Become Your Fursona

To Donna Pickett, co-chair of the CDC’s ICD-9-CM Coordination and Maintenance Committee:

When I was growing up as an autistic person, I frequently had to escape from school and church activities by wandering in the hallways or foyers. If I didn’t, I would have experienced sensory overload and/or meltdown, which would have destroyed any chance that I had of learning or participating in the activity.

The times that I stayed, I regretted it.

Labeling people with a “wandering” diagnosis pathologizes natural, necessary behavior, and gives authority figures who don’t understand how they feel license to destroy them. Students will be restrained, physically if necessary — and if your goal here is to somehow bring autistic people out of our “shells,” you’re defeating your own purpose, because this is going to drive kids to shut themselves inside their heads out of self-preservation.

It was unethical for the CDC to use poor research practices (including biased polling) to establish their “claims,” it was unethical for them to submit this issue for public comment after the deadline for registering to give public comment was closed, and it is immoral that this diagnosis is even being proposed. It will not just abuse children, but it will restrict the freedoms of American adults with disabilities as well. Please reject the proposed “medical” label.

To find out what’s going on, and sign the petition to stop it, visit Change.org. You can also email Pickett at dfp4@cdc.gov. Please keep in mind that she is not necessarily hostile to disability rights, so much as misinformed about what is going on, and would not appreciate angry emails.

I don’t usually post “advocacy” type stuff on Become Your Fursona, but a large part of my work has been aimed at helping people who’ve gone through what I did recover. Most autism “treatments” are abusive and hurtful, and in my case would have made things worse. I only began to heal from the abuse once I was able to escape, and that’s exactly what people who want to destroy us are now trying to prevent.

You’ve all been very kind in helping me to escape. Please take a moment to help thousands of other people as well. Sign the petition at Change.org now.

I didn’t realize how hard flying would be.

It wasn’t the flapping that was hard. It was the soaring. Hawks … we make it look so effortless when we’re in the sky, gliding and circling overhead. But there’s so much to learn, so much to practice. How to angle your wings just right into the wind; how to recognize updrafts and take advantage of them. How not to get battered downward in storms, and how to recover from a fall before you panic or hit the ground.

I had a lot of learning to do, still. And I didn’t have the upper-body strength that I would’ve if I’d spent my whole life doing this, nor was I as small or as light as most hawks were. I figured that something had to have changed about me, to let me fly at all … maybe I’d gained some muscle or hollow bones, or maybe it was the same magic that kept people from seeing me for what I was. But whatever it was, it hadn’t made flying effortless. And after a minute or so, I was gasping with exertion.

I was still in “fight or flight” mode, and since there wasn’t anything for me to fight I had to keep flying …

Invisible Wings concludes in part 4!

I’m taking this week off from commissions so I can prepare for Furry Weekend Atlanta. I’ll be attending on Saturday with my mate Yurodivy, so if anyone wants to say hi just look for her and her pet. Before I go, however, there’s this neat little contest thing I’ve got for you.

Nowadays all the cool kids use Twitter, it seems. And so does Become Your Fursona, now … check us out @fursonaupdates! We’re also on LiveJournal, at (predictably enough) fursonaupdates.

That’s not the contest, though!

See, I figure you’re already likely to subscribe to us there, if you use those. ~.^ I’d rather you subscribe on Identi.ca by joining the !becomeyourfursona group, or on Dreamwidth by joining the becomeyourfursona community! They’re pretty awesome places IMO, and I’d love to have you join us there.

Next Sunday after FWA, I’ll pick one fur out of all our Dreamwidth and Identi.ca members to reward with a shoutout or cameo. You can either have your fursona appear in an upcoming story, or you can have me make a shoutout to anything else that you like. It’s up to you (provided it doesn’t completely freak me out)! And yes, you can join both and get double the chance of winning.

I’ll see you then!

I didn’t realize how hard flying would be.

It wasn’t the flapping that was hard. It was the soaring. Hawks … we make it look so effortless when we’re in the sky, gliding and circling overhead. But there’s so much to learn, so much to practice. How to angle your wings just right into the wind; how to recognize updrafts and take advantage of them. How not to get battered downward in storms, and how to recover from a fall before you panic or hit the ground.

I had a lot of learning to do, still. And I didn’t have the upper-body strength that I would’ve if I’d spent my whole life doing this, nor was I as small or as light as most hawks were. I figured that something had to have changed about me, to let me fly at all … maybe I’d gained some muscle or hollow bones, or maybe it was the same magic that kept people from seeing me for what I was. But whatever it was, it hadn’t made flying effortless. And after a minute or so, I was gasping with exertion.

I was still in “fight or flight” mode, and since there wasn’t anything for me to fight I had to keep flying. But I was at least a hundred feet off the ground, over streets and suburban houses, and it was disorienting to look down at them — partly because of the height, and partly because I could see things so well down there. I could read license plate numbers on cars, and newspaper headlines from bundles on doorsteps. It made my brain think I was right up close to them. Then I realized how high I was, and it felt like whiplash.

The wind was blowing across my earholes, and pressing my feathers close to me. It felt like riding a bike downhill for the first time, with all the wobbling and pedaling that entailed. I wanted to stop, to find someplace to land, and I remembered all the hawks I’d seen perched on telephone poles. But I didn’t have that kind of control yet, and I imagined myself getting tangled up and electrocuted. Even if I somehow managed to land on such a tiny perch, I didn’t see how I’d be able to take off again. Not without a running start, and a jolt of adrenalin like the one that I’d had when I started.

I scanned the ground below, my lungs raw from taking deep breaths of cold air, trying to find a good landing spot without getting vertigo. I didn’t want to fall in a heap on someone’s yard, and I didn’t want to splatter across the pavement, either. But that left me with few options, and I felt myself start to lose altitude as my wings became stiff and sore.

Finally, towards the edge of town, after five minutes or so of flight, I saw a cafe-style restaurant in front of a vacant lot. I angled towards it, turning my wings slightly, then harder as I saw that I wouldn’t make the turn in time. That caused me to drop sharply, and I flapped my wings in a panic to keep from smashing into the roof, before touching the ground with my claws and stumbling and rolling across the grass. That lasted a second or so, and then it ended with me face-up and one of my feet splashing into a muddy creek. Drips of brown water flew into the air, and landed on me and my beak.

I couldn’t move. I could only lay gasping for breath, feeling like my legs had turned into pain and my wings had turned into lead. I had to close my eyes, because of how bright the clouds overhead were. After a moment I realized the creek was ice-cold and yanked my foot out of there, but it felt like it was frozen already, and I shivered uncontrollably beneath my jacket.

I was a wreck. For a moment, I felt pathetic that it’d ended so badly. I felt like a pretender; a human with feathers attached. But deep down, I knew that was not the case. And when I imagined myself as a nonhuman hawk, doing the exact same thing and landing the exact same way, I realized it wasn’t pathetic, and knew how I’d feel if I saw it.

Then I remembered that’s me, and I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut ‘till they started to water. All I could think, through the pain and exhaustion, was “I flew. I’m a red-tailed hawk, and I flew with my own wings. I’m one of them now, and I know what it feels like, and I flew, I really flew … ”

I cried as soon as I started gasping for breath again. I couldn’t help it.

* * *

As soon as I could get up and walk, I trudged into the restaurant I’d crashed behind and made my way straight for their restroom. I probably spent half an hour in there, cleaning myself up at first but then making faces in the mirror. Somebody came in while I was doing that, then walked back out just as quickly. I don’t know what he saw.

What I saw was myself, for the first time. My clothes were torn up and my feathers were ruffled and dirty, but I was a real, live hawk. And after the whole flying thing, I was a little bit more accepting of how I was now.

I didn’t look exactly the way that I’d pictured myself, in commissions and artwork and things. I wasn’t wearing “Arrow’s” medallions … I wasn’t sure what I looked like without clothes on, the way he was normally drawn, and wasn’t willing to find out right there. But somehow, just seeing what I actually looked like made this seem more real, and less threatening. My life wasn’t over, I wasn’t being hunted down by anyone, I wasn’t even that bothered by my wingfeath-

“Sir.” The woman from behind the counter peeked inside and knocked on the door, at the same time.

I had been holding my beak open wide to examine the inside of it. “Hrh?” I asked.

“Sir, there are people lined up to use this restroom. If you need to use the showers, there’s a Quiktrip across the road from here.”

“Turh uh-” I stopped and closed my beak, trying to process what she’d just said. Then I saw how disheveled I looked. She doesn’t see me as a hawk. She thinks I’m a homeless person. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was.

“Okay … ” I said. When she stayed there in the door, I followed her out. There were what looked like a dad and a couple of kids waiting in line behind her, and the youngest one looked up at me and stared.

I wondered what she saw.

The rest of the place was a bit shabby, more of a “family restaurant” kind of place than a chain. It had a counter, with bar stools and salt shakers and napkin dispensers. I ordered a hamburger, and the staffer who’d ordered me out of the restroom didn’t bat an eyelash. She just called back my order to the person behind her in the kitchen, and that was that.

I sat there on one of the stools a few minutes, hearing the sizzling grease in the kitchen and the traffic drive past outside. Kicking my bare feet, hearing the claws click against the metal.

There was a sign on the truck stop across the street: “NO SHIRT, NO SHOES, NO SERVICE.” I read it as though it were right next to me. Then I looked down at my clawed feet, and flexed them. Couldn’t she see I was wearing no shoes? Or did she care?

There was so much I still had to learn.

I reached to get out my phone and gasped, wincing and fighting back tears as my taut muscles protested. I’d probably pulled everything in my arms … in my wings.

I tried again, more carefully this time, and realized that my phone was probably shot too. But there was a chance, I thought, slowly pulling it out of its pocket and bringing it where I could see it. It might still be able to-

It turned on.

I tapped it awkwardly for a moment, clicking my claw against the touchscreen and trying to unlock it. Then I realized that wouldn’t work, and slid my knuckle across it instead, then rapped it on the email app’s icon.

Using my phone’s slide-out keyboard (and generous spellchecker), I claw-typed a message to Jen. It was short, but it took a long time to write it, and not just because my claws slid on the buttons:

Sorry for leaving you there. I saw what I am, and I couldn’t face it. I’m okay now. I’m feeling better.

I flew.

I tapped “Send” and looked up, as the parent and kids filed out of the restroom and towards the front entrance. The one who’d stared at me kept doing so, looking away from her dad and her hand in his. I arched my feathers, and tried to look impressive.

I saw her say something to her dad as he helped her into their car, but I didn’t know how to read lips.

I tapped on the online payment app, as the nonchalant server brought me my hamburger. It smelled warm and wet, but I couldn’t smell grease or ketchup or anything; just steam. Somehow that didn’t make it any less appealing, and I tried not to let it distract me as I tapped out the dollar amount for a donation to Katherine Sato. Maybe that would help her with her rent.

Finally, I reached up to the counter — my feathers brushed one of the napkin holders aside while the server was watching me, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care — and scraped the bun and the condiments off of my burger, before picking at it with my beak. I did it without thinking; it was just all I was interested in.

Someone else came in while I was eating, and I slid my plate away from him and held one of my wings over it, my feathers fluffing out threateningly. Get your own, I thought, as my beak got tasteless grease smeared across it. But inside my crop, the meat was warm and delightful, if a bit dry.

Needs more juice, I thought. Lots more.

As I cleaned myself off with a napkin, and paid the nonchalant server my tab, I remembered that I would need some kind of indigestible matter for my crop … something to grind up this meal with. Would a few of the bones work? Could I crunch them to bits, in my beak? And what would happen if I changed back to a human … or could I, anymore? How long had I been this way?

First things first. After my dishes were taken away, I got up and limped out to the parking lot, trying to hide how sore I was. Trying to look as truly awesome — even if beat up and scratched — as that raptor I saw in the mirror was. As I felt when I realized I was him.

Finally I got to the side of the building, and knuckle-tapped the screen into dialing one of my contacts. He didn’t respond the first time, so I tried again. “Come on … ”

* * *

“QUIVERSHAFT, ARROW,” the LCD screen reads. Beneath it a light on the handset turns on, as the phone rings.

Elsewhere in the house, food is sizzling on the stove, the shower is running, and a four-way PS3 deathmatch is going on. Rock music and explosions drown out the phone where it sits, plastic figures perched next to it, Dungeons and Dragons books and boxes of Magic: the Gathering cards piled on the bookshelf beneath it.

The phone rings a third, then a fourth time, before playing a recorded voice: “Please leave a message after the tone. *BEEP*”

There’s a sigh on the other end of the line. “Keys?”

Down the hallway, the shower turns off.

“Keys, wake up already and pick up the phone.”

Gray sunlight shines in through the window, onto the rumpled bedcovers next to the bookcase. The bed is unmade, but unoccupied.

“Look, Keys … ” Arrow sighs again. “Remember I told you I was starting to feel like I was my fursona? Well, I know why now. And I’m not telling you this because I’m trying to push you farther over the edge. I’m telling you this because of what you’ve been going through. I think I know what it is, and I think I can help.”

The plastic figures rattle on the shelves, as a deep bass explosion sounds downstairs and male voices cry out in triumph.

“There’s so much I want to tell you … ”

Outside the open window, a small blue-and-white bird lands on a tree branch and chirps.

“ … so much I feel like I have to tell someone, before I go nuts. If I haven’t already.”

Down the hallway, there is the sound of a door opening, and someone whistling as he walks out.

“I should talk to Jen, I kinda left her hanging … ”

Something clicks, on the phone, and a faint voice speaks past the receiver. “What?” Arrow asks. “Who are-”

There’s a clatter, and then the phone cuts out.

Inside the house, a silhouette peeks his head in the room, then goes to the phone and picks up the handset. He dials a few buttons on it, and listens.

Outside, the bird flies away as two massive, taloned feet land on the branch, leaning forward as they grip it. A winged shadow falls inside the house, and the figure looks outside and stares.

To be continued in Lunarkeys’ commission …

I took my coat off, still keeping one hand to the gauze pad on my chin, because it was way too warm for me now. Then I checked the sleeves, feeling them up and down for the slits Jen had mentioned might be there … the ones that would’ve had to be there, if I had just flown. But there was nothing, not even a loose feather.

I sat back down slowly, shaking. Knowing my mind was playing tricks on me, but not sure which part was the trick.

Isn’t this what you wanted? The thought came unbidden. You asked for a cure, so she gave you one.

You said you weren’t ready. So here you are.

Invisible Wings continues in part 3! This part includes a guest star, one of the furs who donated during the earlier drive.

Also, Krizzo’s been doing more banners, including this one for Prized Possession! I still have some work to do in order to get the stories to be formatted right on BYF, but it’s been uploaded on FA, both as a thumbnail icon and a banner on each downloadable story file.

Do let him know you appreciate his work. ^.^ And read part 3 of Invisible Wings!

“Keep this pressed to your chin.”

“Okay.” I held the gauze pad to my face.

“I need to get bandages and disinfectant … ” Jen was tapping notes into her flip-phone. Either that, or texting someone. “Do you want me to get you anything?”

I shook my head, and winced.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Then she left, and I was alone on the bench, facing into the empty park. The park where I had just soared.

I hadn’t asked Jen what it had looked like. I hadn’t asked what she’d seen me as, and if I’d actually flown but just convinced myself that I had. I didn’t want to ask. My knees were still shaking, and my heart was still beating fast …

… but not as fast as when I’d thought that I might be a bird.

It took me a moment to realize what that meant.

A couple of robins landed, on the grass just across the woodchip playground lot. They took off when I jumped to my feet, waving my arms around, trying to feel my wings. I couldn’t anymore, and my heart started pounding harder, just like that day on the submarine tour. The day that I became sick with horror because something had just changed about me, and I didn’t know what’d caused it or how to return to normal.

But isn’t this normal? I thought, as I kept waving my arms like an idiot. Trying to feel anything.

I took my coat off, still keeping one hand to my chin, because it was way too warm for me now. Then I checked the sleeves, feeling them up and down for the slits Jen had mentioned might be there … the ones that would’ve had to be there, if I had just flown. But there was nothing, not even a loose feather.

I sat back down slowly, shaking. Knowing my mind was playing tricks on me, but not sure which part was the trick.

Isn’t this what you wanted? The thought came unbidden. You asked for a cure, so she gave you one.

You said you weren’t ready. So here you are.

I buried my face in my arm, my shoulders convulsing, and hoped that I’d stop crying before Jen got back.

* * *

I’d almost settled down when I heard her sit down on the other end of the bench. Something clattered next to her, and I heard her talking to someone else — I guess she’d run into one of her friends.

I couldn’t make out the words. I was listening to my phone’s music player, the volume turned up on noise-canceling earbuds. My chin was in my hands, and my eyes were closed as the cold breeze rustled my hair. I didn’t say hi or look up; I couldn’t. I didn’t know when I’d be able to.

I could feel her presence there, though, as the silence grew thick between us. I wondered how long I’d be able to sit there … how long she would let me be. I remembered the soaring, the feeling of flight, and willed myself to accept that as a gift and not worry about whether-

“Hey.” She’d raised her voice.

I pressed pause and looked over at her, then blinked.

That wasn’t Jen. She was wearing a different-colored coat, and her voice sounded younger. Besides that, she had a pair of crutches beside her, although her foot wasn’t in a cast.

She coughed and called me by name, and I stared at her for a moment. “Um, yes … ” I said. Where had I seen her?

“I’m Kae,” she said, hesitantly. “My girlfriend and I were on one of your tours … ?”

“Oh, right … ” I tried to kickstart my tired brain, make it go back to ‘friendly guide’ mode. “Er, how did you like it?”

“It was nice,” she said. “But, um … ” She coughed, and looked up at me. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” I noticed the gauze was sticking to my chin, and quickly put up a hand to hold it there. “Uh, yeah, I just … ” Scraped myself on the playground equipment? Got hurt while attempting to fly? “ … cut myself shaving,” I finished, lamely. Hoping it didn’t look bad enough that I sounded ridiculous.

She was quiet for a long moment, looking away. Then she said “Do you wear a mask when you’re giving tours?”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” I wasn’t sure that I’d heard her right.

Kae started rambling, still looking away and gesturing with both hands. “Hokay, this is going to sound totally nuts, but if I don’t ask you now I’m going to regret it later. See, my girlfriend and I thought we were seeing things in that sub … ”

“Seeing things?”

“ … like, your face. It was different, okay? We thought you were wearing a mask or something.”

“Like what?” A bird mask.

She fumbled with words for a moment, before saying “A bird mask.”

My heart started pounding again.

“See, that’s why I didn’t recognize you at first. But then I thought ‘Wait, that does look like him when he started the tour,’ and I took a couple minutes to work up the courage to ask, right? Because I wanted to know if you’d really put on a mask and stuff during our tour, or if my girlfriend and I are both going nuts. ‘Cause we’ve started seeing things … ”

“Things like what?” I tried to keep my voice steady, and began sweating hard beneath the coat I’d put back on.

“Well.” She fidgeted. “On the tour, it looked like you had tailfeathers … ”

I felt them bunch up behind me, where I was sitting on the bench.

“And these big, long primary feather things, coming out of your arms.” She made sweeping gestures with her hands, and I could feel them growing right there, coming out of my forearms and brushing my legs. I froze, unable to move or to control my breathing.

“And I mean, I know this sounds crazy.” Kae sounded a bit more high-pitched now, and she was talking faster while still looking out at the park. “But if we seemed distracted on the tour, it’s because we were trying to figure out what was going on. And, I mean, we saw your feathers get oily when you brushed up against the metal … ”

I could see my feathers. I started swearing inside my head, over and over. Until I was just thinking weird nonsense words watching my brown feathers sway in the breeze, through the gashes cut in my coat-

-a puff of down from it blew past my face-

“- and we could hear your claws click on the deck plates and everything. Then you started wearing the mask, or whatever, and I sound like I’m out of my gourd, don’t I? But I’m serious, I don’t take any weird stuff … not usually … and I just wanted to know if we’d gone crazy, or if you were pulling one over on us, or if some expired cheese messed us up or something. Okay?” She turned to look at me.

I had feathers, and a beak. I could feel my handclaws and footclaws, and see my shoes kicked off on the playground, and remember leaving them there as I flew. I remembered tearing the holes in my coat, and my jeans, and struggling to fit my feathers in clothes without breaking them because this can’t be happening and I am supposed to be at work right now.

I remembered breaking down crying, and trying again, and being late for work the second day in a row. And picking the vegetables out of my sandwich at lunch, then setting the bread aside too, then throwing those things away and just standing there at the trash can watching my hand. Watching the light shine off claws, and scales, and feathers. Watching and not letting it be a part of myself, unwilling to let it, scared to death of it, as scared as I was right now. Waiting to forget, to be distracted, as an avian heart pounded inside me like a machine gun.

I remembered the looks on people’s faces as they saw me, and I knew that they knew there was something wrong. But they said nothing, and I said nothing, and it was like we were all just trying to ignore it. Until two girls holding hands came in on a tour group and one of them was a black wolf, standing on her hind legs. And I tried not to notice, I tried not to stare, I tried not to realize what it meant. But I couldn’t, and I got more and more nervous, and I started to feel strange …

… and then the school group came in for their tour …

“Look, I’m sorry,” the wolf said. She held her handpaws up, looking away, as her tail thumped the bench beside her. “Just forget that I ever existed.”

I can’t, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, couldn’t stop staring at my hands. Couldn’t tell why she couldn’t see what I was now … couldn’t tell if she saw herself. Couldn’t ask her what she saw. Couldn’t ask her if she knew.

All I could do was keep breathing fast, and hearing my heart pound, and sweating, and thinking nonsense mantras in my head as I felt my feathers rustle. Felt my claws touch my scaly palms as I clenched my hands into fists, and began shaking.

I can’t deal with this … My heart drowned out all other sound, and the world became a blur as my eyes began to water. I can’t-

“Hey,” Jen said, putting her hand on my shoulder.

She and Kae gasped as I jumped off the bench, ran into the breeze and flew. Beating my wings hard and taking off of the ground, clearing the trees and the buildings beyond. I heard car horns honking, and pigeons scattering, and saw my shadow on the rooftops, but it didn’t matter because I was so scared and I had to get away.

Even though I knew that I couldn’t.

Jen said nothing as I stood there, holding my arms out, facing into the air with my eyes closed. I remembered what it looked like. I didn’t need to be able to see … it would just make this harder.

I imagined — I felt — the feathers on each wing, and the claws on my hands and feet. I felt them grip the wooden platform, and squeeze into my scaly palms. I could feel the wind rustle my headfeathers, and play over my beak. And my tailfeathers twitched, as I prepared to jump.

For an instant, I “knew” it would not work. But I set that aside. I chose to. I wasn’t jumping off of a cliff, or a second-story railing. I was only five feet off the ground. If this didn’t work I’d be embarrassed, not injured. So I could afford to keep my eyes closed, spread my wings out …

And fly.

It’s time for the next part of Invisible Wings, a story for Arrow Quivershaft! And this week we have something special: A banner graphic created by Krizzo, a reader from FurAffinity. He’s offered to do more pics for upcoming stories, so if you like his work let him know!

This week’s chapter is a little shorter than usual, as I’ve been adjusting to my new beat at Yahoo News. I’m writing an article for them every day, sometimes with extra assignments. I haven’t forgotten about Become Your Fursona, though, or the furs who’ve commissioned me. Arrow’s story will continue next Saturday as normal.

Read chapter 2 of Invisible Wings now!

“This is ridiculous.”

I was standing on top of the wood-and-metal playground equipment at a nearby park. Behind me was a wheel attached to the wall, one that didn’t seem to do anything. And in front of me was a five-foot drop, where a slide went down to the ground.

Jen stood beside it, grinning up at me. “Yeah, it is! So what’re you waiting for?”

“Um.” I looked down at the dirt of the playground, and out at the trees and the buildings beyond. “I don’t know.”

“Just think happy thoughts … ” Jen spun around in circles, her arms stretched out to each side, as though she were a child herself.

A woman was walking a dog, on the sidewalk, and trying her best to ignore us. “ … right,” I said, sideying Jen.

She didn’t say anything else, so I held my arms — my wings — out, and tried to prepare myself. Could this really be it? Did I just have some secret desire to fly, and if I took care of it then this problem would go away?

Only one way to find out, I thought. I closed my eyes, and jumped.

I landed in a heap, just past the slide. Jen laughed, and I jumped back to my feet and brushed the dirt off myself frantically. I felt like my wings were dirty, and the fact that I couldn’t see how dirty they were just made things worse. “Not funny,” I said, swiping my hand through the air and feeling it brush off my feathers.

“I know what you need to do.” Jen was giving me a coy look.

“Oh?”

She held out her arms again, and flapped.

I rolled my eyes, but she protested. “I’m serious!”

“Hawks soar,” I told her, still cleaning my wings. “They don’t flutter.”

“You have to flap your wings to gain altitude, though.” Jen folded her arms.

I sighed. “Fine,” I said, and climbed the stairs back up to the slide. I was careful not to bump my wings on the side of the playground equipment.

One embarrassing leap later, I was in a heap on the ground again, for the second it took me to get up to my feet. “Told you,” I said, brushing my wings off again.

“Maybe you really do need to think happy thoughts,” Jen mused, one hand to her chin.

I ignored her.

As I climbed back up, sniffling in the chill air, something occurred to me. “How does this even work?” I asked, holding my arms out. “I’m wearing a coat, for goodness’ sake. These aren’t invisible wings, they’re imaginary wings.”

“Sometimes the change is all in your head,” Jen told me. “People have been known to have ‘phantom limb’ sensations before. But in a yokai’s case, you might see and feel yourself for what you really are before the physical changes start. And sometimes you only start to realize what you are after you’ve already been an animal for awhile.”

My heart turned cold, and I started to sweat. “That’s impossible,” I said, trying my best to believe it. “I’m wearing clothes that I couldn’t if I were a hawk.”

“Or when you wake up and realize what you are, you might also realize you’ve got slits cut in them for your wings and tailfeathers. That you blocked out the act of making, because it wasn’t a part of your human life.”

I swallowed.

“Do you want me to take a picture of you with that app?”

I shook my head abruptly. “No. Please.” My heart was pounding. “I … can’t.”

“Okay, then.” She folded her arms, and watched me.

You know she’s right, my conscience told me. You know that there’s something to this.

“Then what should I do?” I asked myself, in my thoughts.

Just accept it. That’s the only way you’ll get through this.

My heart was still pounding, so hard that if those had been actual words I wouldn’t have heard them. It seemed to be going extremely fast, and for a second I wondered if I had a condition of some kind. Then I remembered that birds’ hearts beat much faster, and it jumped at that. I had to lean against the wall for support.

Oh man, I thought. Oh man.

“Are you okay?” Jen asked.

I nodded at her, with my eyes closed. Then I shook my head.

“Do you need any help?” She sounded worried.

I just shook my head again, quickly, trying to get myself through this. Whatever “myself” turned out to be.

I didn’t want to be a hawk. Not now, not in the real world. Not in college, not at my job, and not here in front of Jen. I wanted to be one in my world, the one that I dreamed about, where it was okay and not weird to be like this. Where it was just something you were, and not something you had to accept and accomodate. What was the point of being able to fly, when you had bills to pay and college loans stacked on top? And when you couldn’t actually fly anyplace without explaining how you’d gotten there?

What was the point of these wings at all? Where was the freedom? Where …

I slumped against the wall, clinging to it and sliding down to the floor. I felt trapped, shackled, claustrophobic all of a sudden. My wings brushed all up against the platform, but I could barely feel them.

Jen gasped. “Do we need to get you to the doctor?”

I shook my head, barely hearing her words. I knew how the hawk in me felt, now … I knew how I felt. I felt like I was in a cage. I felt like the whole world was a cage.

Just once, this new voice in me begged. Please, just once.

I nodded, slowly, rising to my feet. Holding onto the wall for support, and digging my claws into it. I didn’t look, but I brushed my hand over it afterwards, and I could feel the mark.

Jen said nothing as I stood there, holding my arms out, facing into the air with my eyes closed. I remembered what it looked like. I didn’t need to be able to see … it would just make this harder.

I imagined — I felt — the feathers on each wing, and the claws on my hands and feet. I felt them grip the wooden platform, and squeeze into my scaly palms. I could feel the wind rustle my headfeathers, and play over my beak. And my tailfeathers twitched, as I prepared to jump.

For an instant, I “knew” it would not work. But I set that aside. I chose to. I wasn’t jumping off of a cliff, or a second-story railing. I was only five feet off the ground. If this didn’t work I’d be embarrassed, not injured. So I could afford to keep my eyes closed, spread my wings out …

And fly.

It happened so fast. I was flapping my arms (my wings), and I realized I was supposed to be on the ground now but I wasn’t. And my heart was racing, and the wind was rushing past me, and I wasn’t touching anything, I was flying and I was in the air and it was only my wings that were holding me up. Then I realized it’d been a whole second and I was going to run into a tree, so I opened my eyes …

… and fell to the ground.

“Are you okay?” Jen asked, running up to me. And I wasn’t; my knees had been skinned, through my pants, and I was wiping dirt and pine needles from my chin where I’d faceplanted. My hand came back with some blood on it, and I looked down and saw my hurt knees, and then they all started to sting.

I was still gasping for breath, still remembering the rush, still feeling the beat of my wings. Feeling my arms start to cramp. But I nodded to her anyway. “I’m okay,” I breathed … “I’m okay.”

And inside of me, my heart was still soaring.

Continue reading in part 3 …

I started the app, holding my phone towards the wall in both hands. It was dark there, so I turned towards Jen where she sat on the bed. Then I stared.

She was looking up at me, bemused, but that’s not what I was staring at. I could see my wings — huge brown and tan primary feathers, protruding out from my arms. One of my fingers got in front of the screen, and I could see a bird’s scaly, taloned digit. (The jewel on the nightstand looked normal, though … I checked.)

“How is this possible?” I asked, waving one hand in front of the lens. My hand felt the same as I clenched it, and wiggled my fingers around. But it looked like a hawk’s foot, shaped like a hand.

“It isn’t,” Kath said.

“What do you-” I jumped back, dropping my phone. I’d turned to look through it at her, and had seen a white fox’s face, and three fluffy tails right behind her.

Invisible Wings is a commission for Arrow Quivershaft. Here’s the summary:

Growing wings sounds like it’d be fun, but it wouldn’t be very convenient … especially if you couldn’t see where they were! But are they a sign of something greater?

Many thanks to everyone who donated in last week’s drive. Over $150 was raised this way, hopefully enough to pay for the move at least. Donations are still being accepted, so if you have the money to spare then please do so (did I mention that if you donate $20 or more you can have your character appear in one of my stories?):

Your well-wishing and support have also been invaluable, and for that I thank every one of you. (I already have, individually, but thanks again.)

In other news, the site’s theme has been updated, to one that should be a bit easier on the eyes. More updates are on the way, and I’m open to suggestions if any of you have any! I’m also on a handful of art gallery sites if you want to +watch me there:

• DeviantArt
• FurAffinity
• Inkbunny

Only my FurAffinity account is actively updated right now, but I’m going to start uploading my work to the other sites!

Many thanks once again … oh yes, and read Invisible Wings. ~.^

We had to take the stairs, because my wings couldn’t fit in the elevator.

It was embarrassing. I tried holding my arms high at first, trying to keep the feathers from trailing the steps, and it looked like I was pantomiming being led off in chains. But then I came to the landing, and even though it was on the outside of the motel it had an enclosed ceiling that my feathers were brushing against. So I had to backtrack and try again, walking backwards while holding my hands in front of me as though I were jogging or boxing.

“You look like Rocky in reverse,” Jen said, watching me from the landing.

“Hush.” I gritted my teeth, as I felt my wings brush the walls of the stairwell. I couldn’t see them, but I already knew they were curved outwards from my arms. I’d found that out yesterday.

I pressed my hands together like I was praying, trying to keep my wings close enough together that they didn’t bump into anything. “Now you look like you’re doing penance,” Jen observed, as I got up to the landing.

“Hush.” She went up the stairs the rest of the way, as I carefully rounded the landing without bumping my wings into anything. I stopped for a moment to look out over the parking lot, at the sides of buildings and the freeway in the distance, and I started to feel claustrophobic. I focused on the white puffs of breath in front of me instead, and started working my way up the second flight of stairs.

“I’m serious, Arrow.” Jen still called me by my screen name. “You’re being OCD about this. It’s like Mister Monk Becomes a Yokai or something.”

“I am not a yokai.” I finally got up to the second floor, beside her. “And I didn’t ask to have my nerves backfire like this. If my insurance was any good I’d be seeing a doctor about it, not this … this … friend of yours.”

Beneath her scarf and stocking cap, she was trying not to smile. I followed her eyes down to my hands, which I was still holding out in front of me.

“This isn’t funny!”

“Okay, then.” She started off down the walkway, on the side of the motel. “This way.”

I followed her past the rows of numbered doors. Trying to calm my nerves, and ignore the strain in my wrists from holding my hands up so long. I could just let my “wings” drag, of course, but it didn’t feel right. It was like walking up to a wall, and feeling your face plant into it from a foot away. I didn’t know how to describe it, except that it was just really unnerving.

I rounded the corner, and saw Jen stop in front of her friend’s room. I hurried to join her, but just as I did one of the housekeepers came out of a door ahead of me, and started pushing her cart past. I pressed myself to the railing with my arms out in front of me, but my inside wing wasn’t close enough, and I felt the cart slide slowly and painfully past it. My face contorted, as I felt my feathers get pulled back and break, and I squeaked in pain just as she went past.

Jen stood there a moment watching me from down the walkway, as the housekeeper rounded the corner. Then she came up and saw the pained look on my face. “What’s wrong?”

“It hurts,” I said through my teeth, my eyes still locked on the ceiling.

“Do you need me to scratch it for you again?”

“Yes!”

She started to do so, and I recoiled. “Not that way!”

“Which way, then?”

“Towards … that way,” I said, pointing. “Away from me.”

She moved her hands through the air out in front of me, trying to smooth my feathers back into place without being able to see or feel them. It stung at first, but after a moment I let out my breath as the pain stopped.

I stifled a grin. I could feel her massaging my wing, and it actually felt kind of nice.

“Is that better?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She stepped back, and I stood away from the railing, still holding my hands out. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Her friend wore a white sweater and blue jeans, and had vaguely asian features. “Sorry about the mess,” she said, sweeping food wrappers into the trash from the desk where her laptop was set up. “I’ve got ten more articles to write if I want to make this week’s rent.”

I looked around at the inside of the room … cardboard boxes piled against one wall, canned goods stacked next to the microwave. The coat rack was crammed full of clothing on hangers, and her laptop was old and beat up. She switched off the TV, then tossed the remote on the bed before looking up at me. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

Jen took a deep breath. “Arrow, this is Katherine Sato; Kath, Arrow Quivershaft.”

She held out her hand, and I looked back down at her. I’d been peering at the display set up on the nightstand … it looked like there were ceramic figurines of some kind, set up around a large “jewel” that I was pretty sure was made of glass.

I shook her hand carefully, stepping back a bit so that my feathers didn’t bump into anything. “Uh, hey … ”

“So you decided to take a new name?” she asked, letting go.

I just looked at her blankly.

Jen coughed. “I think it’d work great for him … but no, that’s just his screen name.”

“Oh.” Kath cocked her head at her. “I thought you said he was a yo-”

Jen coughed again, louder and more insistent, and I could feel my face turning red. “I see,” Kath said, examining me as if she were looking for something. Looking closely at my hands and arms.

I clenched my fists, and tried to think of a polite way to put this. “Can you help me, or not?”

“That depends,” she said, “on what you want to be helped with.”

“I want this to stop.” My eyes were drawn to the jewel on the nightstand again. “I want these feelings to go away, so I can get back to my life without worrying about … bumping into things with nonexistent body parts.” My face was still red. “Can you help me with that?”

“Absolutely.” Kath nodded.

“You can?” I stared at her. After getting talked at by Jen on the ride here, I’d thought I was going to get a hard sell on converting to yokaiism.

“Yep.” She sat down at her laptop, and typed in a URL. “I just want to make sure that you know what you’re dealing with, first.”

I sideyed Jen, as she sat down on a bed piled with more clothes. Then I looked back at the screen. It was a website for an Android app, and there was a big QR code — like a blocky bar code — to the side of the page. “You’ve got a smartphone, right?” Kath looked up.

“Yeah, one sec … ” I raised one of my arms, stepping around awkwardly to keep my wing from brushing the wall, and carefully got out my phone from its case. Then I brought up the barcode reader and scanned her laptop’s screen, and my phone asked me if I wanted to install the app. I tapped “Okay.”

“What is this?” I asked.

“An augmented reality app. It layers a visual overlay onto your phone’s camera view, so you can see things that you otherwise couldn’t.”

“Like what?” I watched the progress bar as it installed.

“Try it and find out.”

I started the app, holding my phone towards the wall in both hands. It was dark there, so I turned towards Jen where she sat on the bed. Then I stared.

She was looking up at me, bemused, but that’s not what I was staring at. I could see my wings — huge brown and tan primary feathers, protruding out from my arms. One of my fingers got in front of the screen, and I could see a bird’s scaly, taloned digit. (The jewel on the nightstand looked normal, though … I checked.)

“How is this possible?” I asked, waving one hand in front of the lens. My hand felt the same as I clenched it, and wiggled my fingers around. But it looked like a hawk’s foot, shaped like a hand.

“It isn’t,” Kath said.

“What do you-” I jumped back, dropping my phone. I’d turned to look through it at her, and had seen a white fox’s face, and three fluffy tails right behind her.

I stared at her, pressed back up against the door, as Jen reached down and picked up my phone. “That wasn’t because of the app,” Kath said, calmly, as though she’d expected my reaction. “You can already see people’s real selves. You just needed an excuse to try.”

My heart pounded, and I could feel sweat form on my fists as I kept them held out in front of me. “But you didn’t even tell me that that’s what it’s for,” I argued. “How was I supposed to know?”

“You knew.”

Jen was holding my phone out to me. I took it, carefully, and looked through it at Kath again. Her fox-form seemed blurred and out of focus now, and it hurt my eyes to look at it. I turned the phone off.

“Okay … ” I took a deep breath, trying to make the words come out right. Fighting down panic, and fidgeting with the phone in my hands to distract myself. “This is not what I came here for. I don’t want a lesson in yokaiism or what I’m ‘supposed’ to be. I just want to go back to being myself.”

Kath was unperturbed. “This is yourself.”

“I’m leaving now.” I reached for the door, feeling my feathers rustle as I did so.

“No, Arrow, wait … ” Jen stood up, and put her hand on my wrist. “She’s right, one way or another. Even if this is just your brain playing tricks on you, then that’s still a part of yourself.”

I looked at her, trying to control my breathing, and wondered if she could see just how scared I was.

“You know they’d just put you on drugs at the hospital, even if you could afford to be treated. So let’s see what Kath has to say, alright? Why don’t you sit down and tell her how this all started.”

I let Jen guide me to where she’d been sitting, on the bed next to the heater, careful not to bump my feathers against things. Then, slowly, I let out my breath and let my arms rest at my sides, feeling my wings touch the bed. Jen stepped over them, and came to sit down a few feet away.

I looked up at Kath. Just for a moment, I could see the fox muzzle that I’d seen through my phone. Then I saw her face, expectant and nonjudgmental. Waiting for me to begin.

I looked away and closed my eyes, trying to think how to start. “I’m not sure if you know what I do for a living … ”

“I don’t.”

“I give tours on an historic submarine. An old naval vessel.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The sailors who lived there … it wasn’t like Star Trek or something. It wasn’t even like today’s subs. They were crammed in with barely enough room to move. There’s a reason that we can’t give tours to handicapped or overweight people. The corridor’s only a couple feet wide, and just getting in and out of the bunks, or the tables in the ship’s mess … it takes some doing.”

“Are you claustrophobic?” I heard her ask.

“I wasn’t before this … ”

“What happened?”

I swallowed, tensing up as I remembered. “I was giving a tour … ”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was in front of everyone else. A whole tour group … like a homeschool group or something. Kids and younger teens. They weren’t playing on the equipment or anything, but they were asking a ton of questions.”

“Like what?”

“Like … how the equipment worked, and stuff. I don’t remember. It was getting harder and harder to think.”

I couldn’t hear her say anything, so I just went on. “It started with this itching, all over my forearms. I couldn’t stop scratching. I was getting embarrassed; I mean, I was wearing short sleeves and all. Then I felt them.”

“Your wings?”

“Yes.” My heart pounded harder as I said that. Up to that point, I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that that’s what they were.

I went on, starting to shake and to sweat. “I could feel them pressed against things, crammed up against the walls. I couldn’t reach out and demonstrate stuff anymore. I couldn’t … I could barely move.” I was losing control of my breathing, and had to take a couple of deep breaths. “I had to get out of there. I couldn’t explain why, I just needed to. The whole tour group had to go back outside and make way for me. And the kids made rude jokes about what they thought I needed to do, but I didn’t go to the bathroom; I didn’t even head for my car. I walked.”

“You walked off the park grounds?”

“Yes. I didn’t even explain to the manager. I couldn’t, I was messed up so bad. I was scared, I didn’t know what was happening to me … I mean … okay, I knew. Okay? I knew what was going on, but I was scared. I was scared that it’d keep going, and I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

“I had to give him a ride back to the dorms,” Jen said. “He called me when he was halfway there.”

As long as I was spilling my guts in front of them anyway, I decided to just keep going. Opening my eyes now, and fidgeting more with my phone. “It was knowing that made it so terrifying. If my legs had just given out all of a sudden, I wouldn’t have been afraid; not at first. I would’ve been upset, and confused, and then heartbroken when I realized I’d have to adjust. But this … ” I moved my hands to gesture at myself, and could feel my wings as I did so. “This is what I … what I’ve … ”

“What you’ve always wanted?” Kath asked.

“Yes, and I know it makes no sense for me to be so upset like this. Okay?” I fought back a shiver, as I saw her tails swish in my peripheral vision. “I’ve been a furry for years now. And awhile back I was on a huge reading kick about yokai … wondering what it’d be like, and stuff. Reading people’s stories.”

“Did you know what species you were?”

“Nnn … ” I gritted my teeth. Then I sighed, slumping my shoulders. “I knew what species I wanted to be. What caught my attention the most. I made my fursona a red-tailed hawk … ” I started sweating again, as I said it. It felt like the words were sacred.

“And?”

“And that’s it. I never ‘came out;’ I never posted on any yokai boards or anything. I just went back to being a furry.”

“How come?”

A chime sounded on Kath’s laptop. She walked over and closed the lid, and I looked away so that I wouldn’t see her; her fox muzzle, and her tails. I swallowed, waiting for her to go back to her chair, and went on. “Well, partly because of how silly it was. They never prove anything, I mean; it’s just like a religion that way. And besides that, they’re always some cool, awe-inspiring species, like raptors or dragons or something. How come there aren’t any cockroach or warthog yokai?”

“Maybe the kinds of people who are born with those spirits aren’t given to introspection,” Kath offered.

“Yeah, see?” I held up my wing. “That’s a ‘faithful’ answer. That doesn’t answer my question.”

Kath ignored that. “You said that was only part of the reason. What was the rest of it?”

I looked down at the floor, as my face turned red. “Because I felt like I didn’t deserve it.”

“Oh?”

I was turning the phone over and over in my hands. “I’ve been up close, next to an injured red-tailed hawk, before. They’re not … they’re huge,” I blurted out, talking until my brain caught up. “They’re like two feet tall, and they look so streamlined and perfect. They can fly, for goodness’ sake! I see them soaring overhead, and it’s like I remember what it was like. And I want to join them, so bad.”

“So because it meant so much to you, that’s why you had so much trouble accepting yourself as one.”

“Yeah, I-” I paused. I felt my skin crawl, as sweat broke out all across it. She hadn’t talked about turning into a hawk, she’d talked about accepting that I already was one.

“I don’t know,” I made myself say, my voice shaky.

“So what do you want to do?” Jen asked.

And I knew the answer, of course. I knew what I’d dreamed and fantasized about. I just wasn’t ready for this. I couldn’t; not with my job, not with the classes I needed to take. Not with my life the way that it was. But more than that, it was scary because I didn’t know what would happen. I didn’t know what I’d become, or what it would feel like. I just knew that I wouldn’t be able to go back.

A change like this sounds wonderful when you dream about it. But when you have to face it, it’s terrifying.

I took a deep breath, then another. Trying to calm my nerves, and to think of a reasonable course of action. “I … I want-”

The power went out.

The heater shut down, and stopped blowing hot air behind me. The only light in the room came from the curtains, filtered through shade trees outside, and the soft glow of Kath’s sleep-mode laptop. She sighed, and I saw her outline facepalm.

“A brownout?” Jen asked.

“Looks like it,” Kath deadpanned.

I squirmed. “I should go … ”

I heard a puff like a furnace starting, and saw a flickering glow. Kath was holding out one hand, with a … cigarette lighter? … in it, but I only saw the flame, as though it was dancing on her fingertips. And as she talked, I saw the outline of a thin, vulpine muzzle, and saw hints of movement in the air behind her. Where her three tails were swishing.

“Listen.” My heart pounded, as I strained to hear what she was saying. “Your ‘problem’ is not going to just go away. I tried, when I was younger. But something always reminded me, and I fought and fought until I broke down, and realized I couldn’t anymore. Not and still be myself. I’ve seen people who’ve put this behind them, but they had to become someone totally different, so you’re going to change one way or another. It’s your choice what form that takes.”

“Okay … ” I was shivering, and not from the cold. My gaze was fixed on the twitching outlines of her tails, because I couldn’t look up at her face.

“Maybe you don’t have to change all the way right now. Maybe there’s a way you can live with yourself and still be this self. But whatever it is, you’re not doing it right now, because if you were this wouldn’t have happened.”

“So you think I should-” I stopped, as Kath got up. She walked right in front of me, to open the door, and as she did her tails smacked me in the face. I saw them, and felt them, and I jumped in my seat and tried to brush the fur out of my face.

When I looked up, and saw her in the light from outside, she just looked like a normal woman. “I don’t know what you should do,” she said, putting one hand on her hip. “But my guess? You’re a bird of prey, and your instincts triggered when you were locked in a submarine. Maybe that’s not natural for you.

“Maybe you need to fly.”

Click here to read the last part of As I Am.

The last few stories have been about suicide, troubled family relationships, and bad religion for a reason. When I had to live with my family back in 2008, I would self-injure and scream insults at myself in my head, and I came close to killing myself. There were a lot of bad experiences, and I’m trying to forget them.

Since moving out I’ve become much healthier and more confident. Unfortunately, by the end of March — April at the latest — I’m not going to have a place to live anymore. My family might take me in again, but my father has made it clear that I’m no longer a part of his “eternal family,” and that he disapproves of my “lifestyle.” He does not mind threatening me, and I’m scared of what he and the others will do to me.

I don’t want to go back there.

I’m going to move to the Research Triangle of North Carolina so I can be close to my mate, Yurodivy. I don’t have a lot of money, though, and I’m going to have to work very hard to write enough articles to pay for a room. I’m going to try to get government food and housing assistance, but I don’t know how long that will take.

Here’s what you can do to help.

1. Donate money by Paypal by clicking here:

I’m not taking commissions right now, but if you donate $20 or more I may work one of your characters into a story I’m writing. Anything would be appreciated — I don’t know how much I’m going to need just to move.

2. Spread the word by posting links to this on your journal, your Identi.ca / Twitter account, or wherever you usually post things. If your friends have enjoyed a commission you’ve bought from me, let them know too.

3. Help me find a place to stay until I’ve rented a room. The Triangle is 8 hours away from here, and I’m going to need a place to sleep and some kind of transportation in order to look at rooms. If I have to stay at a motel for this time, that will make things even harder.

I will be at Furry Weekend Atlanta this year in case you would like to meet me in person before letting me crash on your couch.

Thanks, and I hope you’ve enjoyed my stories so far.