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Survival

I woke up to a furred claw where my hand should be. Letting out a groan, that came out more like a growl, I pushed myself up out of bed. All the preparation and training let me sleep through the night, but there was no way around the fur. Even though it was only once a month; it was once a month too many. I didn’t bother to put on a robe as I trudged to the bathroom; my roommates wouldn’t be up this early. Sometimes, I ask myself why I bother. Broadly speaking, fur doesn’t need to be washed, and it’ll be gone in about two hours anyway so… why? The same answer every month pushes me to step into the shower. It’s not about getting clean.

The fur kept me from feeling the water immediately. I stood there and waited till I could feel it. I had nothing to contemplate but my condition. People didn’t know. I knew what they would think if they did. Freak. Monster. Inhuman. That’s what they all say about people like me. Well, no, they won’t say that; not out loud. They like to pretend that they see us as victims, but victims of what? Ourselves, is their only answer. Some vast conspiracy to corrupt and pervert; make more of ourselves.

I began to feel wetness run across my skin. Controlled by force of habit, I began to work shampoo through my fur. It wasn’t any great trick; keeping people in the dark. Most don’t want to believe it anyway. Still, I’ve had my fair share of close shaves, but, I’m not the first, or the only one out there. There are forums and stuff where we share our resources and information. Meditation practices and over the counter supplements that help you sleep through it. It all works for the most part, but it’s all a form of repression. I know that, how could I not. The dreams are a constant reminder. They used to just be that one time a month, but they’ve been happening increasingly often. It’s not healthy. It’s the pattern of obsession. Visions of running, hunting, eating; the things that my body yearns to do, and be, but I can’t let it. It’s not just the dreams either. I feel it. Every moment of my existence. Just under the veneer of… normalcy. The truth I can only rarely indulge.

At some point, I had started sobbing. I hadn’t noticed the tears amongst all the water. The strength to hold myself up abandoned me, and I was suddenly sitting on the floor of the shower. I shouldn’t have to do this. It’s slowly killing me, but better a slow death, in what comfort and safety I can manage, than a quick one at the hands of someone else’s ignorance. I sat there, and felt. The water through my fur, and across my skin. The hard basin of the shower. The water pounding around me. Having burned through my agonies, I focused only on the sensations. I don’t know how long I sat there.

Eventually, I turned off the water, and stepped out. I noted, with no small amount of bitterness, that the urge to shake didn’t elicit even the slightest physical shudder as I grabbed my towel from the rack. By the time I was dry the fur would be gone, but at least I wouldn’t drip everywhere. I wrapped the towel around myself, and got back to my bedroom. Towel still wrapped around me, I collapsed onto my bed. Did I feel any better? I didn’t know, but then it wasn’t really about feeling better.