FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The bitter blackness, heavy and viscous, rippled. It was a very quick, light ripple. Like the surface of a plate of gelatin, it wiggled and then settled. But it was just enough. The inky black feeling slipped away as the gently disturbed surface of his consciousness was pulled from the murky slumber.

He opened his eyes, only to find the left one chapped from constant rubbing. A cold puddle of drool wet his cheek, and the root of his long, left ear ached as pins and needles started flowing into the body as he rolled over, releasing it from between his skull and the pillow.

Judging by the lack of light that came through his open window, it was night. As he lie, fully awake, in the jeans and shirt he'd worn during the day, he felt that familiar sense of unease creep over his spine.

Then, his ear picked up a noise. A light shuffling; softened footfalls on wood. He glanced toward his door to see the light beneath as, for just a second, it was blocked by a fleeting shadow.

His bed creaked as he got up, disentangling himself from the sheets. He slowly opened the door. The soft hallway light met his eyes. The dim brown bulb glowed just a few inches above the floor, tucked into a socket just to the left of the bathroom door.

On the other side of the house, in the TV room, the swell of a laugh-track could be heard, though to him it was just over a whisper.

He stepped out into the hall. He looked right, where the shadows dominated. Then, he looked left once more.

He took the path, walking toward the bathroom door. He opened it, slowly. Where normally a mirror, set on the wallpaper striped with rust-colored reds, would reflect his face, only the soft shadow of the door edge was outlined twice. Yet, a glint caught his eye, nestled right against the floorboard.

He went into the room and carefully picked up the sliver of glass. The spec was barely big enough to cut his skin unless he really pressed hard, but it stuck to his fur readily. He flicked his finger over the trash bin and heard the near-inaudible rustle as it fell into the bag. Just to be sure he went back into the hall and checked his thumb-pad thoroughly.

Satisfied, and more alert, he continued down the hall. The door to his left was almost hidden. Were it not for the brass handle that refracted the gentle light upon its upper curve, the door could be passed a hundred times and still not be discovered.

And this was not just any door, for as he gripped the handle and pressed it down, he breached the passageway into an entirely different world.

From within the room, lit aglow by a baby-blue night-light just inside the door, a hundred smiles greeted him. From the foot of her bed to the top of her pillow, all along the wall, dozens of plush figures rested upon one another. Ranging from Barney, to Mickey, to Ruthie, to Tigger, and Scooby-Doo; each one was unique, for she had no two of the same character.

And there, a small head resting upon a large pillow, was his sister. She snuggled with her Sun Bear, Bimbles. Her first, and favorite, plush animal.

He stepped into the room.

The soap-opera across the house gasped.

Her floor was still littered with playing cards and some music sheets. Her tigress friend had spent the night over the past weekend. For the first time since he could remember, they had giggled into the wee hours of the morning.

He carefully navigated the floor, as if the act of disturbing it would set off a trap. He slowly approached his sister's bed.

Her face's features were caste in the soft baby-blue hue.

He studied her for just a moment, finding a sense of peace in the way she so tranquilly lay. After that moment, he leaned over her, bringing his lips to her cheek. He was an inch away, their whiskers tickling against one other.

He pursed his lips, and whispered: "You suck at pretend-sleeping."

She winced, her eyelids scrunching as she burrowed her muzzle further into Bimbles's chest. "I dident wanna woke-er-ed you."

He chuckled, righting up. "Then why knock?"

"Mom tolded me to."

He looked at the clock on her night stand. It was a quarter after eleven. "She told you to do it after your bedtime?"

"I dident wan-ned to earlier!" She mumbled into her bear. "If I dided I woulda gotted in trouble with you! If I didented; get in trouble with momma!"

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't, huh?" He said. "'Cept, you're not in trouble with me. What gives you that idea?" He questioned, running his hand over her covers to smooth them out.

"Cuz you getted mad when I woke-er-ed you up befores."

"Think I'm mad?"

"Iunnos!"

"Well if you'd open your eyes..."

Still scrunched, her lid began to open with trepidation.

He watched her little black pupil flick about, and finally her eyelid opened completely.

She moved away from her bear's comfort, just enough that she could see without showing her whole face.

"See? Not mad." He said. Then, he righted himself, and extended his hand. "'Mon," he bid.

She blinked, staring at his open palm. From beneath the covers, there was movement. It rustled and wriggled until her blue-hued hand slithered forth, and paused. Hovering in the air, she waited a full six heartbeats before he finally closed the gap.

Gently grasping her hand, he coaxed her to sit up.

Her covers fell away like a pile of snow, and her bare feet slipped from her baggy pajama pants as she made to slide off of her bed. But before she could, his arms enveloped her in a bear-hug and she felt weightless as he lifted her, huffing.

"You's-a chubby bunny," he teased, resting her on his shoulder and hooking an arm under her bottom to support her.

She whimpered. "Not fat," she grumbled.

"Nah," he agreed, "Just putting on some weight, now that you're eating regularly."

"I doent like being this high." She told him.

A sting of something hit him. The words she used made him tense. But he tried his best to push all of that away, and turned about.

"Wher'er we go-er-ing?"

"What'd you eat for dinner?"

She hugged against him tightly as he started to take a few steps, before her little voice said into his shoulder: "Pelmeni."

"Yum..." He stated. When he got to the kitchen, the metal plate caught his toe and he almost fumbled.

She clasped him more tightly, putting pressure on him with each limb.

The feeling made his heart flutter; that, in her time of fright, she chose to secure herself toward him, rather than pry away, sent a fraternal warmth through his blood.

The moment lasted a split-second. And yet, even as he set her down at the table and walked toward the fridge, he could feel that swell still lingering in his heart.

He found the dumplings easily enough, sitting idly in a Tupperware dish right at the front. There were still nearly a dozen left, and he was sure he could eat them all. He shoved them into the microwave and guessed a proper time.

His sister rested at the table. Her face was nestled into the elbow-pit of her left arm, her eyes closed and her ears swiveled back.

As the microwave hummed and then switched to a more resonant tone, he went back to the fridge. His hand latched on the handle to the freezer up top, and pried it open. A bit of ice dust fell free, dissolving quickly on the floor.

She heard the noises. The door to the freezer slammed, and the fridge hummed to life as well, joining in chorus with the microwave. The metal-ware drawer slid open, its contents clinking together as they were whip-lashed. And again the utensils clacked about as he searched for one in particular.

Utensil selected, the cabinet door squeaked and porcelain clinked as it was set upon the counter. A puff of air was released, and something laid aside with a muffled clap. Then a quiet few quiet scrapes and scratches, followed by several rapid bells as the metal rapped against the porcelain.

After several repetitions of the bells, the microwave announced its finale with three chirps. Then, for a full three seconds, all was quiet. Another puff of air, the crackle of the freezer door as it opened and then shut. The punch of the button that opened the microwave door, and then a soft and heavy pair of scrapes.

Finally, after his footsteps neared, she felt the table gently disturbed as the dish of Pelmeni was set upon it. But then, it twitched much closer to her as another dish was set. A final chime hit her ear, and her eye flung open.

Her brother sat opposite her, a thin steam rising steadily from the Tupperware. Her vision focused upon the soup cup nearer to her, and the crest of the mountain embedded with marshmallows, nuts and chocolate chips.

"...But..."

Her brother looked at her, matching eye-with-eye. "Mm?" He asked, fork between his lips.

She reached for the soup cup's handle, turning it with her left hand. "It's pass-ted my bedtime..."

The brother swallowed. "Friday." He stated.

Her pupil flicked toward the other side of the kitchen. "They doent care," she retorted.

"You won't get in trouble." He assured her, stabbing another dumpling. He brought it just an inch or so from his lips. "I will." He popped it into his mouth, and then winced. "Haaaaawt," he hissed, fanning his hand over his lips and huffing.

His sister straightened, taking the handle of the spoon that rose from the Rocky Road.

Her brother cleared his throat, hitting his sternum as he swallowed. "Besides," he rested his elbow on the table and pointed his fork toward her. "You went to school every day for two weeks straight. You deserve it."

She looked forlornly to her treat. With the spoon, she swirled the little hills of frozen cream in the soup cup. "And I hay-et it."

He held himself mid-bite, teeth pressed against the tines of the fork. He didn't wait to swallow before asking: "Why?"

"Bee-causs," she let go of the spoon and nestled her muzzle back into her elbow. "I'm stupid... and talk funny..."

Her brother's fist hit the table, enough to make her gasp and sit up, covering her face with her hands. She peeked through her fingers, to see her brother looking slightly left, as if studying the pictures on the wall.

"Who's calling you stupid?" He questioned, his voice carrying a very low, almost imperceptible growl.

But she could hear it. Caught between tattling and being honest, she felt her gut flip-flop. But, out of intimidation, she answered: "B--B-Becky."

"Just her?"

She shook her head. "Od-der kids, too..."

Over the next moment, her brother's demeanor softened. But it was truly only after he looked back at her, and his face pulsed, as if he was surprised; it was like he had been caught being mean by her. He went back to eating the dumplings.

After admitting herself, she managed to grasp the spoon, and gather a meager amount of ice cream. She popped the spoon into her mouth. The cold metal rested on her tongue as she let the cream soften and dissolve against her palate.

"How did it come up?" He asked, as if he were asking her about the weather. "I mean... them calling you names."

She took the spoon out of her mouth. "I... ask-ded a quess-ton... and Becky say-ed it was a stupid quess-ton." Her ears swiveled back, almost shamefully. "Ever-ey body laugh-ded..."

Her brother tended to the dumpling he had captured for a little longer than the others. For moment after moment, he tortured the poor thing as he chewed a few times, and then stopped to think.

She began to fill her stomach, slowly. Bite by bite, the ice cream almost felt like it filled the place she was emptying with her admissions.

Finally, he put the dumpling out of its misery. "What'd you ask?"

She set the spoon down and receded back into her elbow again, as if it were a safe place. She whimpered.

"Hmm-mm," her brother said, shaking his head. "See that's bad. And that's why this Becky-kid pisses me off right now." He curled his fist as he emphasized the mature word. But just as quickly as he showed it, his intensity went away. "I mean..." He scooted the bowl aside, resting his arms on the table. "Think of it this way: you're at school to learn, right? Well... one of the ways to learn, is to ask questions. You agree?"

From her hiding place, her brow gave some semblance of a nod.

"What this Becky is doing, is discouraging you from asking questions. Did... did your teacher say anything about it?"

She lifted away enough so that her voice could be heard. "She made her wait ten minutes from recess..."

"And... you got your answer?"

Her brow said 'no.'

"You had more questions, right?"

Yes.

"And you asked those?"

No.

He slammed his forehead onto his palm. Then, he repeatedly smacked his forehead.

"I do-ed something wrong..."

"No, sis." He stated sharply, returning to a casual sitting position as if nothing had happened. "You did absolutely nothing wrong. You asked a question. What's wrong is that you never got an answer, and because you got teased by everyone you stopped asking. They're calling you stupid because you ask a question that they thought was stupid--but you wanted to learn something, which is why you asked it. But because you got your feelings hurt, now you're not asking questions--so how're you supposed to learn?"

She listened to his logic, barely understanding more than that he was getting agitated by the sound of his rising volume and hastening tempo. She looked up at him, and he looked down at her. But though his look was irritated and angry, she could tell... somehow... that it wasn't directed at her.

She felt... confused. It was like looking at a picture that was twisted or distorted, or simply from a different angle. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it, since it wasn't directed at her. She kind of felt afraid, but not for her own sake.

Then, his features softened again. He went back to eating his dumplings, and very gently instructed; "Ask me your question. I'll answer it." He lifted the dumpling. "I'll answer it, and any other. I'll never call you stupid." He ate the dumpling, swallowing it whole. "I don't care how dumb, or silly, or embarrassing you think your question is. If it pops into your little head, you can always... always... ask me. Got it?"

Yes.

A bit of silence between them to let their minds digest thoughts as their stomachs did the same with food.

Their parents had switched from a soap-opera to what sounded like a documentary. Something like a murder mystery or some other kind of crime-drama. The narrator had a very even, though deliberate tone, which made the whole thing incredibly cheesy to them. But, their parents ate that kind of thing up like cotton candy.

The house was like two different worlds. It was much like how today was compared to just a few weeks ago.

It was so strange, how ordinary actually felt.

It was like some fantasy world where a monster had poisoned the water. Just as soon as it was slain, the change was immediate: the sky was crystal blue, the sun warm and bright, the grass green and verdant, and barren wastelands teeming with life.

Five minutes later, ten, or seven hundred; it made little difference. Once the crux of chaos was destroyed, it was like it had never happened. Or had it? A memory; a foggy dream. An alternate reality that felt real but at the same time so virtual.

For years, this had not been. For years, he did not see his sister sitting across from him at the table. For years, she had not spoken about more to him than her curt understanding of the world she could see and experience from beneath her bed.

And this was true up until one month ago, more or less.

Yet now, the meadow was lush. She, either so forgetful or so unfathomably forgiving, began to open to him. She began to trust, albeit warily. She trusted enough to let him carry her; trusted enough to admit the things which troubled her.

She trusted him enough to use the same words he used to describe her for so long. Words that she had never agreed to while he spoke them. And yet now, she so casually uttered them, in that way that meant she acquiesced to their meaning, as if she only recently found enlightenment in them.

It made him sick.

But he felt a tug. A gentle tug all about him--not at his heart, nor his mind, nor his gut. Somewhere... ethereal. A part of him that he thought up until just now had been lost. Lost in such a way he was never allowed to have it back. But, there it was... sitting right in front of him.

It was little, gentle, and timid. It needed tenderness and care. It needed nurturing and encouragement. It needed guidance and comfort.

As she took the last few spoonfuls of her ice cream, he gently moved the Tupperware container aside and folded his arms upon the table. When she finished, lifting the soup cup to scrape the last bits of melted chocolate onto her tongue, she set it aside almost exactly as far.

And then, when her eyes wandered about for a moment, to then finally focus upon his, then is when he knew everything had just been set in stone.

"Your eyes are-enent red... but you've been sleeping a lot..."

Her voice was shallow, shaking. She was nervous, maybe even scared.

"Have... you been... smoking... again?"

His first task.

Untangle everything. Rework all of it. As only he could; for he was the one who tangled this mess from the beginning. It was a knot of steel-wool all his own, pulled taught by his own anger and stupidity. He should have gone easier on himself, had he known this is where he would end up.

Perhaps... she would show him mercy. In time.

"In the Twinkies box," he said, his muddy brown eyes staring into hers, sweet like caramel. "You said that was the last you had?"

She nodded.

"That was the last I had, too." He reassured.

After a moment, she nodded once again. Then, she looked down, as if studying the woodgrain of the table. The moment was not tense, thick or awkward.

It was patient.

"How come... the sky is so big? And why is it brig-et and bloo-ey at day, and dark and black at nig-et?"

Mercy.

He smiled, and chuckled.

Her face pouted. "You said..." She started, but then trailed.

"I'm not laughing at you," he replied, and then pointed out, "Besides. I never said I wouldn't chuckle." Then, he stood. "C'mon."

"...But..." She shimmied out of the bench-seat, "You dident answer..." She paused as he turned back to her. The look on his face became very serious, as if she'd called him a bad name. Then, it softened.

"You... trust me... don't you?--At least a little bit?"

The question confused her. It was like he was asking someone behind her or beside her. With the nod of her nose, he eased back into a smile.

"C'mon. I'll answer it."

She followed him.

He glanced back, keenly aware of her pace.

She walked briskly, her ears slanted back just a bit atop her head, like the tail of a plane. She was like a little guppy, latching onto the bait; the promise of an answer without ridicule like an offer too good to be true.

In reality, he was the fish, and she the one casting the hook. But whereas she had found only kelp and snapped wire, he would do all in his power to encourage a catch--even if it meant having to place it on the hook by hand.

He led the way through the house, his sister following albeit a few steps behind. After a shortcut here and a diagonal there--passing stealthily by the interview with friends-of-the-victim--and finally to the back porch.

The door opened to a breezy night. The air was chilly, but not cold. Spring was still a month away, but a warm-front brought an early glimpse. All it needed was the light of fireflies and the night would be a perfect scene. But, the city buildings would have to do.

She let the door close softly, catching her fingers between it and the latch and slipping them away such that it did not make a noise aside from the old squeaks. While she took this care, her brother retrieved the flashlight, and clicked it on and off rapidly.

She met his eyes when the door was closed, and he squatted down. After a few seconds' pause, she stepped to him, and held onto his shoulders. She hopped up, and he hooked her legs under his arms.

His footfalls crunched and crackled, gently tamping the stiff grass beneath his feet.

Their destination was beside her pink castle. It was a swing-set with two swings. One swing was well-curved, while the other was a little flatter. Both were gently stirred in the wind, however the flatter swing had a bit of a whine to it as its rusted chain-links scraped together.

Her brother stood before the curved swing, and then turned about. He squatted again, using one hand to find the swing. He set her into the swing, and she let go, the metal squeaking and tinkling as it bore her weight.

He took the swing beside her, his size not quite small enough to fit in it comfortably. But, this wasn't about his comfort.

For a second, they were silent.

She looked to him, gripping the chains of her swing tightly. Her brother's foot kicked a few times, the other resting on the ground. Then, at last, she felt the swing-set lurch as he pushed up, and allowed himself a full swing.

"Look up," he urged. "Can you see the little twinkles?"

Her eyes wandered up to the inky-black sky. She squinted. Though there was a haze that came from the city lights in the distance, she managed to see a few bright spots. "Uh-huh," she replied.

"Those," he said, "are stars."

She sighed, a little dismayed. "I knowed that, already," she told him.

"Don't get upset," he insisted. "I'm not saying that cuz I don't think you know that. I'm just being rhetorical."

She nodded. "Sorry." She said softly.

"'S'okay." He said, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "Look back up. How many can you see?"

She squinted again. "Fi-yav? Um... six."

"Would you believe me if I told you there were billions, but they're all so far away that they're too hard to see with just your eye?"

She looked down. "I guess... how much is a billion?"

"You remember when we went to the beach a long time ago? You were kinda little, then."

She nodded.

"There was a lot of sand, huh?"

"Yeah. Everywhere."

"Sand is like sugar, or salt. It's made of tiny little grains that look like one big clump when a bunch of them are together." He scraped his foot along the grass. "There were billions of grains of sand on the beach. So imagine it like that, but up in the sky; far, far away."

She looked up again. "Do-ed... that answer-ed my questions?" She asked.

He adjusted his seating. "No," he admitted. "I just wanted you to get an idea of how big the sky is," he admitted. "You know what a star looks like up close, right?"

She shook her head. "Nope." She replied. "I nebber seen-ed one up close..."

"Sure you have," he countered. "You see one every day."

She looked down, the bottoms of her bare feet tickled by the grass. "The moon?" She guessed.

"Mmm... not quite." He replied.

She sighed. "This isinent helping at all." She said dimly. "Tolded you I was stupid."

The wind rustled.

"Hey."

The word was sharp; almost threatening. Even the wind abruptly stilled.

He spoke again, with the kind of authority he always had to her--but this time, it was soft and gentle.

"I never, not ever-ever, want to hear you say that again. Got it?"

She shivered, and nodded.

"It's okay to be wrong or make mistakes." He said. "Doing that doesn't make you stupid, no matter what anyone says. It's just a chance for you to learn more and try again."

She pushed her feet forward, the chains of her swing grinding with tension against the beam above her head. "The sun." She stated, timidly.

"Bingo!" He declared.

She flinched, her swing rattling. But after the moment settled, she waited for him to talk again.

"What is the sun?"

She thought for just a second. "A star?"

"Correct," he nodded. "What else do you know about the sun?"

"It's big." She listed.

"It is big," he agreed. "In fact, it's bigger than you might think. It's actually bigger than the Earth, and all the other planets. ...What else?"

"Um... you not a'possa look at it with yer eyes." She said.

"That's true. But why?"

"Cuz... it's b--" Even as she started to say it, she began to understand. "It's brig-et." She finished, her voice rather quiet.

The light clicked on. The ellipse fell upon the grass several feet in front of them, and roved about for a moment. It fell upon a kick-ball, colored baby-blue. "Oh, here we go. See that?" He wiggled the light.

"Yeah." She acknowledged.

"You learned about Christopher Columbus right? How the Earth is round and all that?"

"Uh-huh."

"Imagine that ball is Earth. And this light," he clicked it off, and then back on, "is the sun. See how one side of the ball is in the light, and the other is in the shadow?"

She leaned forward, and a bit to the side. "Yeah."

"If we were on that ball, where do you think we'd be?"

She sat back. "We woo-uld be... in the shadow," she stated. "Be-causs..." She gasped. "Be-causs the sun is..." She clung to the chains of the swing, looking about. Then, she looked behind her and pointed at the ground. "Somwhere... down there?" She asked.

The light went out.

"For being 'stupid,'" he said, "you sure did figure that out pretty quick."

She giggled, but then it dissolved into a wheezy breath. "Thanks..." She said, almost bashfully. "I thinks I gets it, now."

He smiled back, proud and glad for what he had done. But then, his sister's sudden burst of happiness changed.

Her smile wilted to a frown. She looked down at the ground; at the blades of grass as they were gently nudged by the breeze. Her eyes closed, and she rested her cheek against the far chain. She took a breath, and exhaled.

"Ever-ry one else knew-ed that, already." She pointed out.

She suddenly felt her swing tremble almost violently. She shivered with surprise; he was behind her, and wrapped his arms about her.

It felt like before. That day, not too long ago. That day he killed Big Bad Brother. Her fur stood on end all about, and her ears stiffened just a little. But, that wasn't because she was scared of the harsh words, or bracing for the sudden ache in her cheek and spark in her eyes. It was like she was being wrapped in a big, fluffy blanket, next to a toasty fire.

"You'll learn." He spoke softly. "More than them. I'll help you."

She tried to look back, but could barely see him out of the corner of her eye. "You will?" She inquired, her voice barely above a crackle.

"I'll help you." He sternly repeated. "Anything. Everything. If you want to know, I'll teach you. You want everyone to stop laughing at you in class?"

She nodded.

"Then we'll start tomorrow. Or... whenever you're ready."

"You-e'll teach me how to... not talk funny?"

"Is that what they laugh about most?"

Another nod; weighted with shame and embarrassment.

"Then we'll start there." He stood, sliding his hands into her armpits. He lifted, and she let go of the chains, readily turning to grasp about his neck, and rest her cheek upon his shoulder.

He could drop her.

In that still, cold moment, that's what his mind thought.

He could drop her, she would hit the ground, and he could listen to her sob from pain and betrayal.

He leaned back, hefting his arms beneath her rear to hold her more securely. With very careful, quiet steps, he made his way back through the house to her room, where he would set her gently upon her bed and cover her.

And, as he leaned over to kiss her cheek, he promised that dissonant part of his mind that it would indeed get to see her shed tears. But it wouldn't be through pain, sadness, fear; or any other feeling close to those.