At the End of a Long String
#1 of Kites
Disclaimer: This is the beginning of another dreadful saga of needlessly shed blood, pack values and disturbing violence. If you don't like the idea of a genuinely good person forced to do genuinely evil things, back away. But if you're willing to shoulder his burden, accept this small chapter as a warning.
Kite-
A light framework covered with cloth, plastic, or paper, designed to be flown in the wind at the end of a long string.
A bird of prey with a long forked tail and large wings.
_In this world
We stand on the roof of hell,
Looking at flowers._
-Issa
Prologue
"Slowly. Watch her, but keep the needle steady" the akita whispered into my ear.
"Look at her! Look at her! His paws aren't even twitching! Snarl, you really hit gold!" The retriever's tail was wagging against my leg like a hummingbird's wing.
"In through your nose, out through your mouth- are you gonna need a trash can?" The coyote said, his paw on my back.
"No," I said as I placed the cloth up against her quivering mouth, wiping away a little of the blood that wept from her pierced lips. The air in this room was heavy and foul- it was getting to me, and there was no real way around it. All the ducts were sealed off with asbestos, and it was the basement, so there were no windows. I was standing with the light over me, shining on a pretty, talkative otter muzzle that was being methodically silenced again and again by my needle, which I was using to thread a thick, black thread through her whisperless lips. Occasionally, her throat would whimper or something, and Snarl would have to hold her head back and remind her that it was because of her bitching and flagrant man-hating that she was even in this position.
She was looking up at me with large, root-beer brown eyes that sort of reminded me of my first girlfriend. "Help me," they seemed to say. "What are you doing? I thought you were the good guy." And then she would blink and look away, probably put off by the way I had my muzzle clamped down and my eyes all dead and focused on cleaning her lips, then making a few more stitches. Lucy had sort of been that way, too, but I never did anything like that to her. She was always very soft, and very shy. When we fooled around, she told me to leave the lights off, and I did. I never went all the way.
I looked down at my work- the otter's muzzle kind of reminded me of a cartoon where someone would have a zipper for a mouth. I wiped away a stray tear with my cloth and ran my paws over the stitches, making sure they were all tight, all in place. She couldn't open her muzzle without tearing through all the flesh, or at least getting at the thread with a knife. A pang of guilt kind of rushed up my spine, followed with a deep sense of pride as I tied the knot firm, watching the bloody string slide in and out of its hole like a worm.
"Your attention to detail is remarkable." The akita said, and leaned back in his chair. "Good. I'll speak with Howl, and if he's fine with it, you'll be our new Yelp. Consider your job well done."
"Bitch!" the retriever growled, slapping the otter across her stitched-up muzzle. She made a muted yelp, and a little blood trickled from the string holes. "Be grateful he let your fat lesbian ass live! You make me want to puke, cunt!"
"You really kind of surprised me there, foxey." The coyote said. "You didn't shake at all, you didn't look away. You're really something else, man. I'm glad I found you."
"No problem," I said, running my paw up and over my ears, tracing lines in the fur on the back of my head.
"Do you need a ride back?" he said, and I nodded. "Great. Lemmy go grab my keys. If you gotta smoke, I have a pack in the truck."
I turned back to the otter one more time, and gave her a distanced sort of look. My skin was crawling. "What'll happen to her?" I said softly, watching the coyote's grin split into a malicious, yellow-fanged expression of unrivaled pleasure. "We'll let her hang for a little bit. Then Howl will have her. Then I will have her. Then Roar, then Bark, and then you, if she's still moving, or you're into cold, greasy otter hole. Your pick, stud- you earned it today. We're all proud of you."
"Oh." I said, and I followed him upstairs, watched him find his keys, and get into the truck. And we drove home, the coyote still grinning that crazy grin of his.
"Don't worry about it. You didn't know her." Snarl the coyote said to me as we stopped just outside of town to get some gas. "As far as initiations go, that one was pretty mild. You did fucking fantastic, though- you really did. Bark just about shit himself when he watched you. You kept your cool, you didn't look away- hell! You didn't even hesitate when Roar handed you the needle and said "Sew her lips shut." You're one hell of a fox..." He laughed and shook his head. "Nah, no. Not a fox. You've got some serious fuckin' jackal blood, man. It doesn't show much on the outside, though."
Snarl grabbed at the end of my tail, and I jerked it away.
"Well, fuck it. You've got friends now. Your first real pack, I'll bet. If you can get Roar to like you, you can get anyone to like you here. I'm proud to be your beta."
"Thanks." I said, rocking back in my seat and pressing my paw to my temple.
"Are you a feeling it yet? Don't let it mess with you." Snarl said, opening the door and giving me a soft look. "Omegas are always twitchy. Hell, Bark was really freaking out the first time he had to do something like that. He can't even keep calm next to Roar, and you did just fine. Take a deep breath. Relax. Try and think about that fuckin' algebra quiz we have tomorrow." His lips curled up a little bit, and I shrugged my shoulders.
"Alright, I'll uh... I'll give it a shot, man. Thanks."
"No problem, JD... I mean, Yelp, I guess. And hey-" he reached a paw out and touched my forearm, right where the fur turned from ruddy to midnight black. "Sorry about all the shit I gave you your first day. I thought you were a fuckin' foxey freak, man. I'm proud of you."
"Don't worry about it." I said. Snarl gave me a couple feel-good pats on the arm and stepped out to gas up the truck. I rested my head against the window and tried desperately not to think about what I'd been doing for the last few hours. It seemed like a dream- there was no way it could be real, right? Nothingâ€"nobody would be like that, right? Least of all... me? So far, San Francisco was turning out to be a strange and freakish place... I missed Iowa. I missed Lucy. I missed Dad.
I'll always remember my dad telling me "Straighten up, soldier. Keep your muzzle high. Be proud for chrissakes."
He used to say it when I'd come home from school and flop down on the couch, rubbing my knees or putting ice on my privates to ease the pain. And then he'd give me this look like "So what did you do?" And I'd tell him something along the lines of "I was riding my bike and this car nearly ran me over" or "I tripped over some stairs on the way up to the apartment", but the old fox knew for a fact I was lying through my teeth.
He was a military man, an officer, in fact. He was in the Green Berets once, and I still sort of question whether or not he ever left. He met my mom on a vacation in Ireland, and they made love under the moon. Nine months later, I was alive, and she was dead, and Dad moved to the direct center of the US, far away from anything beautiful. He always told me that those were the happiest nine months he'd ever had. I can't blame him- I've seen pictures. I got a little older every year, and so did he, and for a long time, neither of us really understood each other. I think he loved me because I was my mother's son, and I had her eyes.
Irish jackal's eyes.
Anyway, I'd come home from the rumors and the fights and the shit, and I'd plop down on the couch to watch some TV or something, and Dad would give me the "Straighten up Soldier" spiel that I'd heard so many times. I don't know where he got the impression that I cared, but it got to the point where I'd just cut him off by cranking the volume on the TV. It was a kind of low thing to do. I knew he didn't mean me any harm, but I wasn't a kit anymore, you know? I was growing up. Ever since my mom died, Dad just sort of fell away from the world, and the result was a broken record- a father who couldn't even think up new advice to spew every day. At dinner, he'd just tell me some war story. I'd eat, and pretend to listen. I'd listen, and pretend to care.
That night before we went away was different.
"JD." He said, looking at my eyes. "Sit down. I've got something to discuss with you."
"What's up?"
"I said sit."
I plopped myself down at the table, leaving the dishes half-done and feeling a little irritated. It had been a long day, and I wasn't in the mood to hear anything out of his mouth. I was tired, and I just didn't give a damn about anything right then. Dad was giving me the business look, though, and I figured I'd at least pretend to hear him out. Bullshit happens when you don't at least appear to listen. "What?" I said again.
"Do... Do you like it here?"
It struck me as sort of an odd question. "It's an alright place." I said, resting my muzzle on my paw and looking out the door, trying to get my eyes to un-focus.
"Do you like the people? The places? Do you have a lot of memories?"
"They're fine."
The older fox squirmed uncomfortably, wringing his paws and looking away for a second, which made my ears perk a little. He's normally a very dominant guy, and when he doesn't stare into my eyes, something big is eating him. That was a military habit, and he never broke the military habits. Well well... I thought.
"We're moving." He said with a little hesitation. "Corporate found some new ground for me in California."
"Great. The red's gone out of your coat. You could use some sun."
"You're coming with me, soldier."
"Yeah." I said, without thinking about it.
I saw his ears twitch. "You don't seem upset." We sat a moment in silence before he nervously reached across the table with his black-furred paw to grip my forearm. "You know, if you're going to be leaving anything behind here... We can talk about it. We should talk about it."
"Whatever. I can leave if I have to."
"You don't care that we're leaving your life behind at all?"
"Listen," I said, my voice confident, turning my head to keep my eyes kept just under his gaze. "If you have business, I think you can afford to move me around for it. I'm not worth worrying about. I'll adjust."
That look always calmed him down.
"If you really don't have a problem with it..." He shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't." I said.
"Good." He said. I guess he felt better, because his shoulders relaxed.
"So... Where to?"
My father drew a deep breath, and ran a paw over his ears. "San Francisco."
At the time, I didn't really give a damn where we were going. San Francisco sounded just the same as if he'd said "Not Iowa", which was really all I was concerned about. I waited a week to pack my stuff, and it only took me a day. It struck me that I didn't have a lot of junk to pack as I was cramming a few old videogames into a cardboard box. My dad had tried to get me into them last summer, since I was basically sitting around the house all day. I played through a few, but I just couldn't get myself to care.
That night, I called Lucy. I told her that I was leaving for San Francisco.
"How long are you going to be gone?" She asked.
"I'm not coming back." I said.
"Oh." She said, and I hung up, and moved to California.
"Class," Mr. Keens, a young leopard who looked way too weary for his age, adjusted his glasses and pointed at me. "This is James Dillon Matthews, a new student here from... where are you from, kid?"
"Iowa." I said.
"Iowa." He gave me a toothy feline grin and studied the class, who was either staring at me intently or asleep at their desks. "Anyway, my point is that he's new here, and he needs someone to show him around. He doesn't have a schedule as of today so if anyone would like to..."
He paused, waiting for someone to raise their paw. "Anyone? C'mon. Show him around, huh? You." He pointed. "Mr. Straker."
That was the first time I saw him. Christ almighty, the first time I laid eyes upon him... It sent electricity up my spine. He was sitting cross legged on his desk, his muzzle buried in the dirty brown fur on his arms. His ears flattened, his lips pulled back into a disgusted sort of grimace, and he looked up at me with green, green eyes. I'd never ever seen a coyote like him in my life. They were eyes that I can't get out of my head, now. They look at me every time I try to go to sleep. I can see them, like green fire. My paws are shaking just thinking about it.
"Howabout it? Will you give him the grand tour?"
Broad shoulders. Definitely a football player. He had a confident sort of smirk, despite having been caught sleeping in his first class, and I could tell he would probably rather be skinned alive than forced to show me around. His short, triangle ears were pinned back in thought. One of them had a little earring right near his head, a tiny silver circle of metal. His black t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, and his jeans were shredded. And he was sizing me up, too. What was his damn problem, anyway? At the time, I couldn't have known. His blunt claws drummed on the desk as he pretended to think about it.
"Sure..." He said evenly. "I'll show him around." The coyote turned to me, and our eyes locked. "But foxey... You'd better watch that fluffy tail of yours. Don't trip and accidentally suck my dick, alright?"
The class roared with laughter. Fuck, I thought.
Mr. Keens showed me to my desk (conveniently right next to the coyote, who growled under his breath), and I set my stuff down, cramming myself into the seat and trying to ignore everyone staring at me with wide, cunning grins. So far, California hadn't been doing too much for me. I forced myself to deaden the sights and the sounds. I would wait it out if I had to. Mr. Keens started talking, and I stopped listening.
The coyote leaned over and whispered something to me. "Seriously, though. Try any of that gay fox shit around me, and I'll pull your tail out, alright?"
"I wouldn't worry about it." I said, expressionless.
He gave me a look that said "I better not, fuckface", and we both turned to the front of the room, scratching our ears and trying to be less pissed with one another. Frankly, I was gearing up for a tough year at school, if all the kids were going to be this way. All throughout the class, people kept turning around to give me looks. Coy little smiles, full, knowing grins... You name it. It wouldn't have bothered me- after all, I was the new kid. What else were they gonna look? Still, I'd heard rumors about big cities.
The foxes out here had a reputation. I'll let your imagination fill in the blanks. Suffice it to say that I neither appreciated nor conformed to the stereotype. Let them think what they want- I could always walk home if anything got too heavy, right? Bullshit came and went, but the kids didn't have to like me, and I didn't have to like them either. Same old, same old. With all the dick sucking and rutting that went on all over the world, it wouldn't be hard to slip away from it here, right? I'd just draw an "X" in white on the back of my paw, or go to some abstinence meeting and pick up a t-shirt or a ring. I figured that would keep me out of the disgusting writhing mass that was big city fucking. In a way, it kind of endeared me to the coyote. He wouldn't ever pull anything.
"So what's your name?" the coyote said after class, right as the bell rang. He said it kind of rough, like he was working for the DMV or something.
"JD." I said, stuffing my shit in my backpack and hurrying to keep up with him.
"JD? Really? Well... listen up, foxy. I'm not a big fan of you, and I'm not a big fan of your failure of a species, alright? If it were up to me, you'd be in a concentration camp. So keep your mouth shut when I talk to you, don't look me in the eye, and we'll be peachy. And don't follow me so closely. We're gonna do this fast and clean, and afterwards, I don't want to see you around anymore."
I'll bet you say that to all the boys. I thought. "So what should I call you, huh?"
"You shouldn't."
"C'mon man. Do me a favor. What do I call you?"
The coyote paused, scratching the dusty fur on his neck, pulling at the collar of his shirt. "How about "shut the fuck up, or I'll hit you?" Everyone else calls me that."
"That's your name? Seriously?"
"It is to you."
"Wow." I said.
The whole day went like that- me asking non-questions and him giving non-answers. All I wanted to know was the basics- where the bathrooms were, when lunch was, where he would be so I could stay the hell out of his way. Four years, and I would be home free of this mess, stuck with a happier, more manageable pile of dysfunction. A job. Kits. Some perky little vixen (they're all perky and little) to suck meaning back into my life after the days got long hard.
I felt like shit that day, and everyone looked at me with expectations in their licking eyes. Was I a toy to them? What about me said something other than "straight"? It was hard to tell. I had jeans on, same as everyone else. I walked normal, didn't I? Green shirt, with a feral stag on the front, like the logo of a Jagermeister bottle. The girls wouldn't even look my way... and some of them were nothing short of spectacular. I've always been a fan of otter chicks, though I guess you'd never know it, since I grew up in Iowa. California had them in spades. There was even a pokey-eared ferret or two.
And they all looked at me like I was sin. The coyote just laughed and laughed. Little did I know, little did I know...
I changed the coyote's mind after the fourth bell, just before lunch. We were walking down this really wide hallway with a lot of skylight windows, pushing our way through the crowd when I felt a tug on the back of my shirt. Someone had hooked his paw inside of my collar, and was yanking me backwards. Everything that happened next was a blur, but I'll try to explain it the best I can. When I was done, even though everyone watching was disgusted, the pride shone in his back of the coyote's eyes. His ears perked and he plucked his tail up in an excited wag, completely unsickened. He was happy, he WANTED to watch. I didn't get far, but it turned things around forever. For him, for me, and for the pack.
I remember it because it was the first time I got hit on in San Francisco, and the first time I actually inspired fear. As the police officers drug me away, I could see his wicked smiling.
Everything that happened after is my fault. I accept that as fact. I'm sorry for delaying this for so long. This is where I lost myself.
Wolves steal sheep. Foxes steal chickens. But what the hell are you? Something different, man. Something different. -Snarl
_ I _
I gagged a little bit, yanked practically off my feet. "Where're you goin'?" Somebody said with a soft coo. I could feel their smile. "You're the new kid, right? The hot little fox that's been traipsing around our meadow? I heard the rumors, but I just had to see it for myself."
Fuck. I turned around to see him- tall and kind of lanky, his ears tucked away under a ski-cap. He was, without a doubt, the gayest looking bunny I'd ever seen. Christ, he was even wearing a little makeup, smeared across the dull grey fur on his face. He had a tight white polo, a green sports jacket... and he was giving me this huge idiot-grin that just drove me right up the wall. It was the kind I'd get from Lucy, except I had a feeling he'd actually put out. Oh lord.
"I'm not gay." I said.
"Me neither." He snickered, leaning forward a little so he could speak into my ear. A little circle of people had formed around us now, and I halfway wondered if this was some sort of initiation. "But pleasantries aside, I'm Jack."
He put his paw on my chest, and I stepped back, into some bovine kid, who pushed me back. "Uh," I said.
"Can't think of anything to say?" he giggled again. "C'mon. That's ok. I'll bet you'd like a friend. A friendly friend. You must be scared out of your pelt to come to a big school like this after living in Missouri. So what do you say I take you to lunch, and then the locker room. It's empty during fifth, you know?"
"Iowa. And I've already got a friend." Well, that was a lie. I looked around for the coyote.
"Oh really? Who?"
Fuck! What was his name?! "Uh..." I said again.
"Uh-huh. That's what I thought." The lapine stepped forward, inching closer to me, breathing right on my muzzle, whispering his words like someone in a romantic movie. "Come on sugar. Don't be shy. You look like a virgin. Can I be your first time?"
I backed away again, only to be shoved right against the lapine, who wrapped his paws around my waist and gave my ass a squeeze. "Well well!" He said, snickering again. "Foxie's desperate!"
"Leave me alone, man."
Jack giggled. "No."
I snapped a little, I think. I told him to keep his goddamn paws off of me, and shoved him away by the chest, my ears pinning back. Jack looked a little hurt, and then a little angry, and he grabbed my wrist. "Listen..." he said in a very haughty, measured tone. "There's playing hard to get, and then there's this. Don't make a scene..." He looked me right in the eyes. "Or we'll have to put that pretty muzzle of yours to work."
"I told you, man. I told you to cut it out."
"I don't-" He never got to finish his sentence. I levered his arm back and threw him against the lockers with all the force I could muster. The crowd parted like the red fucking sea, letting the rabbit's skull smash into the lockers with a hollow, rattling sound and a sharp yowl of surprise. I grabbed the back of his head and smashed it forward into the metal slats a few times to get his attention.
"Hey." I said, pulling off his ski cap and reaching into my pocket. "What did I say, huh? Did I tell you to cut it out?" Smash. A spurt of red dribbled down the locker this time. "Did I tell you? Did I? Say something to me, Jack."
He whimpered and I gave him another round. I could feel his head starting to soften, and I wondered if I had cracked anything important yet. I growled in his ear, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You people have been looking at me weird all fucking day. Yeah, I'm the new kid. Yeah, I'm a fox. But that's it." Smash. Tears and blood, I could smell them. "What do I have to do, huh? Tell me Jack. I want to know. What do I do?"
"I-I..." he stammered.
"What? What do I do, you long-eared, buck-toothed motherfucker?" Smash. I watched a tooth fall out of his mouth and clatter to the floor. "Listen!" I shouted, tearing off his cap and grabbing one of his ears, pulling it close to my muzzle. "Do you hear me? If you, or any one of your friends tries this weird shit again, I'm going to start doing things."
What I did next, I did for everyone to see. Being from the country, and having a few friends who lived out on farms, I kept a pocket knife in my back pocket. Just out of habit. I drew it, not even paying attention to how badly my paws were shaking or how ragged and panting my breath was. I was going with a different flow, now. A vicious one. I let the blade shine in the light of the room before bringing it up next to the lapine's head, pressing it against his ear and issuing my last warning.
"I'm going to start by cutting your FUCKING EARS OFF. Don't make me do it, Jack. If I do it, it's because you MADE ME. Remember that when you're bleeding out, you fruity fucker." I let his whimpering, shivering body drop to the floor to look for his lost tooth while I turned to the crowd, who was staring at me like I was some sort of demon. Wide, shivering eyes, those same beautiful otter girls with tears running down their cheeks, disgusted looking boyfriends holding them back with quivering paws. Teachers were either watching, stricken into stillness, or pulling kids out of the way to get to me.
And one smiling, devilish coyote face, grinning at me with proud fangs.
Oops. Immediately, I felt shame wash over my body, and my ears flattened. It took all my will to keep my tail from tucking. The rabbit kid was pawing nervously at my shoe, and I realized I was standing on his tooth. I lifted my foot just around the time that the security crushed me against the lockers and pinned my arms, wrenching them behind my back and hustling me along. One of them picked up my pocket knife, I hope.
_Blue raccoons are weeping blood
As shivering foxes die,
Owls that live a thousand years
Are laughing wildly.
A white dog howling at the moon
Is the corpses' chanticleer
Upon it's grave a gray ghost sings
The Song of the Cavalier._
-Eight Skilled Gentlemen