Fighting Fursecution: Entry 1 - - - Fursecution
#1 of Fursecution Journals
Chronicle of: June 12, 2022
It had rained earlier that day... Why couldn't it have rained one more time?
I could feel the cold steel from the soldier's gun pushing me into the van of the FLC. I could feel my hind legs burn as the restraints they had placed on them grew tighter as I took my slow almost turtle like strides towards the automobile that had pulled up right beside me and my captor. I rose my arms what I could to shield myself from the ash of a nearby burning home in my hometown of Ablebark, the first ever established furry community that I myself helped institute a year ago today in honor of my mother.
I looked back behind the soldier with the broken visor adorning his head indicating his name to me as #2469, my mind registering the numbers as a single word in my head; human. I continued looking past his hateful glares as I watched what I thought would be my last sunrise, my home burning into the ground off in the distance, the fire just as red as the rising sun.
A single tear rolled down my fur as I witnessed a FLC convoy pursuing a pup, no older than fourteen by my guess, as he ran as fast has his legs would carry him. I watched in disbelief as they came up fast on him, several armed shadows disengaging from the convoy to attack the Golden Retriever as he tripped over his own two feet paws. I wanted to call out to the pup, screaming out in my earnest to give him some reassurance that we'd both be ok, but my howls were muffled by the restraining collar they had outfitted me with.
"Get your furry ass into the van Dr. Thompson! I don't have all day to wait and I am not a patient man!" The soldier pushed me forward as I fell to my knees, my own reflection in a nearby puddle catching my attention as I gazed at myself for the very first time in such a long while it seemed. My body was a mess, the shiny white of my fur now a dark grey to match my surrounding atmosphere. My face was covered in ash and my right eye bruised from taking a good punch from this soldier who managed to capture me. I could see my forehead bleeding as I watched several drops of blood run down the length of my muzzle and grace the pavement below me.
I wanted so badly to just close my eyes and pretend that this was all a bad dream which I'd wake up from soon. I'd get to smell my neighbor making her famous pancakes and inviting me over for another Sunday brunch. I'd get another chance to go to our recently built movie theater and go talk to the attractive Fox attendant that ran the concession stand there. I would just be happy knowing that when I wake up, my pillow is the only thing pushing against my head, not a gun.
However, some dreams really do come true, and I wish now that they didn't.
The van that lay before me appeared to be a tunnel of darkness, my own personal hell reserved just for my capture by the FLC. The van smelled of something the likes of which my muzzle had never smelled before. I peered into the machine before taking my first step in, expecting my brother to be in waiting for me, but was however gleefully surprised to see another captive resting against the hollow metal innards of the vans confines, a single brick sized opening letting in just a tiny ray of light from the outside world so that I could see them. I had barely lifted my back hind paw off the ground and placed it inside the van as the door slammed behind me.
"Filthy human!" I growled at my captor after the door was shut and locked. I struggled my hardest trying to break the cuffs off my paws, but lacked the proper strength at the moment to do so. I just sat down on the metal floor of the van, which now that I really thought about it really reminded me of an armored car, but without piles of cash for me to at least rest my tired head on. I felt a sense of defeat as I heard the engine engage; full well knowing the destination of this van would most likely become my final resting place.
I wanted so badly to howl out in pain, but my collar choked at me every time I would try.
An overpowering stench blew against my nose as the van drove on down the stretch of road. I turned my head in disgust several times to try and fight the stench, but nothing seemed to rid the van of this foul odor. It was then while turning my head that I remembered that I was not alone in my predicament. The other prisoner in the van, though they had not yet spoken to me, was still my best bet to keep my sanity while I worked out a plan for an escape once we reached the new human capital city of Genenosis in which the FLC headquarters are kept.
"Can you talk?" I lightly called out to the shadow, my collar limiting my speech. There was no response, their back still turned to me. "Can you hear me?"
I stared at the shadow for at least a minute until I stood up and walked over to it, holding my paws out as a guide in the dimly lit van. I was so close to the individual now I could have heard their breathing, if there was any to be listened for. I finally realized what the smell was I could not shake from my nose; the smell of death. I pulled the figure into the light, making sure my suspicion of death wasn't unsubstantiated. To my great horror, I see now I was regrettably right.
To my surprise and dismay, I recognized the individual right away. It was the same attractive male fox I was working up courage to talk to at the movie theater, his eyes half closed as blood trickled from his mouth, his throat and face slashed at least five different times. I put the fox down to rest as I ripped off my lab coat, wrapping him the best I could in it, offering him what I could in the way of a final burial.
All I wanted to do was cry out in pain at all this carnage, but all I was able to do was lower my head in shame and cry, not knowing what was to become of me or any other furry for that matter.