FSE

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Chapter 1

Ma’ Said There Wouldn’t be Days Like This

I still remember her words to me, seconds before she passed away on that dreadful bed. “Zach, you’ve seen what war is like out of this country, Anthros are savages made for us humans to kill. They may have thoughts and feelings, but Alogus made them for us. I know you don’t agree, and that’s what makes you a good man. Thank you for saving our country, and keep being compassionate, but not to the beasts. I love you Zach, whether you agree or disagree with me. I will always love you. I hope I see you again Zach.”

Those words of hers. I try to forget them. I try to dry away the tears, but they always come back whenever I think of her. She had only a few seconds to say the last thing of her entire life, and it was to hate anthros. I’m torn between what I should think. I try to convince myself that mother was always right, and she was. But telling me to hate someone even though I don’t know them, I can’t decide what to think.

January 31st 2020

My name is Zach Reeves. I am an African descent American human male. Anthropomorphs have roamed the planet for as long as anyone can remember. Anthropomorphs are animals with human characteristics. They walk on two legs, have fingers, and intelligence. But also have behaviours and appearances like their feral counterparts.

I was raised under Adolian beliefs. Adoleo is the most popular religion as of today, and it states that “anthros were created as beasts after humans and were meant for the humans to hunt for food and skin/fur”. The Origin, the book that everyone follows, says horrible things. Most people don’t pay attention to the bad stuff like “If a human makes acquaintance with a beast, they are dishonouring the entire human race in the eyes of Alogus”, and instead only believe in the good stuff like the afterlife and being able to redeem themselves of any immoral acts by praying. I always thought the practices were disrespectful and encouraged unjust hatred.

I’m a US veteran. I have served in the military for 10 years fighting in the Pakistan war against the anthros. I saw the worst side of the anthros. My best friend was shot by an oxen, who I then killed as well. It’s hard to disagree with what Ma’ says about the beasts, but when an anthro makes me a coffee and wishes me a good morning, or smiles at me passing on the street, I just can’t help but think they can’t be all that bad. I currently live in Chicago Illinois, among the suburbs. Though today in particular was not very chilly. Not necessarily our worst cold fronts, but it beats shoveling up billowing mounds of snow.

I keep hearing my mother’s words echo in my head. I need to put my mind at ease. I decide to leave my apartment and go for a walk to the local park. I grab my room keys, wallet, and pocket knife and head out. Outside, the air was as dry as ever, though I’m not complaining. It’s much better than the humidity in the south. I flex my shoulders a bit so I can adjust my leather jacket in a more comfortable position.

I take my leave after locking my door and greeting my neighbor, Mr. Garrison, a human with a mild aggression towards the beasts. Even the ones that live in these apartments. I only hope he doesn’t always behave that way, he may do that to the wrong beast and they will take it to an extreme level. Living in the suburbs is an easier life to live. Much better than living in the city with all of the noise from the traffic. There are trees here and there which makes the place look a lot brighter than the hustle bustle of a grey, square city. Most of the people here don’t always have places to go and people to see, some of us just enjoy life. As I head to the park, mammalian anthros pass by me. Most of them being wolves, bears, and foxes that don’t mind the finger numbing cold.

Every time I see an anthro, mother’s words pass through my mind. Some of the furs can see that I’m feeling down, and they smile at me to cheer me up. Why do they do that? Why do they see a human, and try to do something nice? I guess they don’t know what I have done. Things are different out of context. The anthros don’t know me, they don’t know I killed their kind. It’s all just so boggling.

As I walk down the street, there are birds in the trees, nested with their families. It just makes me think of all those avian beasts in the war. Dropping gas bombs from their claws as if they were a seagull taking a dump. As if they had not a care in the world that they were killing tens of people who had lives and families, hopes and dreams. It gets me thinking; The beasts that I killed, did THEY have hopes and dreams just like me? Did they have their own beliefs and motives as to why they were doing this? Were they just wild beasts with a thirst for blood? Or were they fighting for something like I was?

I walk through the park gates and see an assortment of furs and humans. A white fox child is playing with a human boy. They appear to be playing pirates in the antarctic. They’re smiling and laughing while what looks like both the human parents of the boy are talking on a bench facing the other way. I would never do something like that. If I had a son playing with a beast, I’d watch him like an eagle… so to speak. The fox’s mother can be seen not too far in the distance, walking around the frozen pond.

The Human boy slipped and fell off the play equipment and exclaimed “Ow, my foot!” The fox boy came to help. The parents noticed and turned around. I saw a look of horror on their faces. They quickly got up and ran over to their son and shoved the fox boy away in anger. The Little fox started to cry and the mother down by the pond perked her ears up and came over. The little fox ran to his mother and latched onto her leg.

She licked the tears off his face and comforted him. I thought that there would be fight, and got my phone ready to call the police. I also grab my pocket knife in case anything got too ugly. But before I could do anything, the human parents gave the two foxes a death stare and the mother and son backed off. Some other people and furs looked on very concerned. The Mother fox walked out of the park with her crying son, and the human family walked in the opposite direction.

I put my phone back in my pocket and my knife in its sheath. I walk to a nearby bench and take a seat. Thinking about what just happened, I imagined what would have happened if things did get ugly. It wouldn’t be my first time, but to be done in public, out of war, wouldn’t have been that smart. In that case, I’m thankful that the mother fled instead of threatening the parents. Who would I stand up for anyway? The fox boy didn’t do anything wrong… but the mother could have acted aggressively.

My face falls into my hands. So many conflicting thoughts. It’s just too much to handle. I was told in the army that anthros can literally smell fear. I think they were right. An anthro lioness is walking by humming a tune. She sees me with my head in my hands. Of all the things she could have done, she sat down beside me. If I saw a beast on a bench acting like me, I would have run in the opposite direction.

In one of the warmest, softest voices I have ever heard, she put her hand on my shoulder and said “Are you cold?”. I looked up at her, but it was only then that I realized she was a lioness. I carefully responded “No, what do you want?”. “Well, you’re shivering and you look like you’re about to cry. Are you ok?” She replied. “It’s a long story.” I said hesitantly. The lioness flapped her ears and smiled “I can listen.”. I told her my story. About how I was raised, about the war, about my mother. With every sentence I said, her smile dulled down until it was a solemn frown. Her pupils were dilated and her ears were drooped.

“I understand you may not take what I say into account, with me being a fur and all. But I think you really should talk to more people. I have a friend who works at the orphanage a short while down the highway. She has heard many stories from all sorts of anthros and people. If you have a chat with her, I think it might help you understand your stance on… us.”. The lioness reached into her bag and grabbed a notepad and pencil and wrote something down. She grasped the paper with her claws and ripped it off and gave it to me. “If you ever want to talk about how you feel about these things, call me and we can arrange to meet up. I used to work at an aged care facility out of state, and I know how to help people in tough ethnic situations.” She said with a hopeful look in her eyes.

“Thank you, what’s your name?” I asked. “Ashima, but you can call me Ash.” She said with her ears perked up. I politely replied “Thank you, Ashima.”. She smiled and stood up. The lioness continued along her path and looked back at me before disappearing around the corner.

Talking with another one of them, at an orphanage?This sounded odd to me, but there were plenty of counselors in orphanages, especially for the foster parents and children. It’s better than sulking in my own strife. The only way to make things better, is to try to make things better.