FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Hey everyone! I am Shadowflame Survivor, and this is my first story. I am new to Yiffstar, and I hope that you guys reading this enjoy it. I realize there will undoubtedly be errors aplenty, but I wanna hear what you have to say. My thanks to 2 ppl: Onai, my mate and co-author, and anyone who takes the time to read all this. Now then, sit back, relax, and enjoy the show!

Chapter One: The First Day

The rain on the windshield. The laughter of his parents and his younger self. The screech of tires and the blaring of horns. These were the sounds that made sleep a terrifying necessity for him. He wanted nothing more than to wake up, for he had realized long ago that these were dreams, fractured memories of a shattered past. Yet no matter how hard he wished it, he suffered through his nightmares alone, much like he drifted through his waking life. He knew the dream's end long before it came; the image of himself standing alone at his parent's grave, long after everyone else had left to escape the rain now pouring itself upon him. Hearing sounds from behind him. Seeing shadows on the ground at his feet. Turning around to see the unknown visitors. Then nothing.

* * * * *

He awoke automatically at 6:45. It had become habitual for him over the summer, as his social worker had attempted to ease his transition back into mainstream school. The combination of the alarm clock and phone ringing simultaneously at 6:46 became a deafening cacophony to his early morning senses. The alarm was there in case he failed to wake on his own, and the phone call was undoubtedly the social worker calling to ensure his consciousness.

He groggily attempted to hit the snooze button, then tired of the game and threw the machine against the room's opposite wall. He pushed himself out of bed and headed towards the phone just as the answering machine clicked on. He quickly picked up the receiver, trying in vain to avoid recording the conversation. "G'mornin', champ! You awake yet?" asked the worker. Tal groggily responded, "No. I'm doing that sleepwalking thing again." trying his best to ensure that every word was dripping with sarcasm. "Well, as long as you're awake and out the door by 7:15 or so, you should be alright. Now get some breakfast, okay? We didn't go shopping just so that you could fall asleep from hunger on the first day of school!" said the worker, countering the sarcasm with optimism and, no doubt, more than a little caffeine. The line went dead, and the phone was placed back on the receiver, followed by a heavy sigh.

He dried off quickly after a very cold shower. Wiping moisture off the mirror, he reached for the special blend of makeup he had mixed, and began applying the blue powder-gel to the marred scales above and below his right eye. After reaching something that could be described as satisfaction with his work, he shook his unruly mop of hair into something that wasn't completely laughable and further obscured the only outward mark of his past, of his pain.

The red, white-tipped strands fell into place, just as they had since he started to grow his hair out. Ever since... He shook himself angrily out of the memories that had begun to surface. He looked at his watch, let out a very creative curse, and rushed into his room. Digging though his closet, he found the handmade leather harness he made himself wear when he went outside.

Slipping it over his head, he strapped his wings close to his back, leaving him hunched over, looking as though he would be perfectly at home ringing the bells of Notre Dame. Over this, he threw on a very loosely coordinated outfit, ran to the kitchen, grabbed a bagel, and began the long walk to school.

Upon reaching the school, he dug his schedule out of the pocket of his hoodie, put up the hood, and slipped quietly into the building behind a group of female students. The girls in front of him were too concerned with the way the sun shone off the fur of the school's star quarterback to notice their silent follower. Studying his schedule, he made his way to the door of his first hour class, and waited.

* * * * *

By lunch, word had begun to spread around the school of the new weirdo on campus. If rumors were to be believed, he was an escaped serial killer on the run from the authorities, who would surely find him any day now to take him back to the asylum where he belonged. Or a bounty hunter whose mob boss clients wished not to pay him, but to kill him and take his small fortune of blood money instead. Only one thing had supposedly been learned for certain, and that much only by paying attention during roll call, a miracle in its own right. It was now common knowledge that this doubtlessly dangerous and maniacal individual's name was Claw Darkfire, or something like that.

The rumors didn't surprise him, nor did the error in learning his name. It was a common enough mistake, after all. With the exception of hawks and eagles, when most furs heard the word "Talon", they immediately thought, "Claw". The surname error was minor as well. Most would think very little of the difference between "Shadowflame" and "Darkfire".

As plentiful as they were, though, he knew that there would be many more and perhaps much more malicious rumors if he had dressed himself comfortably. Physically, all that was believed about him was that he had blue, scaly skin, red, white-tipped hair, and apparently some sort of spinal disease from the way he walked.

There was very little at the school that private tutoring at a private school had not prepared him for. Except for the poor quality of the food. Nothing could have prepared him for that, save perhaps a feast of meat that had lain, maggot-ridden, in the sun for days. After managing to choke his way through about half of the slop known as "lunch", he threw the rest out and got as close to his next class as he could. And then he waited.

* * * * *

The rest of the day went by quickly for some and at a snails pace for others. As far as Tal was concerned, it was tedious and boring, as most of his classes had no less than five extremely vocal idiots. This, of course, made the non-vocal idiots, of whom there certainly was no shortage, look like young Einsteins by comparison. When the last bell finally rang, Tal filed out of the building just like everyone else.

He left the school grounds, got his bearings, and began the three-mile trek home. He had no hopes for the rest of the school year. He no longer made plans for the future. All he could hope was that things would change. What surprised him, however, was the form those changes would take...

Chapter 2: Another Kind Of Pain

A loud crack shot through the air as another piece of the musty old apartment ruins by the tracks fell further into disrepair - it didn't bother Onai anymore. The place was flooded with daylight in some spots, where there were cracks in the wood jointing. Her "home" was nothing more then a shamble of wood; resembling something much like the victim of a hurricane might find when they return to the remains of home.

Onai had seen one on TV in the window of the dimly lit bar across the gravel road several times. The bar owner didn't appreciate her sneaking up, crouched low to the ground just so she could find out what was going on in the world.

The vixen shivered in the frosty air of the early fall morning. It wasn't as hot as it had been during the summer. School had started almost a week ago, and she still hadn't brought herself to go. Lately, though, her dreams had been strange, and she found herself strangely awake this morning.

She stood, her nude body stood quivering for a few moments before she grabbed her one pair of jeans off of the fallen rafter she'd hung them on the night before. They were way too big for her, but it was better then nothing. The pants were ice cold; it had rained the night before and even though the sun was up, it hadn't warmed her pants or dried them off.

Onai cringed as she pulled on the jeans-making sure her black and white tail fit through the hole she'd crafted in the back with the knife. She reached underneath a fallen chunk of flooring, and withdrew from its shadows a dagger about 9" long. It had dried blood; 8-year old dried blood. She shook her head to clear it of the memories, painful memories that she could never erase, no matter how hard she tried. They haunted her wherever she went.

She set off at a brisk pace for school. She pulled on her hooded sweatshirt - well it wasn't a sweatshirt anymore, the sleeves had fallen apart after she'd gorged herself on a dead deer she'd found one night on the way home. Onai hadn't eaten for almost two weeks now - the rats that shared her home with her seemed to be getting the idea that if they came near her, she'd pounce and disembowel them.

The early morning sunshine reflected off of her brilliant red, black, and blonde hair. Her hair was not unusual; many furs had multi-colored hair. Her eyes, though... they tended to frighten the other furs at school. No one she had ever met had off-white eyes, eyes that carried a layer of almost entirely transparent blue beneath the surface. No one. No one else she knew of had a single flaw in there fur, either - her entire right arm was colored opposite that of her other arm.

When she reached the school, she took a deep breath as she walked into the building. Same stares of new kids. Same whispers that spread throughout the halls as she walked past. Same damn deal. Her worn sneakers clumped along while her shorter hair hung in her face, covering her eyes partially.

Onai stared at the ground; it was one of those indescribable school colors, chewed-gum tan for all she cared. It didn't really matter anymore. Nothing mattered much, not even her quality of life. Ever since that horrible night... she blinked back the tears. She had to focus now. No time for nightmares. Those came at night. When she closed her eyes, the visions came, horrible visions of her pup-hood.

WHAM! Laughter filled both sides of the hallway as she collided with a trashcan a janitor had absent-mindedly placed in the middle of the hall. Onai ran a paw over her face, felt warmth growing within her cheeks and ran off with tears in her eyes to her next class, smacking shoulders with several rail-thin coyotes, breasts practically busting out of their thin shirts. She slid around the corner into the math hallway. It was her least favorite subject, but oh well. It was dimly lit at the moment. Most of the teacher's had not arrived yet. It was only 7:00 AM. Onai liked to be at school early.

First period was a drag. She slept through most of the old coot's rambling, while second hour she etched pictures into her table, third, well, she didn't really remember third - something involving numbers and equations. Fourth period, right before lunch, was the hardest on Onai. She had to give a speech about her family life.

She stood up in front of a mixture of furs; a few deer, two rabbits, a gang of huskies who appeared to be brothers, and an ark-load more; this really wreaked havoc on her nerves. Her legs shook, and she started whimpering, as her pupils grew small and her eyes welled up with tears. She nearly collapsed at the podium.

The teacher - a rather chubby Scottish terrier - rushed over. Onai recovered herself. She swung her head up, baring her teeth. "Dear, are you okay?" The teacher's question was soon replaced by a scream as Onai sunk her teeth into the terrier's arm, released it, scrambled to her feet, took one last look at the bewildered class, and ran for the nearest exit.

Her heart pounded against her chest just as much as her feet hit the pavement when she ran, tears blinding her view. She didn't need to see where she was going - she knew perfectly well what her destination was. When she finally arrived, sweat soaked her fur and her vision was blurred as she made her way slowly down the marble markers. She stopped at a small, insignificant-looking headstone that bore a single rose before it. She kneeled then, and let the tears flow.

Chapter Three: Changes

He first heard the voice in his dreams.

It started as a gentle murmur, barely noticeable among the other noises and voices in his subconscious mind. Over a period of days, it grew to be a dominant feature of his dreams. Needless to say, this frightened him terribly; his dreams had always been reliable on the basis that they went unchanged. The voice was a new, frightening, and strangely, not entirely unwelcome addition to his nightly routine.

The voice itself was that of a teen roughly his age, but the way of speaking was that of a child's. It almost reminded him of how his own voice used to sound. In any case, he was only hearing it in his dreams, and his dreams had never before overlapped into his waking life.

That is, of course, until lunchtime at school the following Wednesday. It began normally enough, with Tal waiting in line for the gruel that the school dared to call "food". He retrieved his daily slop, then made his way to what was rapidly becoming known as "his" table.

It was a trapezoidal table that had been positioned so that the only available chair faced the corner of the cafeteria. Through either ignorance or malice, the small, triangular opening between the table and the corner had seen many years of use as a target for half-eaten food.

The corner was cleaned once every few days, but time had taken its toll; there was a stain of an indescribable color working its way up the wall, and there was a stench of rotten something-or-others constantly wafting up from the crevice, but it ensured his solitude, so he suffered through it.

Table matters aside, he sat down and began to eat his lunch, when he began to hear it. Like the dreams, it began as an indecipherable murmur in the back of his mind, but it quickly gained strength and volume.

Before he knew it, he was kneeling on the ground, clutching his head and screaming against the sudden intrusion. He could barely think. All he knew was that he had to escape. Had to get away. He was on his feet in an instant, and out of the school in less then a minute. By the time anyone could react, he was gone.

* * * * *

He found that as he gained distance from the school, the quieter the voice became, not as though it were getting farther away, but more like it was calming down slowly. This continued until it was reduced to a faint, static-like noise in the back of his thoughts. Until this time, he had not taken the time to take note of his surroundings. He looked around in a panic, until he found the one landmark he had hoped to avoid for another few months. Gazing down at him from the overcast skies, an angel stood, perched upon the gates of a massive graveyard. He almost broke down on the sidewalk, but then felt that such an emotional outburst would be better suited to the hallowed ground before him. All that was left was to find the right marker...