Furry High (furry 'coming of age' story) R18+

23

In the shit.

My hind-paws slapped heavily on the dead ground beneath my. My broken bone shined in the sun.

I head Evan's voice behind me as he tried to catch up. (masky lil fucker getting you and your brother, you're own goddamn brother into all this-)

___

Adrian fought against his seatbelt. It held his dangling body by the neck with such a grip that his slim, sheep-dog digits could only claw wildly against the black vehicle-snake and its love-grip with his jugular.

Everything was upside down. Flames trickling up from the roof above the backseats. The dead body of a tiger looked on blankly, as though appreciating the glowing tendrils as they slowly digressed up hid sleeve's and up his shoulders.

Adrian gasped for air and found that he couldn't gasp back in. His throat was sticky with the thick, textured beats of fanaticism. His smell was filled with rust and polyester and smoke. His eyes were dreaming.

Life doesn't really flash before your eyes; its more the thought that this should be happening that trips you into the highlights reel of your life. Was what you stood for in your time in Earth really meaningful? What and who you came to know and what that did for you. Was it good? Was it terrible? Was it every possible loose-ended commodity in-between?

He sees blurry alleyways, and home-less people tents. He sees neon lights and stripper poles and crowds that were to tall for him to see over.

He sees dinosaur toys and heroin needles. He sees car-keys slowly sink in-between the indents of white-furred knuckles. He sees how women's faces age after their toddler ages right in front of them. He sees an invasive rip in astronaut blankets.

The seatbelt crackles like latex against his creaking jugular.

He hears all the words that brothers say in morse-code through opposing bedroom doors.

A groan of anguish rises up his throat and he hears:

'Click'

Adrian dropped down, his body folding uncomfortably onto his neck like a kid who had botched a flip on a trampoline. Groaning, he twisted himself around, the hot roof of the car hissing against his sweaty clothing.

He held his hand on his chest. His heart-rate pounded with such motion that it was as though his blood stream were rocking him. Rocking you to sleep, Ads...

His breath steamed the air. You remember how you used to wet the bed? Only bad boys wet the bed, Adrian.

He considered the seatbelt enough to realize that it resembled a noose-shape. He groaned again and shoved his paws over his eyes. His back felt scalding-hot.

You haven't been a bad boy now have you?

Suddenly his shirt was being pulled up. His shoulders were gripped, he was sliding, the car's interior was leaving him behind. He yelped as the raw fur on his lower back became less rare as it scraped along the broken car-door.

There's air now. Everything's alright now, Ads. There's a sky and there's an otter and there's blood drops falling drown from his broken nose. There's smoky reassurance and frantic expressions.

Evan shook Adrian hard by his burnt jacket. "Where's the drugs?!" He demanded.

The sheepdog regarded him dizzily through a dumbfounded expression. "Wha- huh?"

"Where. Are. The drugs?"

Adrian squinted. After a few seconds, he raised a shaky arm towards the back of the car.