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[Muffled static, room tone, scattered breathing, electronic hum. The room is dark and claustrophobic. A green SCREEN glows a soft light across the muzzle of an anthropomorphic FOX with a gray pelt in their mid twenties.]

FOX: I'm... I'm...

[Text appears on the SCREEN gradually, as though it were being typed.]

SCREEN: Yes?

FOX: I'm not okay.

[Extended, near-motionless silence.]

SCREEN: And why is that?

FOX: I have no motivation, I can't focus, I can't even follow my dreams when the path to them is right in front of me.

[FOX sniffs, fighting back tears.]

FOX: I distract myself all the time, I'm fucking good at it too. It seems like I'm juggling so much sometimes, but if I take a step to the side and look again it's obvious I'm really just a lazy bastard who won't take the steps necessary to fix themselves. I just... I... For a long time I didn't know what I wanted or why. Every time I thought I'd found the answers they crumbled in my paws.

[Another pause, FOX seems to settle some.]

SCREEN: You say for a long time you felt that way. How do you feel now?

FOX: Now those things have crumbled. [FOX shrugs] I'm in pain. I think I know where things should go, what I should do, but I'm just... I'm just sitting here staring at a screen, feeling sorry for myself.

SCREEN: Why aren't you writing?

[FOX lifts up a notebook from where it had been obscured on their lap. The FOX looks at it as though in disbelief, flicking through the pages.]

FOX: I don't know.

SCREEN: What's in the notebook?

FOX: Fragments. Unfinished stories. Dead-end ideas. Things that I couldn't follow through with out of distraction, dissatisfaction, self-sabotage or fuck knows what else. I waste all this time writing these scattered pieces and getting nowhere, publishing nothing. What the hell is wrong with me?

SCREEN: Show me one.

FOX: An unfinished story?

[FOX flicks back through the pad to an earlier page.]

SCREEN: Yes.

[FOX hesitates, momentarily uncertain.]

FOX: Okay. I wrote this piece quite a while ago now, a couple years back.

SCREEN: What was your life like back then?

FOX: I was working away at a fucky advertising job I hated. I didn't last too long there. My mother was going through cancer treatment. Every day I wondered what it would be like if she died. It was not a great time for my family, but is it ever? There's always something making life stressful, even in the quiet times. [FOX sighs] The treatment was successful in the end. I don't know where I'd be now if it wasn't. This story is called 'Fuck It'.

[The muffled static grows louder gradually until it's overpowering, then there's a cut to black.]

***

Fuck it.

No, seriously, I'm done.

All that work, and for what?

A few words and a pat on the back. That's it. That's fucking it.

All I got was: "nicely done Daniel, keep it going Daniel."

I worked my ass off for months and that's all I fucking got.

Let me reiterate:

Fuck it.

In the morning I'm gonna walk in there and hand in my notice. That will show the bastards.

The place will fall apart without me.

Yeah.

...

No.

I wish.

I'm gonna march my ass in there with my tail between my legs and my ears flat and I'll do what I'm damn well told to.

I'm just another drone saying please sir, thank you sir, can I have some more sir? No? Thank you anyway sir.

Fuck it.

Why even bother pretending? I'm just another cog in the system to them. I built my expectations up for nothing.

Not quite true. I built my expectations up for disappointment.

All that effort...

This place is gonna kill me.

I'm not talking about my job, I'm talking about this damn planet.

It's full of pretenders and poachers, scoundrels and scroungers and systems set up to exploit and...

Fuck it.

Ever since last November things have been slipping away from me.

When my mother died I couldn't... I couldn't...

I put my effort into my work and look how that turned out.

I've lost time and friends.

I've lost life and mind and money.

I've lost-

***

[A loud static sound and visual takes over, then fades into the background. The FOX and the SCREEN are before us once again.]

FOX: That's all there is to it.

SCREEN: Why don't you keep working on it?

FOX: I don't know where to take it. I'm sure I could figure something out, but, I don't know. It didn't capture me. I have other ideas.

[FOX shrugs noncommittally.]

SCREEN: You have a solid start and you're behind on you're writing anyway, finishing your half-baked stories would be a good idea, surely.

FOX: Surely.

SCREEN: But you're not doing it.

FOX: That's correct.

SCREEN: How about these other ideas. Are you working on them?

FOX: Occasionally.

[Another pause.]

SCREEN: You said you weren't okay. Is your emotional state affecting your work?

FOX: Obviously. Sometimes legitimately, sometimes simply because it's in my nature to use anything I can as an excuse to get away from the work I'm supposed to love.

FOX: For a long time I felt like I didn't understand myself, or what I did, or why. It was as if there was the reasoned voice in my head, and then there was my unruly body that did as it pleased regardless of what I'd already decided. That feeling of powerlessness and disconnection has finally begun to dissipate over the last few months, but still... it's not gone. It's a process.

SCREEN: So you find that even when you want to write or work on a project you often do nothing?

FOX: Exactly.

SCREEN: Perhaps your unfinished stories can provide inspiration. Would you show me another?

[FOX flicks through the notebook again, stops at a certain point and frowns.]

FOX: I had a lot of ideas for this story but, well, here it is. Less unfinished, more barely begun. It's even older than the last one. It's years old at this point.

SCREEN: How were things at that time?

FOX: I had dropped out of uni after suffering through the worst patch of depression I've experienced in my life and I got a job. I was trying to find direction.

SCREEN: How did your search go?

[FOX laughs]

FOX: Honestly, I don't know. There are some amazing things about my life, but there are doubts and anxieties that plague me too. I hope the future will bring stability. I hope I'll outgrow these fears. But I can't know for sure. Anyway, this story is called 'So Much Better Now'.

[The muffled static grows louder gradually until it's overpowering, then there's a cut to black.]

***

It's all so much better now.

At least that's what people keep telling me.

Well gee, thanks, I guess.

What the hell is that even supposed to mean? Are you trying to tell me that everything is okay, that I should stop caring so much, that I should stop balking at injustice?

Don't say no. Why else would you fucking say it?

"Tom."

You're either spiteful or you're just ignorant.

"Tom."

You've never lived in my shoes.

"Tom."

You don't know what the fuck you're talking about.

"Tom are you baked or something? I'm talking to you."

It's James.

"I don't think he's baked," adds Sam. "He's probably just worn out after getting banged by his boyfriend all night."

My friends laugh, then make playground-esque _oo_ingsounds. It was a bad idea to come here tonight and an even worse one to drink.

"I don't have a boyfriend anymore," I say plainly, gaze focused squarely on my drink.

[REDACTED-1]

James slaps me on the back a little harder than necessary.

"Ah so it's a tough breakup? Sorry to hear that," he says. I'm almost feeling thankful for his support, then he continues. Of course he does. "Just don't look at any of us to be the rebound guy."

They laugh. It's all so funny to them.

"Don't take it personally," says Sam. "As a member of the male species I can confirm that we are terrible at long term commitment. Most guys wanna fuck and dash, it's just that most of them do it with the fairer sex."

Sometimes I wonder why they're even my friends. Part of me thinks it's purely because I've known them for so long, since even before I came out, but ever since I did come out things have been different between us. A lot of the time it feels like they see me as little more than a personified sexuality.

I have to be honest and admit it's starting to get to me.

Maybe it wouldn't sting so much if-

***

[A loud static sound and visual takes over, then fades into the background. The FOX and the SCREEN are before us once again.]

FOX: This one barely even makes sense in this unfinished state. There's this weird REDACTED thing and the bit at the start isn't fully contextualized by what's been written so far. I had a strong concept for this one and I kept telling myself I'd come back to it, but that never happened.

SCREEN: Do you lose your passion for things often?

[FOX tilts their head and laughs again.]

FOX: I've fallen in and out of love with people and things so many times over the past couple of years it's a miracle I don't have whiplash. I'm passionate as much as I'm volatile.

SCREEN: And you lost your interest in writing that story?

FOX: In a word? yes. But then again, in a week or a month I could change my mind. I never know what I'm going to think. I still find it exceedingly difficult to predict myself.

SCREEN: You say you love writing, but you distract yourself and abandon projects often. Have you figured out why that is?

FOX: No. Well, not really. I suppose over time I've come up with a few ideas. I love writing, absolutely, but that doesn't mean I always enjoy the actual process of doing it. It's difficult and time consuming and when I get into my character's heads I feel the pain they feel. That's part of it. Another is that I'm scared the end product won't justify the effort I put in, or that I'll fall short of my own expectations. Sometimes I feel like it's all a waste of time. Sometimes I think I'm a hack with nothing worthwhile to offer. That's part of it. The last part is that I'm just fucking lazy. It's easier to browse social media or watch some series or play a game than to sit there and write something that really matters to you, that you hope will really matter to somebody else. It's so much fucking easier. It's so much more convenient.

SCREEN: It seems like you do know after all.

FOX: Maybe.

SCREEN: And yet you still don't fix it.

FOX: That's right.

SCREEN: What do you want to do now?

FOX: I want to write another short story. Something different. I want to keep my mind sharp.

SCREEN: What do you want it to be about?

FOX: I'm not sure. How can I have so many ideas and yet often have so little drive to actually make something of them?

SCREEN: How about we look at another old idea? That might help us get to the root of things.

[FOX flicks through the notebook again, finds a story and runs their fingers across the words.]

FOX: This one's a bit more recent than the others, but still a good chunk over a year old.

SCREEN: And what was going on in your life at the time?

[FOX runs a paw down their face.]

FOX: It was... strange. Not great. From then and, honestly, up until recently, it's been very strange.

SCREEN: How so?

FOX: I guess you could say I was trying to find myself. I did all kinds of stupid shit that hurt me and some of the people I cared about most in search of some kind of truth.

SCREEN: And did you find it?

[FOX finds a rueful grin and exhales, shaking their head.]

FOX: In the end, through all the pain, I suppose you could say I did. This story is called 'Chew Toy'.

[The muffled static grows louder gradually until it's overpowering, then there's a cut to black.]

***

I treat you like my chew toy.

I do what I will with you, have my fun and spit you out.

I make you mine then leave you on the ground.

I let you inside of me like it's nothing, then soon enough you're nothing to me.

That's what I do. I use people. I always have, maybe I always will.

I listen to 'Can't Do Without You' by Caribou while letting you down gently.

I listen to 'Closer' by Nine Inch Nails while while telling you it's never going to happen.

'I wanna fuck you like an animal / I wanna feel you from the inside'

It gets me off.

I want you to love me. I want everybody on the planet to love me. I want you all to want me. In your bed. At your side. Posing for the camera. Walking down the aisle.

Then you're nothing.

I got what I wanted out of you.

Seven billion more to go.

"Do you think your feelings of self-resentment stem from your own admitted arrogance?" She asks, her whole physique calm and composed. Her fingers clasping a pen poised pointedly above her notebook, ready to strike at any moment. "Does that idea resonate with you?"

Her glasses, her white jacket, those pale, pointed, alert ears. I want her. No. I want her to want me. My own therapist. Inwardly I both laugh and cry at the concept.

I consider her words and tilt my head.

"Partially," I admit. I stare out through the window, head resting on my paw. She seems to like watching me when I do that, so I've started doing it more often. "But there's more to it."

"Last week you mentioned your compulsions to control and manipulate people," she says and I twitch and she jots a note and I curse myself. "Would you like to expand on that?"

I turn to face the lynx, I explore her sapphire eyes and find nothing. That nothing draws me in. I want to fill her void, and more besides. I feel a growl building up at the back of my throat but I suppress it.

"Sure. I use people, doc. I take the good in them, eat it up and leave them hollow. I get off on their excitement when they think they have me and then I get off on their disappointment when they realize I'm out of reach."

"Okay," she says. She's calm as ever, writing more in her little book. "When you say 'people', who do you mean in particular?"

"I would do it to pretty much anybody if I could."

More notes.

"Okay, so since you can't do it to just anybody, who do you do it to?"

I pause and take stock. I close my eyes and sigh. I'm putting on a show and I'm not sure if the intended audience is myself or her.

"Lonely people. People who are looking for something more. I'm good at getting into a person's head. I can figure out what they want and why and then I can give them just enough of it to get them hooked. Then they're mine. I play with them for a little while, and then when they try to get serious, I cut them loose."

"It sounds like you're specifically talking about relationships. Romantic or sexual."

She's making a note out loud, not asking a question, but I answer it anyway.

"Either, both."

She keeps writing.

"So you send false flags, you enjoy the attention you get. The sex too. Then you sever ties if they try and make a move."

"That about sums it up."

"Does your boyfriend know?" She asks.

It ties knots in my stomach at the same time as it brings that growl back to my throat.

"Of course not."

"And do you think this may be a large contributor to your feelings of self-resentment?"

I look out the window again.

"Yes."

"Something tells me you already knew that."

"Maybe I did."

More damn notes.

Then my time is up and I'm out of there.

He's worried about me. He asks how it went. I lie.

He cooks me dinner and we eat together.

Later we fuck and it's great.

Later still, he's asleep and I'm online, infesting another life with my words and ways. Pulling in another victim to use and spit out. Convincing myself I love this one this time. I can't be quite so frank with myself as I am with my therapist. That would destroy me.

Yet, sometimes, I get lost in my own fantasy. It goes too far. I really start to think I care. I never do.

In the morning I wonder if I've lost it.

I look at the world and nothing makes sense. I have no clear sense of self, or of anyone else for that matter. I seem to work along pre-programmed patterns that I don't understand.

Why do I do the things I do? Why do I feel the way I feel?

I have no idea.

I wish I could come up with some tidy conclusions to this, to all of me, the problem that I am, but that's not how this works.

Day in day out I want different things.

Sun up sun down I make the same decisions differently.

I'm hurting people, but I can't stop. Not now. It's too fun.

I hate the way I think.

I am exactly what you want of me and I am something else entirely. I want to fuck you and I want to run away to a mansion in another country get high, get naked, be free. We'll binge on wine and weed and sun and cum and everything else we can think of for fun.

We'll turn off the lights and hug and cry and talk about life and loneliness and all the cruelty in the world. We'll cut our wrists and bleed ourselves dry upon the page. We'll paint portraits in blood to rival the greatest art ever made. We'll be kings.

I am exactly what you want of me and I am something else entirely. I want to be yours forever, only yours. I want to marry you. We'll get a house and work and do what we want in the time we have together. We'll fuck and be there for one another. We'll make the best of what we have. We'll lift each other up. We'll make each other feel.

We'll grow old together and never fall out of love. We'll clasp our paws together until we fade away. We'll be as one.

One day they'll wake up and realize I'm a fraud, all of them will, everyone, and I'll be left abandoned.

I'll deserve it too.

I treat you like my chew toy.

I wonder how I'll like it when you bite back.

***

[A loud static sound and visual takes over, then fades into the background. The FOX and the SCREEN are before us once again.]

FOX: If it reads like a jumble of mixed emotions and ideas fueled by a heightened emotional state with only loose connecting threads, that's because it is.

SCREEN: It ends in a complete sentence, does that mean this is the whole story?

FOX: No, well, in a sense. It means this story was never going anywhere. I didn't have any concrete ideas for where it was going, I didn't even really want it to go anywhere. I stopped working on it and left it buried.

SCREEN: So, going by when you said you wrote it, this was from before you met your ex?

FOX: That's right.

SCREEN: Considering the content...

FOX: I know where you're going with this; I suppose it's true in some sense. I was struggling with the idea of being polyamorous at the time of writing this, but I already had a boyfriend. I wasn't in the situation of the character in the story, I wasn't cheating, but there are parallels to be drawn between my mental state at the time and the content of that piece.

SCREEN: Looking at these unfinished stories it seems they are often directly influenced by your emotional state and the recent or ongoing events of your life.

FOX: I think that's only natural for me. To be clear, not every story I write has any connection to recent events in my life, and with rare exception...

[FOX turns toward the camera and shrugs, then turns back to the SCREEN.]

FOX: I do not write about real events from my life, or even about the exact emotions I am going through.

FOX: But unarguably there are sometimes connections between my work, especially my short fiction, and my recent lived experience. However, I don't see that as a weakness. What could be better to draw inspiration from than the intense emotions and events I have lived through myself? That way I can capture naked truths in my words.

SCREEN: And you don't see that take as arrogant?

FOX: As with many creators, I walk the fine line between unearned arrogance and crushing anxiety on a day-to-day basis. Sometimes I think my work is worthless. Sometimes I find pride in it. I won't apologize for that.

SCREEN: Perhaps there is a connection to be made between your unfinished pieces. Is it possible that your more directly personally reflective, revealing work is usually scrapped or left hanging? That you in fact do not want to reveal yourself through your work?

[FOX laughs uproariously.]

SCREEN: What is so funny?

[FOX continues laughing until they have to wipe tears of laughter from their eyes.]

FOX: Don't worry about it.

SCREEN: ...

FOX: But honestly, there may be something to that. At least in past tense. Look, here's another story from around that time. I got almost nowhere with this one, in spite of what the title may suggest. It's called 'Excesses 1'.

[The muffled static grows louder gradually until it's overpowering, then there's a cut to black.]

***

The truth is: I think I love you.

The problem is: I can't say it.

We bring out the worst in each other, we exacerbate one another's excesses, and yet here I am by your side.

You put the gun in my hand, a half-crazed smile on your blood-stained face.

I clutch it with confidence. This isn't our first time dancing this tangled tango.

I knew the risks and still I chose this life.

I point the gun at the struggling figure and you remove the bag from his head.

When he sees me, sees the gun, he opens his eyes so wide I wonder if they'll pop right out of his head. He would be screaming if it wasn't for the tape over his mouth.

I have no idea who he is, but he has to die. That's just the business.

One squeeze of the trigger and-

***

[A loud static sound and visual takes over, then fades into the background. The FOX and the SCREEN are before us once again.]

FOX: That's as far as I got.

SCREEN: You named it as though it were the beginning of a series and that's all you ever wrote?

FOX: Uh huh. I wanted to write another series, I had this darker more action-focused idea, but I very quickly realized I didn't gel with it. Once again, I had better ideas.

SCREEN: Destructive love is a theme again in this piece. It seems it was heavily on your mind at the time.

FOX: Love is a theme in much of my work, but in these two pieces particularly it is shown as twisted in some way. Back then, in honesty, I had a crush on somebody I was talking to. It didn't go anywhere. I'm glad it didn't. I think it was more a manifestation of my internal confusion than anything real. As I said, it was a period of self discovery for me. I made a lot of mistakes, and getting very close to acting on that crush was one of them.

SCREEN: But later you did act on a different crush.

FOX: Yeah. It's complicated. But the long and short of it is that was a terrible mistake. It's one of the worst mistakes I ever made. For over a year since I met my ex, my life was a fucking mess. I'm not blaming him, nor am I calling him blameless, but I can tell you with perfect clarity I'm so fucking glad I'm past it all.

SCREEN: Do you think that period in your life hurt your productivity.

FOX: Absolutely. I was distracted or distressed almost all the time.

FOX: There's so much I could say about it, but there's so little reason to say it. Simply put it was too much for me.

SCREEN: But you say you're past that now.

FOX: I mean, in part I am, but it's not that simple. I'm still in pain. I'm not hurt by the end of that particular relationship, but reflecting at the person I was and what I said and did over the last year and a half fucking kills me. I wish none of it ever happened. I wish I wasn't so prone to acting out. I almost ruined what I have with my boyfriend of six years. I'm so fucking lucky I still have him. I love him more than I can say and I almost lost him. I almost pushed him away, multiple times in multiple ways. It's not entirely my fault, I know that too, but I can certainly take a lot of the blame. I could have stopped it all before it started but...

SCREEN: But your unruly body acted against the better judgment of your mind.

FOX: Something like that.

[FOX sighs.]

FOX: Sometimes it's hard to see where thoughts and actions start or end.

SCREEN: What do you mean by that?

FOX: I mean I don't know what the fuck I was thinking or why the fuck I did what I did.

SCREEN: You were discovering yourself, you already said that.

FOX: I did say that, yeah, but I didn't have to be so fucking explosive about it. I didn't have to be such a fucking drama queen.

SCREEN: You had untapped feelings of polyamory, it was only fair to explore them.

FOX: But that's just it. Sometimes I think I did it all just to explore. I knew by doing so I would put my partner in pain, that I would create chaos and potentially hurt so many others along the way for no reason other than curiosity. I was trying to push the envelope for the sake of it, with no concern of who I might hurt in the process. I was so fucking selfish.

SCREEN: But is that really true?

FOX: What do you mean?

SCREEN: Did you really do what you did out of pure curiosity? Is it possible bitterness has clouded your judgment? Would you really go through everything you went through if you didn't ever care for your ex at all?

FOX: ...

SCREEN: Did you write anything when you were with him that you didn't finish or publish?

[FOX flicks through their notebook once again. They stop at a page and their eyes trace the words. They look sad and angry all at once.]

FOX: I didn't title this.

[The muffled static grows louder gradually until it's overpowering, then there's a cut to black.]

***

Things stop making sense around you.

I can still feel and see and think, but nothing really makes sense.

It all becomes a mess of emotion and instinct.

Logic distorted by lust or love, it's impossible to tell which through the refractions bought on by your presence.

I feel powerless to stop any of this.

I keep falling into you, over and over.

When I forced distance it seemed impossible, unworkable, overcomplicated, not worth it.

But you pulled on my tether and I drifted in.

You became like a black hole, inescapable.

You changed everything.

I don't know what will happen now.

My mouth can't make a sound except for me to tell you I love you.

You.

You.

You're nothing like my type.

You exist in a different world to mine.

One far simpler.

Your world is full of basic choices and obvious answers, self-assured faith and pure truths.

My world is endless uncertainty, daily struggles with existence itself, fog and static, godless and fallible.

I believe in nothing.

You believe in me.

There's something so pretty about that I can't help but repeat it back to myself in quiet times like remembered lines in a play I'm about to perform.

It's not far off.

Your words are my script.

You give me that hope and guidance and encouragement I always needed. You remind me that there is joy in the world. You remind me that this is all real. It's all so tangible.

We can pick a point and go if we want to.

You can set goals for the impossible and launch toward them.

That's what we're doing now.

I don't know where we'll land, not really.

Of course, you think you do.

But even if we fall short, crash and burn like part of me thinks is inevitable, we still get to fly.

I'll spend this time in the sky with you like it's all I have.

I'll love you in this unique way I may never love again.

And maybe we'll even make it.

But how can I know when nothing makes sense?

I just can't think straight.

You're on my mind all the time.

***

[A loud static sound and visual takes over, then fades into the background. The FOX and the SCREEN are before us once again.]

FOX: ...

SCREEN: That's not a story, is it?

FOX: ...

SCREEN: You can't show me that and tell me you didn't feel anything.

FOX: I fucking hate him.

SCREEN: Do you?

FOX: I read this and I wish I never wrote it.

SCREEN: I believe that.

SCREEN: But do you read it and think you were lying when you wrote it?

[There is a pause.]

FOX: No. Not exactly. Exaggerating maybe.

SCREEN: Maybe.

FOX: Certainly.

SCREEN: ...

FOX: I never should have been in that situation. I should never have been with him.

SCREEN: But as you wrote there, for a little while, even though it did not work out in the end, you got to fly.

FOX: ...

SCREEN: Do you think there is any truth in that?

FOX: I'm not sure that relationship ever worked, not really.

FOX: But in those moment in which it felt like it worked, in those moments we believed it would work, it was... it was something.

SCREEN: Something special?

FOX: ...

SCREEN: How do you feel about polyamory now, after that relationship failed?

FOX: As I mentioned, I've been lucky enough to keep my long term partner through it all. But as for polyamory...

FOX: Part of me knows love is infinite and boundless.

FOX: Part of me knows that while my ex wasn't the one, there could be another out there who is, who could make our couple into a triad, or perhaps something more expansive. But now, and perhaps until the end of me, I'm not interested in pursuing that at all.

FOX: I love my boyfriend. There have been some close scrapes, but I've been with him for half a fucking decade. He is all I need now and forever.

FOX: Polyamory is a beautiful thing, and I support it wholeheartedly, but it's fucking hard. And transitioning from a monogamous relationship into a poly one is even fucking harder. This isn't a warning, don't see it as such. For anyone who wants to try and has the opportunity, I would encourage them. I hope they find something incredible.

FOX: When it works you're fucking flying.

FOX: But you know what I realized? With my current partner I'm already flying all the time. And that's more than I could ever ask for. It's more than I need. More than I ever needed. I was blind not to see that in the first place.

FOX: Personally, I'm no longer interested in anything that could fuck up what I already have. When I'm with him, which isn't as often as either of us would like right now, I'm happy.

FOX: For someone like me, being happy is an achievement in and of itself.

SCREEN: So you've grown, you've been through all these changes, these crashing reverberations, and you've come out the other end. Do you feel as though you've finally found some stability in your life.

FOX: You know, to a large extent, yeah, I do.

SCREEN: Are you feeling better?

[FOX nods slowly.]

FOX: Getting there.

SCREEN: You've found yourself. You're identifying your vices. You're in a relationship that has regained stability. Would you agree?

FOX: To varying degrees of accuracy, I guess you could say that's all true.

SCREEN: So what's wrong? Why are you still not writing?

[FOX makes an odd face and scratches behind their ear.]

FOX: The more I talk with you, I...

[FOX goes through their notebook until they reach the last piece, after it are only blank pages.]

FOX: Look, I wrote this recently.

SCREEN: How recently?

FOX: It must be close to a month ago by now. I'm not exactly sure, but it was after I started talking to you anyway.

SCREEN: What do you mean after you started talking to me? That doesn't make any sense.

[FOX shakes their head.]

FOX: Never mind that. It's the most recent one-shot piece I've worked on apart from well... [FOX grins and shakes their head again.] apart from one thing. It's called 'eleven pm on a work night'.

[The muffled static grows louder gradually until it's overpowering, then there's a cut to black.]

***

It takes five hours of non-stop Netflix for me to realize what I'm doing.

I'm running.

I'm escaping.

I don't like how it feels to be me right now so I'm doing what I can to think about anyone or anything else.

Other than him, of course.

So I keep taking the easy way out. Nights filled with TV and games and Twitter and YouTube and messenger apps.

I could do with a coffee. I could do with a snack. I need to get something from the shop. Anything to distract myself, but always something.

I stop and wonder why things changed. Not just with him, with others too. I sent a message to a friend of mine a month or so ago now and no response. Another friend sent me something a few weeks back and I half-wrote my answer then just left it there. It's been in limbo ever since. I see it every time I check the app but I do nothing to further my response nor to eradicate it.

As for him, we haven't exchanged a word in thirty-three days and, what, a few hours.

Thinking about it makes me feel strange. It's not that I want him to message me, I don't. It's not that I want to say something to him, I don't. I don't know. It just feels strange.

We used to talk all the time. Every day, obviously, but not just that. Whenever we had the time we'd chat. I'd make an effort to clear my schedule. Now I have no schedule to clear. I'm just wallowing. I don't even understand why. I don't regret leaving him. Maybe I just regret ever being with him in the first place.

Maybe. I don't know. It's almost as if real relationships can't easily be boiled down to a list of bullet-pointed emotions.

It's all so complicated. It always has been, it always will be. Sometimes I'm at peace with that. Sometimes I watch five hours of uninterrupted Netflix.

Sometimes I cry.

Leaving him didn't make me cry. It was the right thing for both of us. By the time it happened I wasn't even sad about it. I saw it coming. Why didn't I speed it up? I'm not sure. Except I am. But it's complicated, and personal. Too contextual to expedite as flash fiction.

'Fiction'.

Yeah.

He might be reading this though. He would probably want me to go into detail.

He might be reading this.

Such an odd feeling to know that. But he read my stories before I even knew who he was, so he might be reading.

I hope he's not.

We didn't feel the same about things. That's both a general statement and a specific one. I would assume things are different now, but in the first days and weeks after the relationship fell apart he still liked me. Maybe he would even have told you he still loved me.

I can't say those feelings were mutual, but to dig too deep into that, or into him, here is neither necessary nor fair. It doesn't matter now anyway. I'm moving on, or at least I'm trying to.

But what is holding me back? What is keeping me snagged on the protrusions of the past?

It's not love. It's not loss. I know that. I don't want the things I thought I wanted back then. I don't envy what I had or want to rewind time or say anything I never had the chance to. I just want it all to be over with.

And maybe that's the heart of it all. I want it to be over. I want conclusion, I want coda.

I take a break from writing this to listen to Charli XCX 'Cross You Out'. At time of writing it's her latest single. Funny how art imitates life and hits you hard where and when it needs to, always. (Music has saved my life so many times.) It's a song about moving on from somebody that you don't want to be a part of your life anymore.

She sings: when you're not around I'll cross you out.

When you're not around I'll cross you out.

That's what I want to do.

But I haven't. Not completely. I don't even know if I could if I tried.

How can you cross somebody out when they're always around? If not in front of you then online. If not messaging you then maybe reading your posts. If not that then out there, interacting with mutuals, only the thinnest of lines blocking them from view.

How do you cross somebody out in twenty-nineteen? Can you? Should you even try?

I begrudge the free real estate he has in my mind. No. It's not even him really, it's more the absence he left, more the fear he might ever come back again. It's over and I want it to stay that way.

In time things will reach relative normalcy. I hope. I'm sure. But right now it's not easy. I feel worn out, beat down, left wandering. It's better than before but it's not perfect.

I want to write fiction, actual fiction, but every time I try I find an excuse not to. Instead I watch Netflix. Instead I write this. Whatever this is.

At least I can say that this isn't running.

That's some kind of improvement at least.

However fleeting it may be.

Anyway, back to watching Mindhunter. It's good, by the way.

Wait, how do I justify putting this on a furry website? Well, I'm a gray fox and this is about me so there you go. Just imagine twitching ears and wagging tails and that should do.

***

[A loud static sound and visual takes over, then fades into the background. This time however it continues to fade until the sound and visuals become entirely clear for the first time. The FOX and the SCREEN are before us once again.]

SCREEN: That looks like a complete piece of flash fiction. SCREEN: Well, 'fiction'.

FOX: Sure. It is. [FOX mutters the next part.] I can't believe I really fucking wrote that last part.

SCREEN: Why didn't you post it?

FOX: I very almost did. But then I thought about a project I had been working on, on-and-off, in the background and realized I could add it to that when I was ready.

SCREEN: What do you mean by when you were ready?

FOX: In this piece I talk about reaching normalcy. I wanted to get there first. I wanted things to settle.

SCREEN: You wanted to get over your lingering fears and pain?

FOX: I wanted to get to the point where I felt like I was me again.

SCREEN: And you were going to add this story to your project? How?

FOX: By inserting the story wholly into that project. How else? I thought it would help tie the whole thing together.

SCREEN: Uh, okay. So are you ready now?

FOX: I am, actually. I really am.

SCREEN: What caused that change?

FOX: A few things. Time. Reflection. Distance. Feeling the anger and pain and frustration ebb into nothing. Feeling as though I've moved past the mistakes of my past as best I can. Feeling as though I've cut all the loose threads I'm capable of cutting. Coming to peace with all that.

SCREEN: And now that you're feeling ready, are you going to use this story?

[FOX laughs again.]

FOX: Yeah. In fact, I've already used it.

SCREEN: Good. I'm glad. So you feel like you're on the path to recovery?

FOX: Actually, it's better than that, I'd say I've recovered.

SCREEN: And you're ready to start writing more consistently?

FOX: Time will tell if I keep it up, but so far? It's been going well.

SCREEN: What do you have in mind for your next short story?

FOX: I've already started writing it. Actually I started writing it months ago now.

FOX: Things have changed a lot since then, and I hope the story reflects that.

SCREEN: What's it about.

FOX: It's about that.

SCREEN: About what?

FOX: Change.

FOX: Growth.

FOX: Pain.

FOX: I could use more words but readers should be allowed to think for themselves.

SCREEN: Sounds like it might come across as pretentious.

FOX: No doubt.

SCREEN: How would you describe it otherwise?

FOX: It's very personal and self indulgent. It's a bit of a mess. I have no idea if anybody will actually enjoy reading it.

SCREEN: Then why are you writing it?

FOX: Because ultimately I write for myself, not to please an audience. I enjoy doing that too, but it's not a prerequisite.

SCREEN: And you enjoy writing this piece?

FOX: Not exactly.

FOX: But it is important to me.

SCREEN: I hope it goes well then, and please FOX, if you see something in this story, try not to leave it half finished this time. Okay?

FOX: You don't need to worry about that.

SCREEN: Why's that?

[FOX smiles.]

FOX: I'll be done with it any time now.