer had him in place again, in his grip again, massaging flesh back to action. Mike, gave in. Moaned softly; feelings rising as Topher continued to kiss him; with anger; with abandon and with control. He was moments away from a new world coming. He wasn't going to give up now.

“Shit. Topher…”

“I want to see you cum.” Topher; leading.

Topher worked Mike’s cock back to fullness; life restored, its tall shaft leaking tell-tale pre as his balls began to jolt. Both deer and tiger came to breathe in unison as softness fell into Topher’s eyes; the promise of a quiet world; where grey snowflakes blanketed abandoned streets. A world dull and apathetic; a waiting canvas; a condensed star; a void before the bang; a new plot of a land; a garden; another soft kiss. A do-over. A twist of the hand, all the way down and all the way back-up again. Who could you become if you just stopped trying? Who could we become if you could just look me in the eyes? Everything I ever wanted is within you. I see it now.

Is this…? Could it be…”

Mike felt himself fall into the rhythm as Topher continued to pump him; as he coaxed Mike to his end. Mike could begin to feel it; a feeling dropping from his chest down towards his crotch. Topher’s soft deer body leaned forward as he placed himself across Mike’s hardened body; soft head curling into the tiger’s neck; a strong arm coming to hold Topher closer. The deer was bringing him to climax. Topher was really going to make him do it. Hell. Might as well…

“Toph…” Mike; ready.

“That’s it.” Toph; guiding. "Give it to me. It's all mine."

With a shudder of his hips, the Tiger gave the deer a mighty squeeze, before he released hot and white; a slow fountain coming to cover Topher’s hand. They kissed again; drawn by instinct. Then Topher tasted the tiger’s offering; drawn by curiosity. Then Mike wanted to try; drawn by the dirty feel and for a moment; nothing seemed to matter; the two just started laughing.

“The fuck?” Mike: tongue out.

“Do you like it?”

“Not at all.”

‘I do.” Topher; tasting again.

“Did you…?” Mike; curious.

“Kind of.” Topher; smiling, fixing his skirt.

Mike exhaled with Topher remaining still across his chest. A moment of calm before whatever came next. Between them a galaxy of thought turned; stars orbited around the backseat of Mike’s car; realities unfolding, dreams colliding, a new dawn, forming up and up, and up but then gravity:

Hey everybody, this is my girlfriend Topher.

Hey Erika, you’ll never guess who I am dating.

No, No he's different now.

Dad, meet Mike.

Mom, meet Topher.

Yes, we’re dating. Why do you ask?

Good night, dearie. Good night, sweetie.

Welcome to the rest of our lives.

It started with a shift; an arm that was starting to fall asleep. It was only normal. But then Topher was too quick in slipping off the tiger, shifting to the other seat while Mike went the opposite direction, closer to the car door, coming apart as quick as they had come together; but now there was an uncrossable boundary between them.

“You can’t tell anyone about this.” Mike; acting strong.

“I won’t” Topher; nodding. “Not even Erika. Alright?”

“We should get going,” Mike; exiting the car.

“I can take the bus home.” Topher; playing polite. “I bet you’re tired.”

“No, it’s okay. I’ll drive you. It’s the least I could do…”

Mike; attention …suddenly stolen. “Wait what the hell?”

....

*Part 5: Midnight. *

Mike looked towards Tallside. The point where cliff overlooked the sea. The place that had once been a suburb; a collection of perfectly formed micro-mansions stapled into place; taken by: a loud bang, and then suddenly fire. A sudden flash; the houses below; the offices below; the cars and families; the harbor; and the yacht club all flattened; clusters of white explosions; hell had come touching down!... concrete into white debris. Fireballs, explosions, crashes; gravity claiming what was due; down-down-with it all. The sky streaked with debris. Screams rising. Topher, extending his hand to Mike; Mike extending his Paw to Topher; almost touching but then suddenly, it’s all too clear; and yet it’s all too late.

And then there. On the last standing wall; a message was written:

Don’t you know that we once landed on the moon?

Well, as it turns out;

It would seem;

That actualy.

We were never really there;

at all.

** Author’s Note:

(A confessional)

#

Over the years I have been trying to write a fantasy novel. However, it wasn’t happening very quickly. Then came AI.

At first glance, it proved a great tool to help me get through some of the slog so I could focus on more of the “fun bits.” Afterall, there are the things that I like to write about and then there’s the things that I must write about (in order to keep the story going). Which also meant there were periods where I was writing almost everyday, and there were periods where I was woefully stuck with writer’s block and desperate for inspiration (or energy).

In the beginning, when I finished a day of work, I would write maybe only a few pages, get some ideas down, before I was ready to totally power down. Or, if I was excited, I could push myself, but then not have much energy left for the next day.

My struggle at this time was realizing that my creative energy wasn’t as unlimited as I thought and the more I stressed my personal battery the more I began to resent myself and hate my work. That I would find myself getting frustrated and then I would stop for periods that grew longer and longer…

It was with AI however that I seemed to have found the right partner to keep me going. For the times when I was too tired to write, I let A.I. take over; that it became my own personal cruise control. And it did a pretty good job. At some point I felt like I was reading my own fantasy novel at the same time I was writing it. Which, admittedly, felt pretty cool. It was amazing to have another voice to share my imagination with. But after about 20 chapters in, I realized my relationship with AI had grown sour. I began to question, was I working with AI, or for AI?

With ethical and environmental concerns aside, it didn’t occur to me the damage I was causing to my own self-esteem. In the beginning, I was experimental with my use, but by the end, I had turned it into a crutch and over time this crutch started to take its toll; stealing my confidence and turning it into dependency. By some point I felt I was no longer expressing creativity but rather only prompting (and re-prompting) on a conveyor belt, with my only goal coming towards finishing the piece.

Around this time, I was also beginning to see more and more criticisms reporting on AI. I saw the art world: music, painting, writing, etc slowly become inundated with apps and slop factories that seemingly would improve the process, some more effectual than others. It wasn’t that I began to see my own writing as slop, but rather, that I began asking myself, what was the point of creating anything in this endless sea of content? In the beginning, I motivated myself by imagining that I could create something that people could fall in love with (and be turned on by) but now it seemed impossible that anyone would ever find it at all. So what else could I do? But keep writing and tell myself I will do it based on the joy of creation itself.

Then, just as I was nearing the end of the novel, I hit a major roadblock. I had lost touch with my characters. Not due to outlining. Not in understanding their motivation or their action, but rather more existentially: I had lost their soul. It’s like I had made my puppets only to give their strings away.

I think in order to write, an author must love their characters, even when (or especially if) they chose to do the wrong thing. But these characters in my story were no longer living within me. I found this kind of writing had left a hole in my chest. In the end it wasn’t my work anymore. This was the work of a machine and I was the one aiding it.

This isn’t to sound dramatic but to bring up an observation about creativity in general. I feel that a keystone of creativity comes from the desire to ensoul meaning into the world around us. To take a material (like clay) and shape it into something that feels true or at least true to us. We are equal parts emotional and logical creatures and yet something in this world favors logic as heavier; the desire to command instead of experience. I think it’s because we often confuse our emotions for the cause of suffering, even if its very nature is to set us free. I don’t need to extrapolate that position. You just need to read it again.

With all that being said, I wrote this short story as a defiant piece to reclaim that which I felt I have lost; to get back that which I had willingly surrendered. Emotionally, AI had left me feeling like printer ink where I once thought myself like a brush-stroke. I asked, from when did I become so self-conscious about my work? It was time for me to stop conflating “better” with “perfect’ and to get back to my own raw materials.

So please accept this as the first piece I wrote in a long time without the help of AI and understand that it is a work built from my own personal resistance. What you find here are deliberate errors (and undeliberate errors, probably) created by pure unfiltered anger towards how our future is supposedly being shaped. In this world of this story the box has become so tight, that none can no longer escape without intervention. It is, from its first words, already an apocalypse in motion.

…It is also a love letter to the semi-colon, which to me is the messiest punctuation mark of all and is thereby my favorite. In this work, I use it as a mark of metaphor or rhythm (or something) and not much for its intended use; which I think the semi-colon appreciates very much.