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Armageddon has come and now we sleep.

I remember. The end came to us in the early dawn. The stars bid farewell to the world as we knew it and the sun awoke to a flock of metal birds with missiles in their beaks.

The entire city gnashed its teeth. Skyscrapers moaned as they collapsed. After the dust had settled, nothing was left of the skyline except for a few skeletons smoldering against the darkening sky.

The night had come and God's army descended. The city was no longer safe for our kind.

We fled. Over the mountains and through the forests we fled. Just the two of us. For weeks, we kept moving until our legs buckled and we tumbled into the dirt and pine needles. Dreamless and untouching, we slept apart on the cold ground, fearing what would happen if we were caught together. God's army is still on the hunt.

And still we trudged on, our journey taking us to the only place left for us to go. Far away. I am thankful that the Earth herself has been kind to these weary travelers. We haven't starved. She hasn't forsaken us.

Our first glimmer of real hope came today. The Moon, full and bright, ascended into the sky. We followed the illuminated landscape. Our path set, we crossed a field bathed in a cool glow. Grass taller than either of us brushed and caressed us from all sides as the wind coursed through the blades, pushing us gently toward a copse of trees; a small island in a vast sea.

We entered. Branches curved out and up, reaching for the stars. The leaves rustling though the breeze told us we had sanctuary.

Nothing was said between us. For the first time in weeks, we felt safe enough to be together. Through the criss-crossing branches of the canopy, the stars hummed their timeless and all knowing song. We became one.

Armageddon has come and gone. Now we sleep.

I hear the crunching of a single twig far off in the distance.

No.

Not one twig. Many.

My stomach coils, growing tighter and tighter as the sound grows into a cacophony drawing closer and closer.

Your eyelids meander slowly and spring open at the sound of cracking wood. You've heard them too. We read each other in an instant. Naked, here, lying together underneath a low, dense canopy, we press tighter, hoping to disappear completely into the soil.

I close my eyes.

Wait it out.

Wait it out.

I hope they don't smell us. What we did before when the moon shone bright and the stars spoke to us in their immortal language. I thought it was safe. We've come so far already.

The cacophony halts. Against me, I feel the minute surge in your body as you hold in a sigh of relief. Heeding your call, the wind stops. Everything is still. Tension hangs oppressively in the air. Paranoia eats away my insides. I hope this feeling will be proven wrong.

The low hanging canopy above us begins to rustle. Our camouflage has failed.

Leaves crackle and snap underneath heavy footfall. My eyes remain closed, yet the sun of a new dawn stains my vision a blackened red.

A voice.

"Well well well!"

Your body tenses, I can feel it. I hold on to you tighter.

"Look-ee here boys, a couple of refugees. defying the laws of nature as bold as they please!"

Refugees. Ever since we left the smoldering city, our lives have been defined by this term. We escaped the chaos. We escaped the new laws imposed upon us, hoping to bring our own law; the natural law that the refugees bring.

No more words are spoken. I feel rough paws seize me all over. I hold on tighter. This the only resistance I can offer; to hold you for as long as I can for perhaps the very last time.

My head throbs. My arms are no longer around you. Instead, they are restrained and twisted behind my back. I feel a loose presence around my neck as I stand on unsteady ground. Rough wood grain prickles my soles. I am still naked.

My eyes remain clenched, but I still see the faces staring down at us. Eyes glow malicious and green, snouts coccooned inside metallic carapaces glinting harshly in the sun. God's Army has been burned into my memory since day one.

By closing my eyes, I hope to wake up from this terrible nightmare and into a better existence. The presence around my neck tightens. I know that this is the end. I will never open anything ever again.

No. It cannot end like this. I will open my eyes. One last time. I must look at you again.

Slowly, my eyelids begin to open and I--

Say fuck it and stop writing. What's next, retard...

I open my eyes and it is too late. You no longer exist. Instead, empty matter dangles over the void. Who knew the void's only an inch between life and death.

Fuck me, am I depressed or what? Chicken scratch on piss-yellow paper is what this is. I really hate these legal pads. Too small to be comfortable and that color is just a slow burning irritation seeping into my retinas. I think that's why I lose my momentum so quickly. In theory, I write to relieve stress, to climb out of a whole, but so far, I just wind up digging deeper into a pile of shit.

Conclusion: switch to a less nauseous paper. And keep on truckin', I guess. Might be able to salvage a few lines for a song or something, but this is going straight to the trash.

And who the hell is this 'you' person that keeps popping up? He appears to be the Most Important Thing in the narrative, but that's all he is to me. A thing. I try to picture him and all that comes up is a hazy two dimensional object with legs and a tail. A stick creature.

Bored. So bored. Nervous, too. Nervousness and boredom's a queasy mix and I've lost the urge to continue my insecure ramblings. Plus I swear the bottom half of my body has gone missing. I need to stretch. Legs unclench from the large tree branch. Standing up sloughs off the pins and needles as my tail quests for balance. I'm several feet up, on the lowest branch. From this height, an inner, more primal voice soothes some of my anxiety. A pine marten in a tree's in his natural element. Bracing myself against the oak's massive trunk, like in a spy flick, I could be invisible against this rough, brown bark, but what ruin's the illusion is my white, collared shirt beaming under the midday sun. I can see the whole campus from my perch, but I'm a shining beacon up here as well. A cold, nagging suspicion lurks within, telling me maybe you shouldn't be up in this tree, so close to the Real World and all its temptations.

The leaves above rustle and some fucking idiot up there giggles without a care in the world, Like, keep it down, you idiots, don't you know where you are? Discretion my brown, furry ass.

"_Wanna do me a huge favor?"_he said

_" I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine,"_he said. Like I'd give him the satisfaction. Asshole.

"Just warn us if anyone comes," he said. "It'll be easy, just don't worry about it." Fuck you. My whole future is at stake, here.

But there's nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon, and I've spent too many of those being alone and restless. I never thought I'd hate Saturdays. So here I am on the most boring day of the week at HTBA, playing guard duty like a good little lackey, wondering if all this potential excitement is worth it.

I'm still bored, and more irritated than usual. If those two don't hurry it up with the hanky-panky, I just might have to go up there and throw them out of this tree.

Waitaminnit... A flicker of movement from the dormitory. A lone figure emerges. At this distance, I can't tell who it is.

A half-moan half-yelp, high pitched and stupid, escapes from the upper branches puts me at red-alert. Heart racing, pounding in my ears. Roebear's such a fucking idiot, and I'm the fucking idiot for being roped into his scheme. Why did I even agree to be their lookout? Maybe I'm just vicariously living through--no, shut up. If they're caught, all three of us will be in hot water. At least Roebear and Jibreel got to play a little grab-ass in the canopy for their trouble while I'll be stuck eating a turd sandwich. If we're caught, my whole future is ruined.

I'll just feign ignorance. Easy enough. I don't see anything, can't smell anything, only my hearing might betray me. Maybe I should cover my ears for good measure.

Nah, that's way too obvious. But seriously, Roebear and Jibreel need to cut the shit and get the fuck down here. I pinch thumb and middle finger between my fangs and attempt the signal, a generic bird call. Instead, all I get is a weak sputter. Barely even a toot. Damn these nerves. Roebear's hearing better be as good as he says it is.

The leaves and branches above me shake, rattle, and roll and someone hocks a loogie. Gross, but that's some good news, I guess.

THWACK--something fluffy hits the top of my head. "Sorry 'bout that," says Roebear as the slender red fox settles into the branch adjacent to mine. "What's going on, Yindi?" I can smell the evidence off his breath. Popcorn. Buttered popcorn with a hint of jizz.

My anxiety levels are at their breaking point."I really hope you brought a toothbrush with you,"

"Nope.".

Glancing down, judging the distance between branch and ground, the fall probably won't kill him, even if he lands on his head. "Well, genius, how are you going to explain to whoever it is coming toward us that your breath smells like a raunchy movie theater?"

"Relax," he reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a pack of gum. "I've got it covered." He proceeds to pull out five sticks and unwraps them, fast in practiced fingers. He stuffs his muzzle and begins to chew vigorously. Buttered popcorn is replaced by mint and artificial sweeteners. "Who is it?" His gum snaps, annoyed.

I squint and blurry edges define into the long ears of a black hare. "It's Scotte." The junior counselor. At least he's taking his sweet-ass time-- sweet ass-time? We need to get ready for some possible conflict resolution. But someone's missing from the equation. "Where's Jibreel?"

"I reckon he's still recovering." Roebear's sly wink explodes in my face.

"How can you be so casual about this?" I hiss. "Do you realize the deep shit we'll all be in if your dumb-ass is caught? Maybe that's why Scotte is on his way over right now!"

Roebear doesn't lose his cool, which irks me even more. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. He already knows we're here."

Can a fox fly or will you go splat? We're getting closer to finding out... "This better be a joke," I growl. "You told me no one else would know."

"I had to let someone know. We're almost out of bounds and I'm not about to"--his eyebrows bounce up and down-- "break the rules." I just wanna tear out his throat. "And besides, I thought you'd be more reluctant to come along if this wasn't our little secret."

"Asshole." Tail whacks against the trunk in agreement.

"I'm just being honest," he shrugs. "And honesty is the best policy in the Straight and Narrow, right?" I shoot the fox a face melting glare. "My, what big teeth you have!" Roebear bats his lashes and I am unmoved. "Fine," he rolls his eyes then cups paws around his long muzzle. "YO, JIBBY! DONTCHA THINK IT'S TIME YOU CAME DOWN AND MET YOUR MAKER?"

From way high up in the canopy, the binturong's "No" falls down flat and heavy and I'm tempted to rush up there and yank Jibreel down by the tail, kicking and screaming if I have to.

"He'll be fine," Roebear shrugs. "And don't worry about Scotte. He knows how to mind his own business if he knows what's good for him." There's a sinister edge to his voice and I admit I'm a little intrigued, but not at all surprised. Blackmail, possibly. "Just stay here and do what you do best."

Do what I do best. Meaning I should get into character and start praising Jesus until I burst an artery. I'm already halfway there.

And now comes the moment of truth. Leaves crackle--this sounds familiar--as Scotte saunters into the shade. I take a deep breath and put myself under control. Fangs are hidden, ears perk up, forehead unclenches and all of my irritation is bottled up, condensed, tucked away to ferment. "Impressive," whispers Roebear. This can't be healthy.

"Howdy, boys," says Scotte, looking up. "How's the view from up there?"

"Fantastic!" chirps Roebear. "Care to join us?"

"No thanks. I'm here on official business." Scotte notices our missing third "Is Jibreel still with you guys?"

"Yeah, he's higher up. Wanted a better look-see. But Yindi here's afraid heights." Roebear snakes an arm around my shoulder and I resist the strong urge to bite it.

"Huh. I never heard of a pine marten who's afraid of heights."

I need to recover my dignity without calling Roebear out on his bullshit. Everything's fine and dandy. "It's been a little while since I've been in a tree. Just finding my tree-legs, you know."

"Actually, this official business involves you, Yindi. Cedric wants a word."

So, Mister Cedric, or rather Sister Cedric, requests a private audience. Maybe he's seen the light and wants to say he's been wrong about everything, and then I'll spill the beans and we can take down the system from the inside. That would be sweet. "I'll be right down." Or maybe Tiereny's dropped by for a surprise visit and I'll end this day in an even darker mood.

"Give Cedric a big kiss for me. With tongue." Roebear whispers with a grin.

"Sorry, Mykah, I didn't quite catch that." One of Scotte's long ears flick.

Without missing a beat, the fox replies. "Just thinking aloud. I was wondering, actually, what should Jibreel and I do in the meantime?"

"Aren't the two of you on cooking duty tonight?"

"Right you are. Totally slipped my mind." Roebear calls up to the upper branches, "Okay, Jibreel, you've had your fun, but we should get going."

Stocky legs and a brushy tail, mottled black and gray, emerge from the canopy and Jibreel the binturong, Jibreel the bearcat, Jibreel the flip-flopper comes out of hiding. Unlike Roebear, who practically crashes around the branches, Jibreel's descent is quiet and unstoppable. A true expert. When he reaches our level, he shoots Roebear a sub-zero stare, which to my chagrin, the fox seems to take somewhat seriously, judging by his what did I do look.

This is my cue, so I follow Jibreel down, the yellow notepad clutched between my teeth, taking care not to drool. Claws find easy purchase on the oak's knobby bark and I lower myself to the soil. Scotte steps directly behind and brushes particles of grit out of my shirt. I do the same up front. "I would have you go change, but this is kind of urgent. It'll be fine."

Once all three of us are back on solid Earth, we split into two groups. Fox and binturong head towards the cafeteria and I'm stuck with the hare and my unknown fate.

The sun beats down harsh and heavy as I leave the shade of the oak. I never cared for August. Even after shedding my winter coat, my fur still soaks up every particle of heat in the air, save for the white patch on my throat. December can't come soon enough.

"What are you writing?" Scotte asks as we make our way toward the dormitory. Damn. I had totally forgotten about the piece of possibly very incriminating evidence still clutched in my left paw. Time to put my act to work as I quietly place the notepad in my pocket.

"Just some notes on my relationship with Jesus Christ." I try to keep my tone cheery without sounding forced.

"Perfect. Would you be comfortable in sharing this with Cedric and our guests?"

No, fuck no. "Why, what's going on?"

"We have a newcomer. He's waiting in the lobby with his father and, well, the father seems to have some concerns. I think if you talked about the program, what we do here, and explain some of the positive changes that have occurred, I think we can convince him that he brought his son to the right place."

As I stride alongside the hare, my thoughts turn towards this new guy and what it means. Before today, I was the newest member of the Straight and Narrow Program. Normally, the program operates on a paired buddy system, but since my arrival meant the number of students became an odd number, I was thrust in the middle of Roebear and Jibreel's weird little menage a deux. Now the program is back to an even number, which means I will be paired up with him for every activity, exercise, and therapy session.

And now I'm going to meet this dude's father. Cedric's parading me around and I'm supposed to dance and sing about the Grace of God and how Jesus is the only man for me. I'm basically wooing the father to get the son, like a ritual for an arranged marriage. I wonder who's paying the dowry.

Part of me hopes this guy is cute. It would be nice to have some eye-candy while I'm doing some of the gayest things ever conceived while telling myself and the world 'I'm not gay.' But reality comes crashing down over my head and I realize the temptation is the last thing I need. I'm halfway through my prison sentence. Only four more months of this farce and then I will be free to get on with the rest of my life.

Still, it would be really satisfying to sashay into the lobby, make-out with whatever his name is, kick his father in the nads, and then together we'll ride off into the sunset in a '66 Thunderbird, like in some cheesy story.

"Jibreel seemed nervous up there. There isn't anything going on between him and Mykah, is there?" Scotte's question forces me out of my head. We're getting closer to the dormitory.

"No. Nothing happens on my watch." I feign ignorance. Whatever's going on between Roebear and Jibreel, or between Roebear and Scotte for that matter, I want little to do with it.

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. If I'm lying, let God Almighty strike me down where I stand." I tilt my voice to sound sincere rather than sarcastic. I don't think the hare believes my act as much as Cedric does.

He seems satisfied, for the moment at least. No bolt of lightning kills me so I know I'm safe. I think the current score is Yindi: 86, God: zero.