Fear the Nobodies: Part Seventeen

>“Y-Y-You look… h-hurt…” Sam whines, trying to match your shambling pace

“I’m- I’m fine, Sam. Because I got hope – hope that once I get back at the fuck who did this to me, I will feel better inside than I do outside,” you say, gasping when what feels like a rib sticks into your lungs

>You pause, rasping, clutching your chest like your heart’s about to beat out of it

>“A-Anon!”

>Sam’s girlish squeak makes it worse

>There’s gotta be maybe twenty or so boys who are as girly as he is

>A statistical anomaly

>Like a meteorite crashing in your backyard

>And the alien riding the damn meteor is named Sam

>A pair of downy, brown paws supports your waist as you keel over in the halls

>Though their strength is meager, there’s something far greater within Sam than boyish lust

>Lo-

>-Wait, why the waist?

>He’s like, inches from your-

“Sam!” You gasp, palming the bunny’s skull as you gently usher him away from you

>“S-S-S-Sorry,” he says, quickly yielding to your efforts, “I-I was t-t-trying t-t-to hel-”

“It’s…” you suck in a lungful of air as your heartbeat steadies, “…It’s fine. I’m gonna be alright. You don’t need to h-hump me,” you say, trying in vain to preserve what’s left of your heterosexuality

>At that, Sam detonates with a storm of embarrassed stammers

>“W-W-Wha- I-I-I I wa-wasn’t! I-I’m n-n-n-not… uh… I-I’m a g-g-g-g-g-g-g-guy, s-s-o, you know-”

>You silence him with an open palm against his face

“Just-”

>He tries mumbling something with his mouth held shut, but all you hear are the rumbles of a small, CLEARLY GAY, rabbit

“Sam. Stop talking, okay?”

>At that you release the tension on Sam’s maw, and slowly, the boy you know as Samuel Garlen, breathes again

>His ears fall back and forth as he nods

“C’mon, dude, let’s get the FUCK away from anyone who just saw that.”

>’Safe’ is hard to come by at Ranchview High

>Everywhere you go, heads turn – heads filled with angry, hateful stares, as if waiting for the precise moment to jump you

>Cliques you used to ally yourself with like the nerds only scowl when you wave to the kids in AP chemistry

>Loners like Sam, who you never bothered much, frankly, aim finger guns at the two of you, doing some dry-fire practice

>Even teachers glare, their postures stiff and inhuman, eyes fixed on you and your bunny companion

>You’re so busy escorting Sam around that you don’t see when a pair of jocks – human and anthro, their red letter men jackets shredded from unwilling transformations this morning – fall in behind you, stalking through the lingering crowds of students like sharks through a kelp forest

“Sam, can I ask you something kind of personal?” You say, shambling down the halls, blissfully unaware of your new traveling companions

>“Uh- um- A-A-A-Anon- there- there are-” he points behind you

“I’m just going to ask anyway, because I didn’t hear a ‘no’ in that stutter of yours,” you continue on

>The end of this LONG ASS HALLWAYS appears at the end of the watery horizon like a mirage

“When Mike was beating me into the road… why didn’t you – or anyone – try to stop him?”

>The rabbit throws a glance over his shoulders, ears wheeling around him in a tight arc

>“B-B-B-Because-”

“And another thing!” You declare, overriding Sam’s voice, “I didn’t know you had a brother! When were you going to tell me? Did he go to Ranchview?”

>Mid-conversation, caveman brain takes over

>And you bring Sam to a halt, like an oversized anchor against a small tug boat

>Funny, you swear wouldn’t have seen the cheerleaders at all,, and just kept walking

>Behind you, mere inches from beating you and the rabbit like red-headed stepchildren, the jocks freeze up

>A group of scantily clad cheerleaders – who definitely serve Lydia Penferth – pass by, giggling and whispering among themselves, moving against the gathering current of students

>Both are anthros

>One of them is a species you never really associated with ‘sexual’

>A comically curvaceous pig

>The rounded, pink skin on the pudge of her belly is only partially covered by the frilled red and white ‘Ranchview Cheer’ top

>Which, despite all known laws of biology, fashion, dress code, and some physics, somehow manages to contain the pig’s CLEARLY-wished for bust

>Because you KNOW Kenzie was the flattest girl in cheer last week

>Yet you can’t help but be drawn to her when she passes, the hypnotic smolder in her eyes like an electrified lamp, and you a horny little bug

>Kenzie flashes a ditsy smile at the pair of jocks who you just just realized are RIGHT on top of you

>She then motions for the jocks to follow her, and gives you a knowing wink, the heat in her eyes glowing like a furnace, the narrow points of her teeth just barely pressing against her low lip

>She’s just like Mike

>Right down to the eyes

>You can’t help but gawk like a fucking idiot, because the smaller of your two heads is doing a lot of your thinking right now

>Your gaze trails them as they pass, the cheerleaders gossiping freely with the two jocks in whispers

>Like the great alliances of old, now turned against the last free people’s of Ranchview High

>Sam throws an obvious glance over his shoulder

>The jocks continue down the hall, alongside the cheerleaders – their eyes like super-heated nails

>Sam’s ears perk up in alarm when Kenzie looks back at you and waves an encouraging ‘thanks again’ type wave

>That’s not an encouraging sign

>The bunny must have noticed the vampirism

>Or he smelled it on them

>Sam beams up at you, his eyes begging for an answer, as if finding himself staring into a mirror whose reflection he wished was more appealing than reality

>“D-D-Do you think they’re h-h-h-h-h-hot?” He says suddenly, his hands gently tugging at his ears, “I-I mean f-f-for m-mammals?”

>It takes a lot of effort not to choke when he asks you to appraise the cheerleaders

“Do I- Do I think they’re hot? Why are you asking me that, dude?”

>Sam’s eyes split open at the question, and he gives his ears a solid crank

>“N-N-N-N-N-No reason!” He gasps, and you SWEAR you almost hear him say something like, ‘just comparing’

>You mull over the bun’s question for a second

“I mean… I guess so? That pig is pretty thick, right? It looks like she’s smuggling beach balls in her shirt,” you snicker

>Sam throws another VERY obvious glance over his shoulder, so you grab his ears and steer his head forward, like the ruttier of a small, horny vessel

>Maybe Sam isn’t gay after all?

>He’s just… supremely awkward around women?

“Hey, man, you gotta act subtle when you’re checking a girl out? You’re gonna get us put on some kind of list,” you say

>And you almost say, ’and then Mike will never score with his name on the sex-offender registry!’

>But now you hope he never EVER gets laid

>You hope he dies a virgin by the end of this

>Because you wouldn’t mind becoming a thrall to Kenzie…

>“A-Anon?” Sam squeaks up at you as you walk

>You crank your head forward and shake your imagination of lewd thoughts, trying to think of crackling bacon and not cracking that-

“Alright,” you sigh, a beet-red blush scouring your pale face, “you caught me breaking my own rules. Who cares though? – we’re both guys. It don’t matta. None of dis mattas”

>There’s a little nervous laughter on your breath, and you hope Sam plays it cool with you

>At that, the rabbit’s ears droop, and he breaks out in that pained half-smile

“T-Totally,” he stammers, postures stiffening with masculine rigidity, “t-t-t-there’s n-n-n-no h-harm in- i-i-in- looking.”

>Gah, poor kid

>Sam, if you had to guess, hasn’t grown up with the wonders of internet pornography

>He probably has to draw his own idea of an attractive girl – or guy, you guess – and beat off to that

>Which you think he could full-on have a career in, to be honest

>Not masturbating! NOT!

>You mean, he could make money drawing things OTHERS masturbate to

>Alright…

>…that decides it

>If you’re going to have Sam in the group, you’re going to treat him like one of the guys

>Beer, weed, vidya gaems, mischief, hot girls at school (only talking about), music, late night burger runs, confiding in one another – you’re initiating him into it all of that like hurling a toddler into a huge pile of raked up leaves

>He’s had enough exclusion in his life

>Time for some masculine INCLUSION, baybeeee

>Though you decide that easing him into the world of eighteen-year-old men is paramount

>You can’t just… smack him in the face with your proverbial dick

“You TOTALLY want to bang Kenzie, don’t you bunnyboy?” You tease, “I saw your fuzzy ass lookin at her. C’mon, admit it.”

>You throw a VERY playful right hook into Sam’s upper chest

>You guys playfully smack one another all the time

>Sam can be no stranger to friendly violence

>“A-A-A-A-A-A-Anon-” Sam’s voice hitches with a sudden, very girlish gasp

>You expect to hit his breastbone almost instantly – a skeletal plate with naut but a layer of skin across its length

>Only, you don’t hit bone – at least not right away

>You feel…

>Sam’s face twists up with pain as he tightens into himself, a protective arm across his chest

>…boy tits

>That’s what those are

>That’s… that’s not what gyno feels like, but that’s what it has to be

>Which is weird because SAMUEL is rail-thin

>You reel back almost instantly

>It feels like you just hit a girl

>Beneath you, the rabbit winces, hiding a sudden, deeply acute pain

“S-Shit Sam, did I hit you too hard?” You stammer, trying to console him, “I- I was trying to-”

>With his arm still across his tender chest, one golden eye winced shut, he turns up to you

>“J-J-J-Just s-s-s-s-sensitive t-t-t-there,” he blushes, “t-t-that’s all…”

>You must have popped his nipple

>That can hurt…

>…especially for women…

>…but for men, too, you suppose…

>…even though you were deliberately soft…

“Bro I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you had girly nipples,” you clap a nervous palm on the back of your neck and look away

>There’s a few student groups watching as you assault Sam

>Sam lowers his head in shame, finding comfort and safety in staring at the floor

>“S-S-So t-they’re…. hot?”

>You spin to face him

>The way he says it sounds extremely forced and uncomfortable; you want to ask him if he’s gay or not, because now you’re confused as to why he’s bringing this up again

“Don’t you think so?”

>Sam says nothing, only gasps as he tries to right himself again

>Sam’s display of ‘heterosexuality’ is almost TOO overt, TOO performative

“Hey, Sam…” you start, scanning for any signs of potential danger now that the cheerleaders and jocks are but a red-and-white speck in the distance

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

>Here it comes

>Absolute truth time

>And maybe more confusion on your part, which you’re willing to risk

>The moisture under your arms and the heat radiating from your stomach to your face tells you you’re nervous about his answer

>Which… shouldn’t be happening

You were supposed to be brave, courtesy of Vanessa

>Maybe it’s wearing off?

“Are you-” you cough a little, as if choking on the shape of the words caught in your throat

>Anything to prolong the question, right, you coward?

>Wait, ‘you coward?’

>You’re not allowed to be a coward

>This is clearly just a fluke on Vanessa’s part

>Okay, deep breaths, Anonymous

>Out with the question

>You look down at Sam…

>…Who has pulled the collar of his ratty hoodie far away from his neckline, and is peering down at his naked chest

“Dude, what the fuck are you doing?”

>The bunny shoots up into the air, stumbling backwards a few inches, until he crashes onto his ass

>Before you can even lift a finger, Sam grabs at his ears and twists them like they were throttles to a tiny and pathetic dirt bike

>Dark brown hair spills across his red face, partially fanning across his eyes

>“N-N-N-NOTHING!” He squeaks in sad desperation

>What…

>…the fuck?

>Why is this such a big deal to him?

>Now you want him to stop freaking out in the halls

>It’s really not a big deal that you punched him in the nipple

>Not like he has tits or anything

>Maybe gyno? You’ve never seen him without his hoodie

“Okay, okay, I believe you! I believe you- just… just chillllll out,” you reason

>“I swear I-I-I wasn’t l-l-looking I-I mean c-c-comparing- I-I- mean-” his words fire off at a mile a minute and you only catch a few

>You know, if he didn’t stutter like a seventy-year-old lawnmower trying to turn over he could be a rapper

>Beats being a janitor, that’s for sure

>And GOD he’s really wringing those ears out now

>Alright, time for an intervention

“Look, it’s fine, just-” you forcefully pry his hands away from his ears, but you take care to squeeze them only as hard as you need

“You’re going to hurt yourself doing that shit. Crush my hand if you need to crush something.”

>With one trembling, sweaty paw, Sam anchors himself to you

— you can’t tell if he’s excessively weak or holding back when he gives you a reassuring squeeze

>“T-Thanks…” Sam whispers, his eyes pointed at his feet, his chest hitching as the nerves cloud his breathing

>You ignore his cuteness and walk the bunny down the hall, your face pulsing with heat

>You take a lesson from Sam’s playbook and study your flopping shoelaces as you walk, which really does help you ignore the hateful stares

>You know how this looks to everyone – the stray giggling and cruel laughter from a stray group of human preps is proof enough

>You do your best to pay them no mind, but Sam clearly takes notice

>He gives your hand a nervous squeeze, and uses his free hand to clutch at the drawings he wanted to show you, like a kid with his safety blanket

>You need to get somewhere safe

>And you don’t…

>…don’t want to let go of his hand?

>It’s so small and gentle in your own

>The downy fur is like a gentle hug against your nervous skin

>You swear you can feel lightning, or magnetic thunder, between your palms

>Sam has an artist’s hand— delicate, with nimble fingers meant for precise tasks

>These are hands that feel more touch than you ever could, just by virtue of their artistry

>Sam threads those fingers around yours, filling the space between your knuckles

>Fuck

>He IS gay

>AND YOU ARE TOO

>All that time trying to man him up, talking about girls?

>You’re barking up the wrong tree, pal

>You really want to let go of his hands, but you can’t — not now

>Not when you’re so close to the lunch room

>You come to a stop eventually, wandering out of a dream

>Huh, did you hold hands with him all the way down the hall?

>…

“Alright Sam, let me see those drawings,” you sigh, already trying to compartmentalize how natural that little gay waltz just felt

>You slump against the wall adjacent from the cafeteria, nervous sweat running down your face, underarms completely soaked with self-conscious anxiety

>Somethin’ ain’t right, you think in a vaguely Texan accent

>Sam scoots over to you across the dirty floor, clutching a wad of papers

>Kinda gross… who knows when the last time these floors have been cleaned since Stella went ape shit?

>Speaking of, the lunchroom looks spotless

>Which is alarming to think of how fast and strong the janitor must be to have flipped all those tables back to their original configurations

>Sam doesn’t seem even flinch – he hurries in unfolding the balled up paper

>He launches into a quick explanation of the first drawing, a grin so wide he’s lost in it

>Sparks dance in his honey-brown eyes

>“T-This one is a superhero na-named S-Slayer,” Sam says, as he unfurls a paper and spreads it out on the floor

>’Slayer’ is a short, stocky human with spiked brown hair and piercing green eyes

>Enshrouding Sam’s hero is a black leather jacket, studded with spikes

>Resting easy against his shoulder is a kind of hunting rifle – wooden stock and all – clearly meant to obliterate the undead

>The front-sights is a crucifix, for fuck sake

>Huh

“This is… really… wow,” you say in disbelief

>Sam’s character is clearly inspired by Mike, right down to the hair style and eye color

>“H-H-He kills m-monsters like v-v-vampires, and g-g-ghouls,” Sam explains as he points to different features on ‘Slayer’ (no relation to the band, unfortunately)

>“H-His Soul-Obliterator i-is what he uses to k-kill guys wi-wi-with. I-It just takes one s-s-shot.”

“Why’s he so short then? Aren’t heroes big and tough?” You muse

>You’re interested in so far as Sam is, but you can’t get over the fact that these drawings border on professional-quality, at least in you’re limited experience

>Sam covers his mouth, catching a small, knowing giggle

>“B-Because he h-has a s-short temper, and h-he’s k-kinda mean to his friends. S-So he’s an ant-anti-hero. But he a-a-always comes b-b-back just in t-time to do the r-r-ight thing.”

>Okay, so not like your Mike

>Next character sheet is ‘Charmer’ – a fair-skinned human, dressed like… Elvis?

>Elvis- sorry, ‘Charmer’ winks out at you from behind a pair of cool shades, a cocksure grin glowing on his face

>The styled black hair, the rail-thin physique, the glittering silver jacket?

>This looks guy looks like Alex, if Alex had black hair

>And was also Elvis

>Sam explains that Charmer’s natural charisma, dancing skills, and flare make him a great leader

>He can convince others to fight for him, or give a rallying speech at the perfect moment

>You can’t help but think it’s kind of ironic that Sam is drawing socially conscious characters, but you keep that rude little comment to yourself

>“T-T-The next t-two are a duo,” Sam says, nervously withdrawing a carefully folded scrap of paper from his pocket

>He spreads out the drawing, and you read the character names out loud

“Anon the Brave…” your eyes flick to the next line “…and Samurai Outlaw.”

>Holy shit

>It’s…

>…you?

>You’re not wearing your classic collared shirt and jeans, but instead what looks like priest robes, clutching a hastily scribbled-in red book in one hand

>It’s you, right down to the red hair

>You’re posed like you’re delivering a sermon, or reciting a powerful spell

>And to the right of ‘you’ stands a hooded figure, posed, her profile taken from the side

>A pair of brown rabbit ears poke through her olive-green hoodie like two antennas

>And though her face is swallowed by the shadow of her hood, Sam took the time ink in a pair of golden-brown eyes, peering out of the darkness of her cowl

>Her eyes are practically glowing – like bowls of furious yellow lightning

>Samurai Outlaw has a weapon, too:

>A 1:1 of Sam’s older brother’s baseball bat – a long, silvered cylinder, with a hand wrapped in hockey tap tape

>Samurai Outlaw’s bat sits eased against her shoulder

>You sneak a quick look at Sam, who says nothing while you take in her work

>Instead, he gives you a pathetic smile and digs his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, perhaps in a dignified effort to keep himself from stress-pulling at his ears

“Sam… is this supposed to be all of us?” You have to ask, even though you really have no doubt in your mind who each character is supposed to represent

>“I u-used you all f-f-for ref-reference,” he squeaks, slowly folding each drawing back up, instead of crumpling them up into unintelligible balls like he did before

“Of course — I don’t know why you wouldn’t, but my guy… ‘Anon the Brave”… why would you call me ‘Brave’? I’m not brave. I’m- I’m a pussy, dude.”

>“B-Because y-you- I mean, h-he is! H-He’s brave, s-smart, c-c-caring, h-handsome, and k-kind!”

>Your heart catches, and a deeply sour feeling hits your stomach like you swallowed a dumbbell

>You’re only brave because of a spell

>Yet another thing you keep to yourself

>“I-Is that alright?” Sam asks after noticing your silence

>Frankly, you’re speechless

>“I-I’m sorry,” he says, his expression crumbling like a pathetic little sand castle against against a rising tide

>It was like watching someone (that someone being you) let the air out of Sam’s balloon

>He starts tightening up the drawings between his trembling little fists

>You shake yourself back to reality

>Fucking hell Anon, say something, because Sam:

>A) is a fantastic artist and

>B) has all the spine of a jellyfish

“Absolutely- absolutely that’s fine! These are really, really good, bro. Like… really good,” you gush

>“N-No t-t-t-they’re n-n-not,” Sam replies, but you can tell he’s struggling to blossom under your kind words, “I o-only had a-a-an hour…”

>He snatches ‘Anon the Brave’ and ‘Samurai Outlaw’ off the floor and starts to crumple the paper

“Dude, hold on,” you fold your larger hands over his, “please don’t throw those out. They’re really, really, good.”

>The rabbit’s body slackens a little

>He pushes his free hand through the mop of his hair, and you can see something rare:

>A gathering fire in his eyes

>Pride that had never existed burns gently within him

>Right now, Sam is no longer shy and hidden behind his scraggly fur or disgusting clothes

>He flashes a bright smile, so wide that it’s about to fall off his tender, feminine face

>It sends your heart fluttering

>Time to feed that inner fire of his

>The next words escape your lips without any prior thought, and when they’re out in the open, you don’t even care

“Can I have these drawings? Like, to keep?”

>The rabbit blinks a few times in response

>Silence

>And silence

>And more silence

>“Wh-What?” He stammers, voice rising to a high, femme pitch

>He looks like you just asked him to reverse entropy or something impossible

>Or, to go on a date — both of which are impossible(?)

“Can I keep your drawings?” You repeat, not even fighting the words as they leave your lips

>“You want to ke-keep one?” He parrots back in disbelief, “Y-Y-You’re no-not going to s-s-spit chewing tobacco i-in it and t-t-throw it at m-m-m-me, or t-t-tear it a-a-apart and l-l-laugh?”

“Yes, dude, I want to keep your drawi- wait,” you pause, accusing finger cocked towards Sam, “what did you just say about spitting tobacco into your art? Does your dad do that shit to you?”

>“YES!” He squeals with far, far too much girlish falsetto (or he just has a great singing voice)

>He leans uncomfortably close to your face, and you can see just how red he is — and how much sweat is saturating his fur

“Jesus man, I knew your dad was a piece of shit, but that’s just cruel-”

>Sam cuts in, his eyes splintered open

>“I-I want y-y-y-you to h-have th-th-the art! I was ho-h-h-hoping you w-w-w-would ask…”

>His voice nears a yell, and the volume draws a number of gawking humans and anthros with their lunch trays

>You jerk your neck away from Sam when you catch the angry eyes of your classmates staring death at you

>Sam, however, is clueless, and awfully close, especially since he propped himself up on his palms, his face leaning into yours…

>…like he’s trying…

>Oh God

>…trying to kiss you

“T-Thanks, dude,” you stammer in reply

>Sam hovers near your lips, his hot breath kissing your pale cheeks as he stares intently at you — almost through you — his wide, amber eyes glowing like golden torchlight through the tangles of his chestnut locks

>Whispers flit around you like leaves on the wind

>You slip all three pieces of paper out from his grasp and into your back pocket, but Sam doesn’t seem to notice

>Well, you’re sufficiently uncomfortable, and your meager social reputation is probably compromised

>Whatever

>Who cares?

>And, maybe you’re not really gay

“I have to admit, Sam,” you sigh, leaning back against the wall, watching kids in line for two slices of pizza, a cup of fruit, and water, “you have a hell of a lot more reason to get out of town than I do.”

>Sam looks up at you, his pink nose wrinkling in curiosity

>“W-W-What do you m-m-me-mean? I c-c-can’t… can’t l-leave Ranchview,” he points his attention to his paws, his idle hands working their way up to rub his ears – not twist them

“I’m calling bullshit on that. The voice telling you ‘you won’t amount to anything’ is your asshole dad. You don’t have to listen to that guy. He has no idea what kind of an amazing son he has. I mean, just look at your art!” You unfurl ‘Anon the Brave’ and ‘Samurai Outlaw’

>Though crumpled up and riveted with fold marks, Samurai Outlaw looks just as cool – testament to Sam’s skill

>Sam stares at Samurai Outlaw

>And Samurai Outlaw stares back at Sam

>Like two wild rabbits meeting, an unspoken conversation carries out

>You, of course, prattle on while Sam’s eyes widen in realization

“You could easily get a scholarship with work like this, buddy. It’s killing me to see you so down on yourself about what you have to offer,” you shrug

>“You r-r-really t-t-think I c-c-could…” he hesitates, the next words stumbling on his lips “…g-g-get away? A-And people would w-w-want t-to buy my art? T-T-They would l-like me?”

“You’re giving me these for free, right?” You say with a laugh

>Sam squeaks and straightens his posture, earnestly looking up into your face

>“O-Of course! Y-Y-You c-c-can always have free a-a-art!”

“Damn right I can,” you LIGHTLY wrap Sam in a headlock and deliver a GENTLE noogie

>After a short, squeaking struggle in which Sam panics a little, the rabbit’s honey-brown eyes shift over to ‘Anon the Brave’

>“W-W-What about y-y-y-you?” He says, “d-don’t you t-think y-y-you could make it, too?”

>You barely contain a snort of laughter

“You ought to know me by know: I’m the type of person to jump out of the way of life’s train before it’s even around the bend, ya know? I have like, years to decide how I’m going to disappoint the people in my life. I don%apos;t need to decide now.”

>Sam mouths the words, ‘me too’, but instead of vocalizing the sentiment, he tips his head

>His big ears flop over

>“W-W-Why? Y-You’re really smart…”

>Pffft

“I’m nobody. Like you. If anything, I epitomize the word ‘average’. Average grades (all advanced classes), average performance with women, sub-average in athletics… I’m anonymous – literally.”

>The rabbit tightens into a ball, burying half his snout in the fabric of his jeans

>His expression deflates

>“I th-think, y-y-you’re r-r-r-really smart… and r-r-really b-brave… y-y-you stand up for your f-f-friends. I t-think that m-matters f-for something…”

>You resist the urge to smack Sam upside the head for making you ponder your life, and what value it adds to the world at large

>Nobody makes you ponder

>Yet, you unfurl the crumpled drawing a bit

>Mike and Alex spewed the same bullshit about you since you met them

>Sam must have talked to Mike or Alex too many times

>That’s all

>You’re still hopeless

>In trying to put your eyes somewhere that isn’t on Sam you flick your gaze to the clock

“Oh shit…” you rise from your spot against the wall

>“Hmm?” Sam joins you

“It’s almost my lunch period,” you sigh, feeling your constitution crumbling, like a spine made out of styrofoam

>“We-Well… we’re a-a-at the l-l-lunch room… do you wa-wa-want to e–e-eat tog-together?” Sam tries smiling up at you

>You watch the smile die on his face when you shake your head

“Sorry, dude. I’ve got a date with some cringe at the gym.”

>You instruct Sam to wait by the double doors to the gym – two steel-lined monsters, windowless, and you’re pretty sure airtight as well

>“Y-You want me to w-wait with… her?” Sam points a trembling finger at your target

>Gloria Duchene

>The goat sees you on-approach, so she takes a moment to smooth out her ankle-length denim skirt, and do a quick ‘breath check’

>Just watching her lips smack together as she tastes the morning communion wine on her tongue is enough to make you shiver

>She waves you over, a silver lunch box swinging in her free hand

>Her horns gleam in the light, and her fur is slicked back with moisture, as well as a lot of dry shampoo

>Fuck

>She looks like she actually put in effort for you

>Guilt is like a millstone around your neck right now – or, more accurately, a cross too heavy to bare

>You drag Sam behind you, regardless of how much of an awful human being you are

>You need this poor, sacrificial goat to defeat the goths

>Vanessa will probably give you another shot of courage when you deliver

>But you?

>You’re going to turn their charm, spell, hex – whatever – against them

>As you approach the goat girl, you feel a pit open up in your stomach, and your heart catches in your chest

>God, here’s that old familiar sting of regret, a heavy tonic that your wandering mind bathes in

>You allegedly can’t feel fear, but can you feel guilt?

>Puzzling

>“Hi, ‘Nonny!” Gloria calls,

>You wince at the word ‘Nonny’, and, like a good friend, you feel Sam flinch in your grasp

>Speaking of, Gloria sours at the sight of another – an intruder like Sam

>“Oh… Hello, heathen,” she says dismissively, her brows sloping in disproval

>You pull the bunny in tight against your side, forcing biggest possible smile despite the warning in your heart

“Hey there, Gloria! So I take it you’ve met Sam before.”

>In response, Sam shrinks into his hoodie

>Gloria’s hooves tap impatiently off the floor

>“Sam and I have been lab partners for four years in every God-hating science class we’ve been forced to attend at this evil institution. She smells bad and won’t come to my Bible study,” Gloria huffs

>‘She?’

>Sam’s body tenses, now more like a 2×4 board than a bunny

>Panic fills his expression, going from shy anxiety to pure unbridled fear, or even… shame

>Impatient, the goat rolls her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest

>She glares down on Sam like a judgmental god

>“Never mind all that. Will she be joining us?” Gloria says, her tone begging for a ‘no, she won’t’

>There it is again

>‘She’

>You paint on an even wider smile – so forced, so wide, that your cheeks hurt

>Holy fuck you don’t know how much longer you can keep this up

>A part of you begins to look forward to sacrificing her to the Vanessa and the goth kids

>Woah

>Just like Judas betrayed Jay-Z-us to the Romans

>Does that make you Judas?

>Well, this obnoxious, overtly-Catholic goat is certainly no Jesus, if you think about it

“No, Sam was actually just going back to class while we have our lunch,” you smile down at the rabbit

>Gloria’s eyelids flutter

>Her face warms with a relieved smile

>“Oh good- I mean, DARN,” she says, her barely disguised relief more obvious than the crucifix roped around her thin neck, “darn, darn, darn. That’s too bad, Sam. Anyway, thank you for escorting ‘Nonny back to me. Now, you don’t want to be late to class, do you?” She chides

>Gloria snatches your free hand and pirouettes you in a tight arc, so you’re facing away from Sam…

>…who stands there, helpless, sad, and…

>“S-Sorry,” he squeaks after you. “Have a g-good l-lunch!”

>…CUCKED

>You can hear it in his voice

>If only you could tell him what’s going on here

>Would he hate you for what you’re about to do?

>Hell, you hate you

>That’s no big achievement

>He probably wouldn’t have an opinion either way

>You hope

>You steel yourself before pushing in the double-doors to the gym

>Take a fortifying breath, Anon

>Everything is going to be okay, Anon

>You’re not a coward again, Anon

>Like the airlock on the International Space Station you have to force the doors to give

>You at last win out against whatever on the other side

>A rush of trapped air throws yours and Gloria’s hair back

>Is it just you, or are you suddenly a LOT weaker?

>It’s just nerves, right?

>It’s pitch-black in the gym when you step forward into the darkness, Gloria at your side

>The doors slam behind you with unnatural force

>The metallic click of the locks – which no student aside from maybe Sam can open – punctuates the unnatural silence

>Then…

>…one by one, the overhead gym lights snap on, each one illuminating only a small portion of the gym on their own

>Their warm yellow glow catches off the old, polished hardwood floor

>Gloria squeezes your hand with nerves

>You squeak in pain as you think she shattered a finger bone

>“Anon? What’s going on?” She bleats softly

>A sneering cackle fills the gym

>“Wait…” Gloria’s eyes narrow as she throws hear gaze around the room, “I know that evil laughter anywhe-”

>Gloria isn’t allowed to finish her sentence

>A throat-cutting growl rips through the gym, rattling your teeth

>It’s a sound so ugly and loud that Gloria claps her hands over her sensitive ears

>You follow the goat’s example

>Whatever is making that noise…

>…it’s not natural…

>…no anthro or animal sounds as loud or as hurt as that

>The last remaining overhead light – a mere spotlight trained on the center of the gym – clicks on

>Vanessa Doermuth, smug as can be, materializes from the black

>And she’s not alone

>A lanky human and a crotch-height rat stand at her side, trying to look intimidating

>They’re all decked out like Halloween never ended, or they listen exclusively to The Cure, which is an insult to Robert Smith for having to be associated with these dorks

>With a snap of Vanessa’s fingers black-nail-polish fingers, the horrible noise stops

>And then…

>…there’s a flash of light so bright that you shield your face

>And when it’s finally safe, you see the source of the noise:

>A huge, featureless black dog, tendrils of dark smoke curling off its body, sits obediently behind the goth kids

>The dog’s two white eyes burn at you with hunger and intent

>You have to admit, this is not looking good for you now

>Gloria steps in front of you, placing her stout body between you and the enemies of her god

>“Stay behind me, Anonymous!” Gloria shrieks

>The goat thrusts her crucifix necklace forward, like a holy ward against Vanessa and… that thing…

>The strange beast flinches and wavers at the sight,

>The otherworldly animal inches back at the sight of the cross

>You don’t move

>You can’t move, actually

>What the fuck is wrong with you? MOVE!

>Vanessa can only laugh with rib-sucking laughter, filled with hate

>“Oh, Gloria, how I’m going to miss tormenting you, you adorable little sacrificial goat,” Vanessa says at last

>Ignoring every word that comes out of Vanessa’s mouth, Gloria stomps forward, her crucifix parting the sea of black smoke radiating off the beast

>“Get OUT of here you degenerate! Go away in the name of God! My ‘Nonny and I are going to have lunch in here. Shouldn’t you be smoking sin sticks out behind the school, or like, cutting yourselves?”

>You at last will yourself to take your place behind Gloria

>Somehow you feel safe here, despite being a good six inches taller than she is

>The doe returns her answer with a scowl, her biting on her lower lip

>“Only EMO kids do that, dumbass! And shouldn’t you be on your knees in front of a priest, sucking out some forgiveness, not bothering us?”

>Gloria, fearless and stubborn as she is horny (HEH- Not now you fucking degenerate), continues forward with slow, plodding steps, as if she were battling against hurricane-force winds

>Strangely, the black smoke clears behind her as she walks

>“I will be! I totally will! I’ll be confessing my sins for what I’m about to do to you freaks if you don’t leave! I don’t need your forgiveness – just God’s!” Gloria cries, obviously missing the sexual overtones in Vanessa’s retort

>“I don’t think I’m going to let you touch me, whelp. In fact – I think I have use for you yet,” Vanessa smirks through her piercings

>What the fuck are those in her mouth? Are those…

>…fangs?

>Vanessa snaps her fingers, and the creature that once fled the sight of the crucifix appears behind its gothic master

>“My Behemoth only has half of its true power. But, now that Anon brought us everything we need today, well… even I have no idea what this thing will be capable of,” she says with another bout of snotty laughter

>Gloria turns around to face you, her face a mix of puzzlement and hurt

>“’Nonny, what does the degenerate mean when she says you ‘brought us everything we need’?”

>You open your mouth to speak, but no there are no words

>The hurt and the dawning realization of betrayal spread over Gloria’s face are enough to stun you

>Your throat tightens, like there’s a noose around your neck, and Vanessa is pulling the other end of the rope

>“You’ve been played, ‘sister,’” Vanessa’s victorious tone is not without a smug hatred of her sacrifice

>At that, the goth draws the Book of Wrath from her canvas tote bag and flips it open to an earmarked page

>You watch as Vanessa nips open her thumb using her elongated fangs

>She then smothers her crimson finger against the open book

>“Anonymous? This isn’t what I t-t-think it is, right?” Gloria says, taking a cautious step away from you

>The realization that she’s been betrayed be her love catching her like a pop-fly hits a little leaguer: hard, and in the face

>The Behemoth shrieks into a godless sky as Vanessa commands it

>Your palms clap over your ears

>Gloria watches as the beast vanishes from reality in a puff of black smoke

>Fucking hell that’s scary

>The goat lets her crucifix fall useless against her chest as she witnesses the near-fully-realized powers of Vanessa

>When she turns back to you, you can see it on her face now:

>Not hurt

>Not betrayal

>Fear

>“Why?” She says to you, voice only starting to shake

>That huge, shapeless, feral beast, wreathed in black smoke, blinks into existence just a few feet away from the two of you

>Gloria turns to the goths and cuts loose a furious ‘BAAAH!’

>It must be her survival instincts, as she pours all her malice and cruelty towards others into her next move

>Your good little goat aims her head low – her horns gleaming in the warm lights of the gymnasium – and charges at the Behemoth

>To you, she’s trying to commit suicide

>Gloria streaks forward with wild abandon, a hoarse scream torn from chest as she bleats her battle cry

>Despite the size of the Behemoth, the creature rears back, and moves with uncanny grace

>It winks out of existence as Gloria charges head-long through a body of dissipating smoke

>But, maybe the Behemoth wasn’t actually Gloria’s target?

>In fact, she accelerates her sprint through the smoke, her horns down, legs churning at a bone-shattering pace

>A feral, animalistic scream rips from her throat

>“IN THE NAME OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOR JESUS CHRIST, I WILL PARALYZE YOU FROM THE NECK DOWN YOU JEZEBEL!”

>Vanessa’s heavy eyes, caked in makeup, split open in a sudden realization

>Oh shit…

>The goat tears forward like an angry white comet, her skirt flowing behind her like the debris tail of dust skittering off the atmosphere

>In a hurry, Vanessa buries her head in the Book of Wrath, flipping around for a very specific page

>The other two goths that once flanked Vanessa dive to the side, leaving the doe to have her chest split open

>Gloria might actually-

>“GOT IT!” Vanessa cries, smearing more blood onto a page in her black book

>At that, Gloria’s movement is completely arrested, as she spins uselessly into the air, as if pulled into the ceiling by God at her puppet strings

>The doe opens her eyes, looks at Gloria trying to pull her skirt around her groin, and laughs

>“Look, you’re like a pretty little angel!” Vanessa sneers

>Gloria flails helplessly like a leaf caught in the wind, or a worm skewered with a hook

>“YOU COWARD!” She bleats down at you all

>Then, she turns to you, her arms instinctively looking for something to grapple onto

>“YOU KNEW, ANONYMOUS! YOU KNEW WHAT THEY WERE GOING TO DO TO ME!”

>You shrink back into yourself, turning your head down to the side in a move stolen from Sam

>Gloria%apos;s angry, desperate voice will be deeply etched into your memory, right where all those memories of your ninth birthday party fester, immune to therapists and drugs alike

>You pulled that kid’s tail cause he was an ASSHOLE

>“I TRUSTED YOU!” Gloria says, choking up

>Yet, you still can’t gather the courage to speak to her

>You can’t even say you’re sorry

>You, Anonymous

>Are a fucking coward

>Vanessa looks like she just ran through a car wash

>Her body shakes, and sweat mats her brown-dyed-black fur

>Her caked-on make up runs like black rivers down her brown fur

>At that, Vanessa spins the black book open again and starts tracing lines with her finger

>The Behemoth blinks in next to her, obedient as always

>Noticing its presence at her side, Vanessa’s mood sours

>“You STUPID mutt!” She says with a hoarse bark, swatting the beast as hard as she can with the Book of Wrath, “I almost got crusaded and you chickened out!”

>The Behemoth’s head rears back as the blow clocks it across the snot

>No yelp

>Just sterility

>“You still can’t control it?” The only other human — a poorly dressed, and pale young goth named Reese, says, “I thought you said would at least have command over it, even without the sacrifice!”

>“It doesn’t fucking matter, Reese. We have what we need right here, right now! And after the sacrifice is complete I’ll have more control over the Behemoth than ever.”

>Vanessa motions up to Gloria, who is currently spinning upside down

>“This is perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better catch, actually. Well done, Anon.”

>Gloria’s crucifix necklace slips out over her head and dangles from her curled horns

>“Without the power of God, you won’t win, you sick degenerates. The fires of hell await you!” Glora cries

>Her crucifix at last slips from her horns and clatters to the ground with incredible weight, as if cast in lead, as it dents the polished wood floors

>The Behemoth shrinks away from the artifact, a low grumble in its throat

>Vanessa laughs — either at the helpless goat or at the pain of her ‘pet’

>“You know, sweetie, that’s what I like so much about you — you’re just like everybody else. You never change. You’ll never see things our way. In fact, you probably won’t even beg for compassion, because you’re too damn stubborn.”

>“Absolutely NOT!” Gloria roars defiantly

>Vanessa smirks

>“See? That little attitude of yours is going to make this all the more pleasant for me.”

>“That’s where you’re wrong,” the stubborn goat retorts, “people can change! They can repent their sins, or they can just decide they want to change! Haven’t you pub-school heretics ever heard of a little prayer called… oh, I don’t know… THE ACTS OF CONTRITION?”

>You notice that even when Gloria spins your direction she avoids looking at you

>Understandable, considering you literally betrayed her to her doom

>Bleh, you deserve it, you lying, evil bastard

>“Nobody is listening to your prayers, Gloria,” Vanessa replies with ice in her tone, “and nobody changes. People can’t change – they’re assholes forever. Now, you’ve preached at us quite enough for today, hmm?”

>At that, Vanessa slams the Book of Wrath shut, cutting Gloria’s ‘strings’

>Gloria immediately plummets from the rafters, a horrified scream torn from her throat

>You start forward, almost as if you want to catch her

>Yet, you never move from the spot you’re helplessly rooted in

>You little bitch

>Gloria screams on the way down

>And then collides with the hardwoods, bouncing like a dead cat

Oliver Hart

Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.

Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall