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Hi reader. High raccoon

The furs in front of me smelt nothing like home, that musty, greased perfume that hung in my nose along with the cigarette smoke they chewed down. I was a head shorter than everyone here, shoulder height, looking down at their boots and sniffling salty tears.

The line slowly shuffled along. Drug convicts locked in the methodical, ankle-based rhythm like a chain-gang of addiction. I followed but could never keep in step, the wrong colour in this blackened crowd. As the line thinned into the building ahead of us, I could see that at the entrance there wasn't a security guard or a couple of frat boys with stamps; but there were three medical-tents with plastic covering for privacy, and a fur dressed in mock-scrubs (the shit surgeons wear) for each of them. They mingled and orbited their tents. Hesitantly, I stuck my head out of the line to peer into one of them-

A word was flung at me:
"Next." It came from a stallion standing at the front of the queue, which was now just me.
I shuffled up slowly, beginning to dig at my pockets for an ID or anything.

He scratched at his silvery mane, snorting hot steam into the midnight air as he read notes, a guest list, maybe?

Midnight. Holy fuck I need to get in there, and I need to get in now.

"Dude." He was looking down at me, the guy was surely 7 foot at least, but maybe 21 at age. He looked me up and down. "You're kidding me, right?"

"I'm a f-friend of Filler's."

His eyebrows arched in delight. "You'll need to try better than that, kid. Look, man, I don't mean to shit on your style or anything, like, I was the exact same when I was 17, -"

"I'm fuh-... f-fifteen."

He blinked. "Right, 15... look, you're.... christ, you're too young for this dude. Have you got a parent I can call, or something? To get you picked up?"

"No parent, please j-juh-just l-let me in."

He hesitated, staring at me as her chewed his lip. His ears were tucked down. "Fine. Leave your phone here and... go and get your stabs. It's the rules... everyone is allowed in tonight."

I slipped a paw into my pocket, feeling for my phone. When I grabbed a hold of it, it was warm from messages. Probably all asking where I was.
I placed it into a garbage bag already filled to the brim with phones. The moment it left my palm I began to feel colder, more isolated. More alone and vulnerable than ever. If I died here, would my parents ever know? How long would my body rot here before someone was able to tell them that their son wouldn't be getting home?

I trudged along, past the stallion and at the entrance of one of the blue tents. The flap opened, and out came two girls, both cats with ratty clothing and dyed hair. They swayed as they came out, nausea digging its teeth behind their pretty eyes as they hollered and screamed strange sounds. "The fuck are you looking at?" One of them yelled at me, making me flinch. She walked past and that was the end of that.

"Come in." Said whoever was inside.

I lifted the flap with a shaky paw and proceeded. The tarp walls glowed an eery blue onto the fur inside. He wore an full blue hasmat suit – I couldn't see any of his fur. But what I could see was the needle he held in his left paw.

"Hey there bud." He said soothingly. "You look nervous. First time getting stabbed?"

I nodded, throat too dry to speak.

"No worries, needles are pretty scary, after all." He made a grab at my arm but I yanked away.
"This won't h-hurt me, ruh... r-right?"

He cocked his head, making his gasmask tip slightly and one of his ears bent slightly. 'No, but it will if you keep moving."

Furry High (furry 'coming of age' story) R18+Where stories live. Discover now