Become Your Fursona

scratch scratch scratch

Knees pressed into the carpet, elbows up on her bed. Scraggly fluff under the tops of her feet. Darkness playing across her eyelids.

“Um, God … ”

scratch scratch scratch

The rushing sound of the central air conditioning. The buzzing whirr of her notebook’s fan, on the desk behind her.

“I don’t know if this means anything to you … ”

scratch scratch scratch

” … but I’m pretty sure that I’m going to die … ”

A ping, from the notebook behind her. Somebody else had just logged in.

“You saw what happened … ” She swallowed, and fought to hold back the tears. “You heard what he said.”

scratch scratch scratch

“I don’t want to be like this anymore … ”

The microwave dinged and a chair scraped the floor, somewhere downstairs.

“Please, God! I don’t want to be like this anymore!” Tears ran down her cheeks.

scratch scratch scratch

“I want … I want … ”

scratch scratch scratch

The scratchy tag on the back of her shirt. The scratchy wool on the top of her bed. The scratchy scratchy scratching on the scratchy-

“Go away!”

A frightened yip, and then four feet pounded the floor, running away from the door to her room. But she wasn’t paying attention. All of the hairs on her body had stood up and fluffed themselves out, and she was fighting them back into place. She finally collapsed, drenched in sweat, leaning up against the bedframe and gasping for breath.

Footsteps outside. A knock at the door, and a muffled female voice. “Any reason why you just yelled at my brother?”

She couldn’t say anything.

The door opened, and in walked a light-skinned woman in pale blue jeans and a red t-shirt, carrying a plate of steamed vegetables. She stopped when she saw her. “Carol, are you alright?”

Carol shuddered. “I’m going to die, Liz … ”

‘Liz’ set the plate down on the desk next to Carol’s notebook, and sat on the carpet next to her. The wood squeaked, underneath, and the central air turned off.

They were silent for a few moments, Carol regaining her breath and Liz watching her intently, before Liz spoke. “It’s about what he said today, isn’t it. The teacher at your criminal justice class.”

She sniffled. “Yeah.”

“Carol, you shouldn’t feel bad about yourself.” She started to reach out a hand to her, then thought better of it. “He wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about-”

“People like your brother?”

They both glanced towards the door. They could just barely hear him out in the hallway, scratching his neck with his hind legs. “Well, yeah … ” Liz lowered her voice and cupped one hand to the side of her mouth. “But it’s not like he could get married anyway. You know that.”

Carol looked up at her. “But I could?”

“Of course! You’re not-”

“Like him?”

Canine panting and breathing, out in the hallway. Liz glanced in that direction. “Well … yeah.”

“Wrong.”

“Listen-”

“No. You listen.” Carol’s voice was shaking. She glared up at Liz for a second, before looking back down at the floor. “People act like Animal Syndrome and Wereism are two separate things. I thought they were separate things. I wanted to think I was normal. But I’m not.”

Liz sighed the sigh of a person who’s had to deal with this before. “You’re also not walking on all fours.”

“But I want to.”

She raised one eyebrow. “You really mean that?”

Carol winced. “I mean deep down! Deeper than wanting to go to college, deeper than wanting to be a normal human being. I look at him and I don’t think ‘Oh, the poor thing’ or ‘Ha ha, what a cute dog.’ I think … I think pictures, and feelings, and sounds, that translate to ‘Canine, male, juvenile. Smaller than me. No threat.’ And then I want to smell him.”

Liz laughed.

“I’m serious!” Carol looked up at her, frightened and pleading, and the laughter stopped.

Out in the hallway, claws clicked as her brother sat down.

“What are you afraid is going to happen?”

Carol clenched and unclenched her fists, still leaning up against her bedframe and looking away from Liz. “I’m afraid I’m going to lose my soul.”

“What?”

More claws clicking, out in the hallway, and a short canine whimper. Carol turned to look to the doorway and stared out through it, blankly, as she spoke in a monotone. “You heard what they said. Only humans were made in Imago Dei. Animals weren’t. They don’t have souls. That’s why men are supposed to subdue and dominate them. And that’s why it’s okay to brutalize weres who resist arrest. Never mind that they’re scared and don’t know what’s going on. Never mind that they’ve forgotten how to talk like a human being. They aren’t real people anymore, so it’s okay to do whatever you want to them. We’d better stop them from breeding, so there aren’t any more freaks like them ever.”

A pause. Liz coughed. “You’re afraid that you’re going to turn into a were, and you’re going to be disoriented enough that somebody like our teacher is going to beat you up?”

“No. I’m afraid that I’m going to lose my soul.”

“But you said you were like my brother, deep down. So wouldn’t that mean that you’ve already lost it?”

“I don’t know.” Carol looked up at the ceiling, and closed her eyes.

Liz fidgeted, and glanced over at her steamed vegetables. “Carol, you never had this much trouble with it when we were growing up … ”

“It wasn’t as hard then.” She spoke with her eyes closed. “Now there’s all this pressure on me to be a human being, the same kind of human as everyone else. And every day I feel more like an animal, who doesn’t understand why they’re asking her to do all these tricks. And just wants to hide somewhere and be safe.”

Nobody talked for a few moments. The room was silent except for her notebook’s fan.

“I’ve started to P-shift,” Carol remarked.

Liz jumped to her feet. “Right now?”

“No, a few minutes ago. Second time today. And again last week.” Carol opened her eyes partway, and stared half-lidded up at the ceiling for a moment, before closing them again and letting out her breath. “It’s exhausting.”

“Carol, we’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

“I’m not going there … ” She still had her eyes closed.

“I mean it. If you’re changing then we have to-”

“I’m not going to be institutionalized.”

Liz groaned and looked skyward. “How else are you going to get the help that you need?”

“The help … that I need … ” She grunted, and struggled to sit upright. Liz came over and helped her. ” … is not to be drugged up and locked away. If anything, that’ll stress me out so much that changing will be inevitable. Then I’ll be locked up, muzzled, restrained … kept there as long as they can keep me, and thrown on the street once my insurance runs out.” She glared at the wall.

“Carol … ” Liz knelt next to her now. “Prescription pharmaceuticals can help people. That’s what they’re made for. You can take drugs that’ll keep you from changing. But you can’t get a prescription without going in there for an evaluation.”

Carol clawed the carpet with both hands, digging deep with her nails, and spoke through her teeth. “How come I have to get drugged up to keep me from changing, and they can’t just hire someone who isn’t a stupid evil hateful bigot?”

She shook and held her breath, as though fighting something back, and Liz broke out in a sweat. Then Carol stopped, and started gasping for breath again. “And that’s three,” she managed.

She sat there for a minute or two, her breathing fast but gradually slowing and becoming more stable. Liz stayed there beside her, listening. Finally, Carol crawled up onto her bed by herself, rejecting Liz’ offer of help, and lay down and closed her eyes.

“You should take some time off from classes,” Liz finally said.

“I will.”

“And you should pray.” Liz stood up. “I still think you should get professional help. But whether you do or not, you need God’s help on this.”

“Will God help a soulless animal?”

She remained still, breathing regularly with her eyes closed. Liz watched her a few moments, before taking her plate, turning the light out and walking out, leaving the door open. “Good night, Carol.”

“‘Night.”

All was quiet. The notebook’s screen faded to black, up on the desk.

Then claws clicked out in the hallway, and into the room walked a fluffy orange collie, without a trace of human features. It looked up at Carol and whimpered, and she said nothing in response.

Finally it sat down, head pressed low to the carpet, eyes flicking upward to glance worriedly at her until it, too, fell asleep.

* * *

The week passed slowly. Carol spent the time reading and writing online, in the upstairs room of her friend’s house. She stayed up late, slept in late, and had headphones on 24/7. The homework piled up, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have enough energy to care.

Every day the orange collie trotted into her room, and gave her a worried look before sitting down on the carpet beside her. She stepped over it coming in and out of her room. Aside from that, she paid it no attention.

Carol slept in late the day that she had to return to her classes. She didn’t have classes until that afternoon, so she was only a little late getting there, after waking up and eating lunch and getting herself ready. Liz had already left by then, and they promised to meet up after class.

The halls of the Southern college she went to were quiet, and nearly deserted since everyone was already in class. She stopped outside the door to her criminal justice class, next to the bulletin board with posters up for mission trips and Bible study times, and took a moment to compose herself. It’s not going to be long, she told herself, fists and eyes squeezed shut. Just a few hours, and then you can go back home and do whatever you want. It won’t be so bad, and you’ll have time to recover afterwards.

You can do this.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed the door open and walked inside, going behind all the rows of seats lined up and over to an unused desk. She sat down quietly, ignoring the squeak in her chair, and tried to be as small as possible as she got out her notebook and pencil from her backpack.

It wasn’t until after she’d done so, and started thinking about what to draw during class, that a couple of things occurred to her.

One, the teacher had stopped in midsentence a moment after she’d stepped inside.

Two, everyone in the room was watching her.

Not “a few people had turned their heads to look at the person who’d just sat down.” Everyone in the room was watching her.

Lowering her head nervously, starting to sweat, she glanced around the room and caught the following up on the whiteboard:

WEREISM, CRIMINOLOGY, AND THE BIBLE

WHAT?
- mental / physical disorder
- epidemic -- 1 in 150
- early childhood
- mind/body turned into animal partway / fully
- loss of humanity

HOW?
- animal bites?
- genetic disease?
- demonic possession? Mark 5:1-13!

WHY?
- fallen / sinful natures
- last days -- 2 Tim 3:1
- final judgment / THE BEAST!!

WHAT IS SOCIETY TO DO?
- stoning? drowning? (God's law / man's law)
- sterilization (possession + genes)
- incarceration / institutionalization

WHAT ARE CHRISTIANS TO DO?
- insanity plea? maximum sentencing
- prayer cover
- rebuke / cast out!!

She read the whole thing, cheeks burning red and sweat pouring down her sides. I am going to die.

“Brethren and sisters … ”

All eyes, including Carol’s, looked up at the teacher — tall, bald, and commanding.

“I sense an evil spirit in our midst.”

It barely even registered. The world was nothing but heat and despair and humiliation, so overwhelming that Carol began to feel disembodied. This isn’t happening. I’m not really here. This is just my imagination.

“A spirit that has taken over the body and mind of one of God’s sweet children … ”

I should never have spoken up in that class. They knew. They could tell. It was so obvious.

” … and held her in bondage since she was a little child.”

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.

“And I say to that evil spirit … ”

I’m going to die.

He stretched out his hand. “Begone.”

For several long seconds, Carol couldn’t make herself move or do anything if she’d wanted to. Then she felt the burning on her skin turn to intense itching, and spread into her organs, her feet, her face. And she realized what was happening to her and jumped out of her seat, taking off running for the door to the hallway.

“In Jesus’ name, begone!”

She jumped as she heard that, right as she opened the door, and fell out into the hallway sprawling and kicking and clutching her sides and crying noiselessly. She barely caught sight of another girl carrying textbooks, and she registered the feel of her legs making contact with something as she writhed and struggled and changed. It hit the floor right next to her, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t.

I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying I’m dying …

I’m dead. She shuddered, and took in a gasping breath through her wet muzzle, as tears streaked down her fur through closed eyes. I’m dead.

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