FSE

Furry search engine

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Jakeson walked down the long hill along the winding trail he's walked a thousand times before. The dirt path was just barely visible amongst the tall grass, ruts made by vehicles long ago. It wound its way through the thin trees that crested the front of the deep forest but never quite went into the dark of the woods itself.

He paused. Pointed ears tipped, straining for sounds in the distance. Something was wrong. His muzzle wrinkled just a bit as he inhaled the scent. Yes Wolf, but not his scent. Raccoon, something else. But no human. Also, the faint hint of smoke. Where was the human scent amongst all of this? Did something happen to his friend?

Wolf ears rotated around searching for any sound out of place. A few squirrels in the trees, a few birds, but nothing on out of the ordinary. Still that sense of wrongness would not leave him. Jakeson bent down, smelled the ground like his father had taught him, his nose quickly categorizing the scents in front of him. There wasn't much there...not of the one scent he was looking for. He could tell there was a number of rats, both morph and normal. A normal horse that must have been carrying another horse of some kind. More smoke as well.

In his mind, he saw his friend, the elderly Mr. Jameson tied up. Tortured, beaten, burned alive. The horrific image stopped the young wolf in his tracks. They couldn't, could they? The old human would never had done anything to deserve that. Mr. Jameson wasn't....no. Jakeson shook the image out of his head, and stood up.

The old trail circled to the bottom of the long hill and then began the climb up the short one. The trees were just breaking now, coming up into a field. The scent of fire kept getting stronger, nearly burning his nostrils now with the remnants of acrid smoke. A house should be on the other side of this hill, with an elderly man by now. One who on days like this could be seen working in his garden or trying to do some minor repair on that old cabin of his that Jakeson would have to help with. But a grip of fear and trepidation grabbed the wolf's heart. Maybe Mr. Jameson would be there. He should be there. Please God let him be alright.... he thought.

It was more of a shack to Jakeson's eyes, but then human's weren't really allowed to own much anymore. The breed had been considered by the government to be too inherently well...human. Too hateful, too spiteful. Hatred and violence had been in their DNA. They said science had proved it, and used the humans own history to back the claim up. They were seen as too toxic to have in any neighborhoods or cities anymore. That is unless the human was owned by a morph of some kind, and that morph had to accept the responsibility for anything the human might have done.

As Jakeson came closer to the small cabin the scent smoke grew thicker, almost choking him. He stopped as the cabin came into view, his tail tucking slightly. There was a smokey hole in the roof. Part of the walls facing him had been burned through, collapsing inward. That could only mean....no. “Please God, no.” He raced down the hill as fast as he could, a little whimper caught in his throat.

His feet swiftly brought him towards the doorway first. There was no more door. That had been obliterated by whatever the secret police had used to get inside. The wolf pup reached up and caressed the charred door where the hinges once hung. “If they had only just knocked, he would have let them in.”

The bright whiteness of the paper that had been nailed to the cabin finally caught his eye. He couldn't bring himself to look at it quite yet. “Mr. Jameson.” He whispered softly. “Papa Jay..”

He took in a shuddering breath, leaning against the cabin thinking back to a previous conversation that he and Mr. Jameson had.

***

It was always strange to look at older humans versus older morphs. In morphs their fur turns gray, their skin maybe thicker in places. On humans, it looked as if the skin got thinner, that it lost its elasticity. Mr. Jameson's skin was no different, appearing to be as old and threadbare as the clothing on his back he wore. The T shirt that covered his top had at one point in time been white but was now stained to an almost brown, his pants torn in the knees of course and badly stained as well, the tail hole in the back had been mended shut. The old man had just finished putting his groceries away; digging around in his luke warm rusty fridge when the young pup arrived. Two empty paper bags stood on his ancient and scarred counter top, torn and wrinkled as if they had been slashed and tossed to the ground or simply stomped on by someone.

“Why hello my little ankle biter!” Mr. Jameson said, with less joy in his voice than usual. He winced as he walked from his ancient kitchen, the gentle shuffle thump of his walk now sounding much slower. It didn't take long for the much younger Jakeson to sniff out the problem, the coppery scent of blood filled the air.

“What happened!” The young pups ears were folded back on his head in complete shock. The young pups shock was met with a brave smile. They really were all ears and paws at that stage, their digits looking almost cartoonish in porportion to the rest of their bodies. It was almost endearing. They did look very much like pups, but also very, very human in their own way.

“Oh nothing.....” the old man said as he leaned against the old bar countertop that separated his tiny kitchen from his tiny living room. “I was kicked out of another grocery store, by a feline this time. Apparently I scared too many of the locals.”

“What did you do?” Jakeson asked, his head tilting slightly.

“I existed.” He replied. “I lived and some don't want my kind to live any more.”

“The problem is you're uncollared. Uncollared humans can't be trusted that's what my dad says. I can claim you as mine. Then you'll be alright.” The pup rambled to the human, working out how in his child's mind he could make everything better. “I could get you registered and then you can shop where you want! They won't be able to come after you then either.”

“What and wear a collar? Spend my sunset years bowing and scraping before others just to survive? No thank you. I was born free, I live free and I will die the same way.” Mr. Jameson said as he sat in an ancient rocking chair. The knarled and scarred wood still held the human, despite his much larger frame and the chair's rough appearance.

The thought shocked the small child as much as the scent of blood. “You...you can't die papa Jay...”

“Young Jakeson. I will die one day, whether peacefully in this cabin or when they come for me. When that day happens I want no tears.” The chair gently began its old repeated rhythm up and down.

Ears trembled a bit as Jakeson struggled to hold them upright, trying to look brave. “I won't cry. After all, the great war is what humans wanted, isn't it? To destroy all of us. I suppose it's only right...”

The cackling of laughter stopped the pup's rehearsed speech. A speech he had heard and rehearsed in school many times before. “What's so funny?” He asked finally.

“You know, we used to say the same thing about you. In fact, when my young child was alive he would give me the exact same speech. It seems that no matter how different our kinds truly are, in many ways we are all the same.” Mr. Jameson said as he rocked slowly back and forth.

A look of confusion covered the young pup, his head tilting in that way all canine related species did until they grew out of it later. The old man stopped rocking for a moment, leaning forward in his chair, and looking at the wolf pup in earnest now. “And I will tell you what I told him that day so long ago. That's not an excuse. No one deserves to be attacked or to die for what someone else did.”

He leaned back in his chair for a moment, looking up towards the ceiling. His eyes got lost in memory as he thought back to his young child. Jakeson reminded him of that kid in many ways. The same spontaneity, the same bravery. Hopefully he would never see the same tragic end. The young wolf would never know that horror. “You know, I was there. I was at the riot of the moonless night.”

Jakeson gasped. The moonless night riots was a story that had been written and re-written into history. A tale of woe that every young morph is taught. “You mean, you were there when the humans went crazy?!” The possibilities for a young child are always endless. Always, except for those they admire being in the wrong. In his mind he saw a much younger Mr. Jameson shouting at his fellow humans to calm down, fighting against his own kind who had gone mad with a lust for vengeance and blood.

“I was there.” the old man said agan as he looked the young child in his eyes. “We had been regulated to our own neighborhoods by this point. It was illegal for any human to live amongst the morphs for fear that they would be a 'toxic influence' on the local population. We were afraid every day. Morphs of all kinds would come through our neighborhoods, protesting, chanting, attacking people.”

“Didn't the cops help you?” Jakeson asked, his head tilted slightly in the question. After all, humans weren't allowed on the police force, so that meant all cops were fare now, didn't it? That's what he was always told in school anyway.

“The police weren't going to help us.” The human replied with a sad smile.

“What do you mean?” Jakeson asked. “I thought police protected everyone. From crime and stuff; even humans.” After all, that's what they were taught in school. If they were taught that in school it meant it was true didn't it?

“You'll learn soon young puppers.” the old man said, still looking him in the eye. “There are two sets of laws. One for all of you, and one for us.”

A cold chill ran through the child. “Does that mean...” he began.

“Come now child.” The older man said as he stood up slowly. “Lets not talk about a future of maybe's and can be's. Let's talk about a future of definitely's. Like Hot chocolate. I say definitely to that, how about you?”

“Yeah!” Jakeson said, raising his arms in the air. His tail wagged behind him in a near blur at the thought of hot chocolate.

***

The memory faded from the older Jakeson as he grabbed the paper from the wall next to the door. “NOTICE OF JUDGEMENT” The paper read. “THIS DANGEROUS HUMAN HAS BEEN HIDING HERE AND INFECTING THE POPULATION. FOR THE GOOD OF THE COMMUNITY AND THE NEW UNITED STATES THE COURTS HAVE RENDERED JUDGEMENT ON THIS HUMAN AND HIS PROPERTY....” Jakeson didn't read anymore. He couldn't. He balled the paper up and threw it on the ground.

The coppery scent of blood was underneath the strong stench of fire and soot. It was strongest right where the rocking chair had sat that the old human loved so much. “I bet he didn't even put up a fight.” The wolf said, looking down at the charred remains of the chair and the cabin wall. “When they blew the door down, I bet he didn't even get up.”

Another thought occurred to him. Something that the human had repeated to him on more than one occasion. “If anything should happen to me.” He had said. “Look under my bed, you'll see a loose board. Under that will be a metal locked box. Get that, break the lock. The contents inside are yours.”

He raced towards the back room, past the ruined book shelf, past the bathroom that he had helped the old man install three summers ago. The bedroom was small and simple and sat in the back of the house. The old man's bedroom hadn't been very big or expensive. It was a simple mattress that sat on cinder blocks and boards next to an end table that had a digital clock. He was proud of that clock. “I can pick up radio stations on this!” He once said proudly. “Human stations!”

The last of those stations had died two summers ago. Cut off in mid song. Then a message about fomenting resistance and the judgment of the republic had been repeated over the station over and over before it was finally taken off the air days later.

The bedroom was torched. The roof had burned away, taking with it part of the walls. His mattress was just an ancient and crumbling spring cage now sitting on the ruins of cinder blocks. The room was filled with smokey smell much like the rest of the house. The scratched and scarred end table that once held the digital clock the Mr. Jameson owned was now cinders. His clock nothing more than charred, half melted plastic.

He moved quickly now. Desperately. The rusted springs was thrown aside. They literally rolled and tumbled outside over the remains of a wall. The charred remnants of cinder blocks was brushed and shoved away. The pup not feeling, not seeing the tears in his eyes. His claws fought against the floor boards till he found the one loose one that Mr. Jameson had told him about. There sitting under the floor boards was an ancient green lock box.

The lock box was brought back to the kitchen and set down on the counter in a daze. It was green on the outside, rusted on the surface in patches where the paint had pealed away. He stared at it for a moment his heart in his throat. He dared not think what it was. What honestly could it have been? Jakeson took a shuddering breath and said gently to himself “I promised Papa Jay. No crying. I will not cry.”

It only took a butter knife to pry it open. A soft 'Pop!' and the lid flipped open, crashing against the counter. Jakeson looked down and gasped at the contents. Inside was photographs. A much younger Jameson stood with his son along with his wife and daughter. His son was wearing a military uniform, saluting at the camera, with a gleam and a smile as his family embraced around him. An old cell phone with a sticky note attached to it that read “If you ever get this charged up, use the pin 1462 to unlock it. You'll find a lot more inside.”

There was news articles too. A news article detailing the protest. The riot that ensued. An article that numbered the dead from The Riot of the Moonless Night. He had always been told four humans originally had been killed that night, and nearly one hundred morphs. Had been told that's why the rest of their rights had been revoked. It was in all of the text books, all of the documentaries made of that night.

The article said different. Nearly four hundred in one night. Four hundred humans. No morph deaths had been reported. Only minor injuries. “They said it was four!” Jakeson growled, and slammed the article down on the counter.

Beneath that was another article. “Genetic breakthrough. Wolf given human DNA.” That part he knew. They were bred to do the jobs that humans didn't want to do. When they got tired of being used as basically slave labor and revolted, the humans tried to kill them all. It didn't work.

At least that's what he was always taught. They were right, weren't they? Humans were inherently evil. Racism and Specism was in their DNA after all. They deserved their fate, didn't they? Article after article in the box though said otherwise. First troubles noted when the first family, horse morphs, tried to live amongst the humans in China. There was no other articles about that. He never even knew they were there.

Then the first wolves and raccoons started moving in. Humans were hesitant at first, but tried to accept them. Trouble always seemed to follow however. He remembered a video they used to play at school of one of the founding fathers of the new nation. It had been recorded long after the revolt and the moonless night riots. “I can take a human.” The raccoon said, standing in a business suit in front of a large curtain and the new flag for their new government, a blue background with a red paw print. “I can even take a human couple. But a family, that's trouble. Cause they'll need things. They'll want more things. And humans, they always want more. They want more credit, more money, more power. They fight for and strive for more control. To kill us. That's why we had to revolt. That's why they had to be killed and enslaved. Slavery is the only way a human knows.”

“The human condition is control. They look for it, and we gave it to them. They were looking for us to take control. Don't ever forget that. They wanted us to rule them. Look at all the harm they caused by ruling themselves? By ruling us?” He smiled as he said the words, his ears tipping in the practiced way he had at each statement.

Jakeson had always been taught that. He had been taught that as a species, they had to pay. As a group, they were responsible for every bad thing that happened. Every human wanted to either be controlled or to kill and control others. It was safer to just kill them. Their very words are dangerous. Their very existence was dangerous. It was better if they were silenced.

Everything he had been taught was a lie. Everything.

Jakeson skimmed a couple articles, looked through the ancient photographs. Even found an old gold coin at the bottom dated from over fifty years ago. The only thing of actual monetary value in the box. At the bottom was a letter in an old zip lock bag addressed to him. It looked as if it had been written years ago. He shook as he pulled it out of the plastic material protecting it, holding it as if it was more precious than gold.

“Jakeson,

If you're reading this it means I'm dead. I hope you found me peaceful in my bed, and not a blood stain on my rocker. If you saw more than either of those, I am sorry. I am sorry that you had to witness so much. I am not a violent revolutionary. I never fought for or against anyone. I merely wished to live.

You have been like a son to me. I wish I could give you monetary things. I wish this world wasn't as crazy and as broken as it is. But I can really only give you one thing: the gift of truth.

The truth is I am guilty of something. I'm guilty of questions. Asking dangerous questions, first to important people, then to morphs, both important and normal. I asked the kinds of questions no one wants to think about. No one wants answered.

We all have to be guilty of something. Some choose to be guilty of causing pain and heartbreak. Some choose to be guilty of stealing or doing drugs. I hope you choose something more. I hope I have given you enough evidence in this box to question. Never be afraid to question. Ask difficult questions, of your teachers, of your moral leaders, of your parents and authority figures. Do not accept easy answers and canned responses. Ask difficult questions of yourself! Do not let yourself off the hook with easy answers. Be guilty of this in your life: be guilty of asking difficult questions.

Its only through those difficult questions that anyone can ever hope to get to the truth. You see, the truth is more precious than gold, more important than any president or government could ever be. The truth can be dangerous and frightening, yes. Especially for those who only want you to know the lie. But you must get to through the lie to the truth. Cause its only with the truth can anyone ever heal and forgive.

Understand, Jakeson. As a species we have done great and horrible things. We have been greedy and generous, gracious and selfish, horrible and beautiful. I have never judged you for the crimes you see in this box. That was not your fault. Do not judge other humans by the crimes that has been committed in the past. That is not their fault. Judge them by the things they and they alone have done. Judge them by their character and commitments, their personal successes and failings. Judge them as individuals.

I think once you start looking at individuals instead of groups you will learn that no one is capable of judging another. That we are all both good and evil creatures. It's just a matter of what we choose to be.

Remember, do not weep for me. I go now to my son and daughter. I go now to my wife. I go now to a life that I have longed for these many years.

Do good things. Speak good things. Believe in goodness and it will return to you.

May God bless you Jakeson.

P.S. Stop Crying.”

Despite his request, tears hit the paper. The wolf tried not to let himself cry, but he couldn't stop it. A latchkey pup whose father and mother was always at work and only home for dinner, he didn't have much of anyone to look up to until he found Mr. Jameson. The old human had been a stabilizing figure in his life. A person who, although couldn't teach him how to hunt like a wolf, had taught him how to think like one. Like an alpha and not a pup.

“One last lesson, huh?” He said, standing up. “Do good things. Speak good things. Believe in goodness and it will return to you.”

Jakeson slipped the paper back into the zip lock bag and then closed the lock box back. “Never be afraid to question.” He said again outloud, wiping tears away. Mom wouldn't be home for another three hours. Dad wouldn't be back from work for an hour after that. It was plenty of time to take the box home, and put it somewhere. Somewhere his parents would never ever think to look for it.

Honestly Jakeson kind of hoped they found it. He had some questions he wanted to ask them. Some questions he needed answering of himself. “Do good things. Speak good things. Believe in goodness and it will return to you. And never be afraid to question.” He said one last time, standing at the doorway to the burnt cabin. “I will never forget you Papa J. I love you.”