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

7

I know that I keep saying this, but I don't want you to think that I get into these situations often. I'm a raccoon: a rodent. That means that furs expect things of me, and not in the good way either. They wouldn't be surprised to see me at my worst like this, and even less surprised to know that it was because I got mixed up with drugs and the wrong furs.

So as tired legs trudged through the dirt, my naked body sweaty and peppered with dirt from the forrest-trail, all I was able to fucking think about, was this: Well shit, I might not be so different afterall...

Quick check up for you, doc:
I've developed a little habit of itching my wrists and arms for some reason. Maybe to distract me from the bite on my chest that's rearing in pulsing pain like a pissed-off race-horse – I'm almost certain the wound's infected my now.
I've stepped on broken glass quite a few times with bare paws, so there might be a bottle's-worth lodged upside my digits.
My eyes were also doing this annoying thing where they felt constantly dry. Bloodshot and tired, defeated and exhausted, I needed to keep them closed most of the time I walked just to keep the tears at bay. My only navigation was brief snapshots of dried trees and depressed brown grass, with a reassuring dash of red trail-soil.

I began to sing.
"On the first part of the journey," A quick clear to a dry throat: I hadn't actual water in a day or two.
"I was looking at all the life. There were plants, and birds, and rocks and things." Despite the odds, I began to smile. "There was sand and hills and rains."

Back was aching, knees wanting to give out from under me. But the campsite wasn't too far away now...

Here, this is my plan as of now:

Robin has just gotten her full driver's licence a couple of weeks back, somwhow – that was how she even got here: driving in her mum's run-down pinto with a spluttery engine and seats that smelt like damp semen from god-knows what.
If I could just get back there, then there was a chance that she could be waiting somewhere around the campsite for me.
Then all it would take is a quick drive, a nice steamy shower along with some personal-care. Then I'd get the biggest knife that I could find in my kitchen, sharpen the shit out of it, and then go hunting for a certain sheepdog.

"The first thing I met was a fly with no buzz, and a sky, with no clouds..."
Well who would have known? Without the stutter, my voice is pretty decent. The kind that's light on the ears and a little husky to listen to. Like an alcoholic comedian, fending for himself on the streets.

The heat was hot, and the ground was dry...
But the air was full of sound.

Suddenly I hear something crackle in the distance.
I stopped dead in my tracks, and slowly forced my eyes open. They teared up from the bright light flowing in, but then I saw it.

Through the outlet of dry trees, the campsite was completely enveloped in fire.
The thick kind of flame that sucks in the windows of an abandoned building. The kind that's orange and flickering, digging its molten claws into the surrounding trees as it began its climb.

"Fuh-fuck..."

I sprinted into the scene, the heat singeing my fur as I got closer to the large flaming logs that had been seats for a harmless party only half a day ago.
A bit of fire licked at my ankle, and I yanked it away with gritted teeth.
"Fuck." Where did I put my bloody bag? Where the hell did I put it?!?! Think, you fucking masker...

Fun little furry definition.
Masker
A masker, is the most insulting word that a raccoon can call another raccoon, originated from the mask-like appearance on their faces as well as their crime-like tendencies. Although it shouldn't be, this word is often used by other species as well, specifically for talking down rodents.
Hey Masky! How did you get into my house?!