Shattered Glass Chapter 1: Beneath the Surface
Hey guys, this is going to be my first multi-part story. There is one thing I want everyone to understand before reading this however, and that MOST, at least 95%, of what it is this chapter is my real life situation. I figured it would be a good starting point to go from, and it will go on trust me. However this is not going to be an auto biography, and there will be no more chapter like this one, however other chapter will still hint at my current life down the road. This story is still going to be fictional, and in-depth. There are something in this chapter that will be explained further down the road as our character goes through his life and routines.
Helpful criticism is always Welcome
So without further delay, I present you this: (Each Chapter will have a Unique Name)
Shattered Glass: Beneath the Surface
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Who, What, Where was I? The three questions I have not been able to answer in such a long time. The Questions that, no matter how hard I try to focus, always find their way to be shoved in some little cluttered corner of my mind. Every night I go to bed wondering the answers but always get sidetracked by others such as work, how my day went, did anyone say something to drive me further into insanity...? Things that should not matter to me do, but not until I want them to. I really don't care if anyone said something bad to me, or if I was a bit moody at work; all that seems irrelevant during the day. Hmm that reminds me; I failed that DSI test again. No matter what I do, I can never please that Rep. Guess he's always going to be a dick to me.
Rolling over in my bed to look at the blackness where a ceiling should be I abandoned my quest for the answer for a bit, I knew I wouldn't find them even if I continued. All I could do is stare blankly at what seemed to be the reflection of my soul looking back at me...
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Morning... The time of the day where one either thinks "What the fuck is the bright ass light" or "Oh boy, the start of a new day!" Of course my response is the first one. Every day without fail I was woken up at 9AM due to the sun shining through my window. Even through closed blinds it was like Heaven was trying to torture me by filtering itself through the little cracks and openings. As with every appropriate morning wake-up call I sighed, rubbed my eyes and rolled over trying to coax myself back to sleep.
After ten minutes, as is normal, I got up and sat on the edge of my bed. "Today is..." I didn't remember day anymore really. Really wasn't on the important list. I just remember when I worked by how many days I got off, and whether it was a school day or not by my permanently set alarm on my phone going off. Having an Android phone was nice really, didn't really need a laptop, and it was better than a PDA.
I looked back towards my pillow for my phone. I always slept with it for some reason, probably because it was a distraction from the pain I felt inside. Sure it was an object, something that cannot do or feel, but none the less it brought comfort on some level. I guess it made me feel connected to the world, or what few friend I had anyhow...
I reached over and picked it up and looked at its front for the blinking green LED indicating I missed something, which of course I hadn't. Sometimes it was an email message, or if I'm lucky a text, but there was nothing today.
I listened outside my door for a second, flicking my ears in all directions of the house, and waiting for a single indication if anyone was home. Not a single sound, not even the typing on a keyboard which would indicate my mother was home. All she did was either go to work, or a half a day bike ride, come home and drink while cooking something simple yet overdone while being underdone (If that's possible) and going to her room and closing the door for the remainder of the day. I never really wondered about what she was doing the whole time. She was loud enough to indicate whether she was talking to someone on the computer, or laughing at some stupid picture of people doing something embarrassing.
I got up off the bed and walked to the mirror that was the closet door. I hated mirrors, always thought and still do think that they give inaccurate proportions, as well as cameras coming to think about it. None the less I looked at myself in the mirror. My fur actually wasn't half bad looking for the fitful night of sleep I had... or lack thereof. For the most part it was pretty straight, just overly fluffy. However it didn't because I always took a shower in the morning, no matter how late to going somewhere I was.
I padded over to my door and opened it just a crack to look out, just in case I was too tired when I woke to hear accurately. Turns out like usual I was right when I didn't hear anything. I hate putting on clothes in the morning just to walk out to the bathroom 2 feet away and get undressed again. Even a pair of shorts as simple as it is was out of the question if I could avoid it.
Walking to the bathroom I heard a noise come from the kitchen and quickly flicked both ears back to listen intently to release before I had done so that the window was open. It was always open, as this was always my reaction on a windy day. Sometimes Canine instincts were a bitch, other times they were helpful.
I continued my way in the bathroom and turned the shower on as hot as it would go, which always seemed to be either luke-warm, or a little hotter, but never really hot. It didn't really matter how it was outside, or what time it was; it was always somewhere between the two temperatures.
As I waited for the water to "Warm" I took another look at myself in the mirror. I wasn't bad looking, but lacking in some areas that most other males my age weren't. I was light, small boned, but for my size I thought I had a decent muscle tone. I tried everything to get bigger in all areas but nothing seemed to work, so I all but gave up pretty much.
Steam started seeping past the shower curtains and invited me in to them. I walked into the shower knowing not to expect anything exceptional only to find out the water was in one of its "higher but still not quite hot" moods. Maybe today would be a good day after all.
A good 10, maybe 15 minutes later I was done washing myself and standing in front of the closet door again, or closet mirror, whatever you want to call it. My fur, or any fur in general, never looks good wet, but mine gave the appearance of being dirty because of its silver and grey coloring everywhere except the underside of my tail, muzzle, cheeks, chest and belly. Of course white fur wet just looked about as appealing as a dirty egg. Even better was that due to the thickness of my fur, and hairdryer would have been futile. Hell one day after it had stopped raining while I was pouting walking across town, I went to a car wash and selected the basic wash and waited until it went through all the cycles until it went into the drying mode. I walked inside and let it blow the warm hurricane force winds all throughout my fur until it was done. I came out mostly dry, having the appearance of going through a real hurricane of course. Had fur sticking every which way and puffy out the ass, but mostly dry.
I stared at myself for what seemed a good ten minutes or so. I wasn't staring to convince myself how good or awful I looked. I was staring at myself looking for answers to who I was. Sure my name is Serail, yes I am a male, yes I am gay, or at least bi, and yes I am 19... But that wasn't what I was trying to figure out.
However my staring was interrupted by the sound of a crudely repaired garage door being opened by hand rather than the motor. The motor was perfectly good, just the door wasn't after being derailed some many time because people are stupid sometimes. I listened to see what was coming inside rather than who. I knew who would be coming, who being my mother, what was either her car, or bike. If it was her car it would mean that she would be going to work again shortly and I would be alone until 5 or 6PM; if it was her bike that would mean I would be stuck all day with her unless I left the house. She wasn't a bad mother or a mean one, just orderly and just. That and she didn't know me really, nor did I care to tell her about me. I simply put on the façade she wanted me to be and so was life.
In fact that was all my life is really. One façade after another, for different people, for different times, for different events, and so on. Yes everyone puts on facades from time to time, but I rarely ever not had one on. My life was a big pile of facades, Just like Windows is a group of File Systems, all coded to work at different times under different conditions.
I heard the garage door close and folded my ears against my head knowing she would be home for the rest of the damn day. I wouldn't really mind it if she did more herself rather than me having to do everything for her. I didn't mind doing stuff that needed to get done that I knew she couldn't do, I hated the stuff that she wanted me to do that wasn't really important and that I showed her many times how to do on her own, or that she could do on her own all together.
For a second or two, I thought about getting back in bed and trying to sleep for another hour or so. However being wet, or very damp at this point, ruined that option unless I want my bed to smell like wet fur for a week. Sighing I perked my ears up and searched my brain for the "Happy to see mother home" façade and put it on. I quickly brushed my fur to a decent level since I didn't plan on going out anywhere today, or for that matter doing anything, and put on a pair of shorts noting that it was going to be another lonely day alone, lonely meaning no one to hold...
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The hours went by quickly as usual for weekends, even when one wasn't doing anything, and left me felling somehow guilty. For what reason I felt that why I wasn't sure, perhaps it was because I never tried to spend any bonding time with my mother. For the matter anyone else, it just wasn't like me to want to get too close to anyone. Whenever I felt like I was getting to close to a friend or relative, I would push them away, or myself, and go back to basics.
I tilted my head on the pillow to look at the time on my clock only to find out it was 4PM. I knew better than to try to sleep the whole day away, regardless I did feel a bit more refreshed and perky. I sat up on the edge of my bed flicking my ears in all directions of the house. Not a single sound got picked up by them, not even wind or the sound of open windows.
Getting out of bed I slipped on a pair of clean shorts and made my way to my door and opened it. I looked out to the right to see in the living room only to find it empty. Double checking myself was a habit to say the least, and I did it most of the time just so I wouldn't hear shit about something not being done or done right. Plus it's not like it's time consuming or something, just takes an additional 30 seconds if that.
Something did catch my attention though, and that was the strong smell of properly seasoned roast beef. One might think "Whoa Hold on Roast Beef? Aren't you an animal, or Furry? Aren't all Furries suppose to be friends or something?" but truth be told that how we came to be is very complicated. Suffice it to say that Furries don't eat other Furries, like Humans don't eat each other. However animals are still animals and both parties enjoy good meat, though we Furries are a little more thankful than most humans were.
I walked to the kitchen to notice what I had been smelling was just a residual scent of my mother lunch. Looking at the pan on the stove and noticing some melted cheese on the bottom I assumed she made herself a Philly for lunch. Typical behavior from her of course, whether she worked or not she hardly ever made me anything to eat. I was pretty much on my own for everything really. I bought most of my food, as well as prepared it. I had a job and money but I preferred to eat cheaply, so most of my meals were sandwiches and cold cuts.
Cheaply... another point about myself. I am stingy with money, even though I had plenty of it. However I was one of those people who always prepared for the worse. That and I was somehow brought up to always sacrifice something... Hell my own health was scarified, and now I carry that scar with me; Tiny, Small, Skinny, they were words I was so used to hearing. I wonder how big I would be if I ate as much as I wanted, or needed.
Before my parents separated, they were always talking about running low on money. For some reason I couldn't understand how they were, but I just believed it like the good little child I was brought up to be. Both of them had jobs, and my father made almost a 6-figure salary a year. Hell I've even been on cruises, but since they separated I know what no money is truly like and I refuse to let that happen to myself. Now, I sacrifice for myself, through what motives I don't understand. I guess maybe I am afraid of not having enough, and it did seem like the most important thing in my life... Guess that's pretty sad now isn't it?
Oh what a wonderful and pity life my parents managed to give me while raising me. Of course they made it worse by separating, ruining what few things I could have done. College, Motorcycle, Place to call my own... All gone because of them and their stupid decision that they could no longer tolerate each other! I hated them for it, I still do hate them. I'm 19 and I've had no one in my life and nothing special. I had nowhere to go, to be, nothing to do or see; I was alone in my own little world. My world which comprised of the Following: Sleep, Eat, Work, Play an hour or two of video games, Sleep, Repeat unless I had school. There wasn't any reason to do anything else... I had nothing... nothing at all
Falling to my knees on the hard ceramic floor I sighed. Crying for me was useless, even if I wanted to, and believe me I've wanted to for so long. Silently I looked at the floor, waiting for it to hand me an answer. It never did, and it certainly would not now. Getting up I walked back to my room and closed it gently, even though I wanted to slam it as hard as I could and knock the fucker off its hinges. I knew however that it would be seriously counterproductive and would possibly ruin my only privacy I had to myself. I merely plopped myself on the bed hoping that when I woke up, Sunday would be over. I didn't feel like dealing with Sunday this week, or any week really.