Shifti - User contributions [en]

Wings of Freedom

2008-07-23T02:24:42Z

Johnothano:

{{byline|name=Johnothano|author=Johnothano}}

“Wings are far more than feathered arms. They are part mystery – and part miracle. For what bares high the body may also give flight to the soul.” From The Wings of Merlin

I pedaled hard. The wind swept back my hair and I flung my arms out wide, enjoying the feeling of wind rushing past me. With my eyes closed, I envisioned myself not on a bike, but with wings of my own, soaring on the sky.

Alas, friction slowed the bike down, and I came back to reality. I’m the product of a very premature birth from two aerodynamic engineers. I am tall and thin. Very thin. And I eat a lot. Go figure. Another fun catch is that I’ve been surrounded by airplanes and flight all my life. I used to love to go and look at the cockpits of the passenger jets I flew on so often. My greatest dream when I was little was to fly an airplane. I never did get a pilot’s license due to a move my family made. Although I’ve given up on becoming a pilot, I’ve never given up on flying. I have dreams of flying on my own wings, wings of flesh and blood, across the sky. I’m going into my senior year of high school and I am hopeless dreamer. I’ve researched all sorts of things on genetic engineering, and I know that a sort of human-avian cross is impossible. Birds are built for flight, humans are built for brains.

I pull in to my driveway, noting with caution a black van I have never seen before. My mom’s company, AIR (Aerospace Innovative Research) has done some backroom research work for the government that she doesn’t tell the rest of the family. I’m the systems administrator for her company, so I pretty much know exactly what she’s doing. I haven’t told her I know, because I’m embarrassed about it. The only reason I’m the Systems Admin is because she is tech illiterate. She needs someone to do it and I work for dirt cheap. Another reason not to tell, I could find my job outsourced to someone else.

I walk in to my house on the alert for anything unusual. The man in the suit with dark shades on my couch factors a 10 on the unusual scale. Ridiculously, the first thing I think of is how clichéd the man looks. Nervously I say, “Hi. I’m Jack, Beth’s oldest son. I’m the Systems Administrator for her company”. He smiles, “Your parents have already told me all about you”. Why do you want to know about me?, I wonder. I sit down saying, “Well then you have me at an advantage, Mr. ?”
“Blockwood. Now, can you tell me about this?” He holds up a notebook. I see the cover, and feel my anger replacing caution. “How much have you read?” There is an edge to my tone.
“Enough”, he responds flatly.
“That was personal, I never meant for anyone to read it or even know about it”.

What he was holding up was a notebook I wrote all my dreams of flight in. Sometimes, I’d draw pictures of the anatomy of humans with wings, and which organs would be needed and such. Sometimes, my entries were just rambles on how much I wanted to fly. It was all deeply personal stuff.

“Well, you have quite--”, I cut him off.
“How much have you told my parents?”
“They already knew”.
“What? I never told anyone about that book!”
“Well, when you leave a notebook out, people tend to read it”. My rage switched targets. How dare they infringe on my privacy like this!
“Now back to what I was saying. It seems you would like to fly. Well, I think we can arrange something…”
“What are you talking about?” Curiosity held my anger back now
“We can give you wings, Jack. Wings for flight”.
“Who is ‘We’ and how come everything I’ve ever read points to the ‘your lying your face off’ category?”
“If you knew who ‘we’ were, we’d have to kill you. We have a new DNA treatment we’d like to… ah… test out so to speak”.
“Something tells me that the mortality rate is high here, or I’m a guinea pig for something that scientists don’t quite understand… deals off”.
“I was afraid you might say that. Let me show you something”. He passes what looks like a miniature T.V. to me. What I see in the screen takes the breath out of me. Mom, Dad and My 10 year old little brother, Jeff, are bound and gagged and there is a gun pointed to the back of Jeff’s head.
“Oh my god…” I glare at him. “This is horrible! If I say I’m in will you release them?”
“Yes”.
“I’m in then… and screw you”.
He pulls out a cell phone. “Yes… release them, he’s in”.

He walks out of my house to the black van; I follow after arming the alarm and locking up my house. I climb into the passenger seat in the front. “Here. It’s the scientific dissertation of what our DNA treatment does”.
“This is huge”. I thumb through the pages. 200 and some odd pages! I’d better know exactly what the hell was going to happen to me. Looking over at him, I respond,
“Your people aren’t big in PR are they? Because right now, the last thing I want to do is take a road trip with you”. His response shocks me to silence.
“I didn’t want to do it either… I’m sorry. I hope they didn’t hurt your family…”

I spent most of that road trip reading the dissertation. It took 3 days to get from where I lived to about 40 mi. out of Phoenix, Arizona where the lab and living quarters were. I also befriended Blockwood. He really was not a bad guy. He was struggling to make ends meet as a police officer in southern Louisiana. He took this job because he needed the money so his daughter could get through college. He hated some of the tactics the lab used to get potential ‘recruits’. However, when I pressed about who the other people where, he remained silent. I also managed to get in contact with my family from a payphone outside of a Motel 6. They were all fine. I silently prayed I’d be fine too.

Basically, the scientists at this lab had engineered modified avian DNA that would allow my body to blend the aspects of bird and human. Before any genes were added or even taken away, a bit of specialized RNA unzipped my DNA and cut it where new DNA would be placed. It also sped up the development of new organs to match my human age. Finally, it made my body receptive to DNA change. Quite a biological marvel. The bird DNA was engineered to fit where the new brakes were and take away some of my human DNA as well. The last bit, to me at least, was the most important. Another bit of specialized RNA would run through my DNA strands and check to make sure it all worked out. If it didn’t, the RNA would find the DNA necessary and ‘fix’ and problems. This eliminated any chance mutations due to the process. This whole process worked due to some nanotechnology that AIR had helped develop during a backroom deal for the government. Funny how sometimes what you do and don’t do can come around. Real funny.

“Well, it looks like they piggybacked the whole thing on a modified virus… I’ll might get sick for a while…”, I say hesitantly. “I don’t like that… not at all”.
The van stops.
Blockwood looks at me. “Sorry for all of this… and good luck”.
I smile. “Not your fault. Tell your daughter to study hard and stuff”.

I walked into a white building with a sign that said ‘Reception’. Blockwood had left in the van. It was HOT out here in Arizona. As I walked in the air conditioning hit me at full force. A receptionist smiled at me and said, “Hey. You must be Jack. Last but not least I always say.” She was WAY too happy. So happy, it was annoying. “Yeah… so where do I go?” I say quietly. “Just follow me.” She was… bubbly. I can’t think of a better word. Happiness just bubbled over in her like a bottle of shaken soda. I waked into a waiting room. Again I lost my breath on who I saw there.

“Jake? Max? What the hell are you guys doing here?”
“Same as you man… though its nice to see another familiar face”, Jake said.
“When do they start?” I asked
“Tomorrow… that’s why they prepped you on the drive”.
“Oh…” I turned to bubbly lady. “Can he show me around? We are friends.” I tried to smile. I really did.
“Sure.” Still annoyingly happy.
Max got up, “Come on, we’ll show you around.”

For the next hour or so, I learned about the compound. Jake and Max somehow got here a day earlier, even though we were abducted on the same day. I asked them how they felt about the whole thing. Max was all for it. In fact, during the ‘tour’ he would go into all the possibilities flight and wings would bestow on us. Jake wanted absolutely nothing to do with all of this. He had tried to escape last night. The guards found him and brought him back. (Yep, they surrounded the place with barbed wire and armed guards. Very cliché) I fell somewhere in the middle. I wanted wings, yeah, but this was wrong…

After the tour, which ended in our shared room, Jake said, “O.K. guys, I got an idea for getting out of here tonight…”
“Why?” Max responded. “Think about all we can do with wings! Flight for Christ’s sake. We’ll be able to fly!”
“No… we’ll be outcasts from society, never allowed to set foot in any town or city! We’ll be freaks! Don’t you get it?! Get your head out of the clouds, Max!” Jake yelled.
“We’ll find a way! We’re smart Jake! Don’t forget that you have that tracker on your wrist from the last time you tried to run. We don’t have enough time to figure out how to run…”
Jake looked cast fallen. “Oh yeah… Jack… you can use my plan… the main gate shifts guards at 9. You can sneak through then…”
“And leave you two here? We’ll get through this together. We’ll find a way to be normal Jake…I promise you.” Where the hell did that come from?
A single tear rolled down his cheek. “God, Jack… look at yourself. I’ve never seen you so resolute or determined about something before…” Jake said. “How though? We’ll have huge wings on our backs…”
“We don’t know how much we can fold them…we may be able to look normal in loose clothes. We worry about one problem at a time, O.K.? First is this DNA treatment. We can’t escape, I doubt we can fight, so we take it. Then, I don’t think we’ll just be free to go. We’ll escape here, and maybe figure out if there is a way to undo what will be done to us. Got it?” Where the hell was all this coming from? I was not a leader.
“Sounds good to me.” Jake said with a smile.
Max spoke up, “Your plan is good and all, but what if some of us don’t what to change back?”
“Then don’t.” I smile. “Lets get some rest.”

The sun streams through our window. I blink back at the light as I wake up. My friends are already up. Someone knocks at our door.
“Rise and shine, nestlings!” Oh, God it was bubbly lady. Wait, nestlings!? I sigh in relief when I realize I don’t have wings. Max chuckles at my sigh. “You really don’t like her, do you?” “No… when she said… you know what? Forget it”.

We ate a huge breakfast at the mess hall. “How many kids did you say are here?” I ask Max. “Dude, about 200… it’s a miracle there hasn’t been any leaks about all of this.”
“Yeah.” I shudder to think of some of the tactics that must have been used. I wonder what they made Mr. Blockwood do for them.
“Attention all patents! We will start with the oldest of you to the youngest.”
Smart, the oldest were the most likely to try to escape.
“So all 17 year olds please report to the lab.”
As we walked out, we saw armed guards watching our every move and also watching the mess hall for any signs of escape.
We arrived at the lab, a huge 5 story building.
“Ok, all patents First names A through J please enter the building. I trust you can find your way to your respective room; it has your name on it. You should not have to go above the third floor. Good luck”, a man in a white laboratory coat said.

I said my goodbyes, and found my room on the third floor quickly. When I got there their already was a doctor and a few nurses ready to go. So much for a wait to collect my thoughts. As I got on the bed, my arms and legs were tied and bound.
“Knock me out… right now. I don’t want to remember any of this. Not even hazy”
Thankfully, a nurse slipped a mask over my mouth, and I lost consciousness.

I woke up to a throbbing between my shoulder blades. I rolled over on my bed to in a better position. That’s the problem with wings, can’t lay on your back at all—wait wings?! I was up in a flash. I sat up and stretched out my wings. My god, they did it… I wondered how long I’d been out. My God… My God… wings felt so weird, and yet also so right. I tried an experimental flap. No that can’t be right… the air wasn’t under my wings right. I knew a lot about aerodynamics, and that was not right. Max woke up second. He yawned, then stretched his wings until the wingtips until they touched the ceiling. His eyes opened wide. “No way…”, I heard him mumble. He sat up too. “How long have you been up?” He asked me. “A few minutes at most”, I responded. Jake’s eyes flicked open. His hand brushed against his wing when he rolled over for a better position. His eyes opened so wide, he looked like he should be in some cartoon. “They did it”, he said simply. I got up, and realized that the shirt I had been wearing was gone. I looked back at my bed, and saw the torn fragments of it. Wow. I looked in the dresser for the first time, and found the shirts there had slits in the back for wings. I put a shirt on, and then told my friends, “I’m gonna go to that big field in the center of this compound and see what’s up with everyone else”. I got a pair of nods, then I opened the door, walked through, and hit my wings on the closing door.

I muttered a curse under my breath, and then clenched my wings as tightly as I could. Well, we could fold them in tight enough to slip a windbreaker over, so no worries with us never being able to blend in. Yeah right. As I walked to the field, my mind filled with worries. When could I go home? Could I ever lead a normal life? What if the wings don’t work? What else in my body was changed?

I walked out toward the field, then found about 30 winged mutant kids had already woken up, and were exploring like I was. I asked some of the older kids how their ‘operation’ went, and got stories similar to mine. Several kids were trying to fly. The range of motion was off. Our wings were attached to our backs, maybe our shoulder blades. They were flapping perpendicular to the ground, so the best they could hope for was to blow themselves down. I stretched out my wings and tried to figure out what I could do with them. I maneuvered my wings several ways, but could not seem to be able to get the wing to ‘cut’ the air at a parallel level to the ground. After I figured that, hopefully a running jump could get enough air movement for a takeoff.
BAM!
I stumbled and nearly fell over. Spinning around, I glared at a big kid (10 bucks says he’s a football star). This kid was unnaturally ripped. It was almost disgusting how big his muscles looked. Then I noticed something quite crazy. He did not have wings. Somehow stopping my mouth from dropping open, I said, “Hey, watch where you’re going!”

Normally, I would have let the whole thing pass. But, today I was frustrated with my inability to fly, and really worried about my future and my friends.

“Why should I have to worry about some mutant freak?!”, he responded. Fighting words.
“What, mama’s boy is sad because his body is too fucked up with steroids to undergo a DNA treatment?” Now, that was quite a few guesses in there. Mostly, I was just looking for insults. I was letting all my anger and stress out at someone who was quite a bit bigger than me. I win the noble prize for stupidity.

“Shut up, freak!” He yelled (with a surprising amount of venom) and aimed a punch at me. I was never a fighter. The last time I got into a fight was in the third grade, which I started and lost. That tends to kill any desire to start a fight again. Ever. However, to my fast bird-biased reflexes and vision (I learned this later), he was moving in slow motion. Adrenaline pumping, I stepped back to doge his punch and then leapt in the air (unnaturally high, I must have gotten two feet up) and delivered a snap kick to his face. His head snapped back to a crazy angle and blood seemed to pour out of every pore in his face. Apparently, I was also unnaturally strong. His head seemed to bounce back to a more normal angle, and his eyes rolled up inside of his head. Crazy. I just knocked out someone with one kick to the head and busted up quite a bit more. Scary. His body fell backward with a horrible sounding thud

A low approving whistle came in from behind me. Jake had seen the whole thing. “Wow… dude, that was crazy…”, his mouth was open so wide, I could have fit my head in it. Easy. However, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I saw how much damage I did. Fuck, I may have killed him.
“He needs help!”, I yelled at Jake. Blood was everywhere. On the ground, on my shoe, in his hair, in his shirt, and his face looked like someone covered it in red paint. Jake ran off to find a doctor.

“What happened here?” Oh boy, a guard. Just what I needed right now. Awesome.
“Sir…” well, the truth will set you free right? “Sir, he tried to attack me. I was acting in self defense.”
“Oh? Is that why you have no bruises or scrapes at all and his face looks like it went through a meat grinder?” He grabbed the body. “Come along with me.” Crap.

“Well, you broke his nose, jawbone and wrecked his mouth, not to mention some muscle damage in his throat due to the whiplash”, the doctor/scientist said. I saw how much damage I did on an x-ray. Wow. “I did not know I was that strong, sir”, I said, trying to look innocent.
“We need to run a few tests on you to see what other surprises your body has in store for us”.
“Wait, you’re not mad?”
“Not in the least. We knew you would get stronger, but had no idea how strong. You had no idea. However, due try to be more careful”. I gave him a somber nod.
“Yes, sir…. But”
“What?” He was curious, it was written all over his face.
“Why did he not get wings… ok by that I mean, why did the treatment not work on him?”
“You guessed it right, according to the testimony by your friend. His body was no longer receptive to our serums because of drug use”.
“O.K, what kind of test are you thinking about?”

Several tests later…

“Well, I’ll be damned”, the doctor breathed. “You are predominantly human, but you have quite a few avian aspects to you… and some aspects that are totally new”.
“Please fill me in…” I said nervously.
“The totally new stuff is your heart and lungs. You heart is super-efficient and also beats very quickly. Also, your blood cells are capable of transporting more oxygen than a human or bird. You have slightly expanded lungs and air sacs, like birds, to get enough oxygen for flight. Your bones are ultra-light, but not brittle in the least. They are actually quite strong. You’ve grown about 3in. with the operation, and actually lost some weight. Your muscle structure is astounding. It seems like you can rotate your shoulder blades outwards to provide a more horizontal axis for your wings… amazing”.

I was free to go, so I said my goodbyes and walked out into the midday sun. I went to the mess hall and ate a ton. I’m not joking. I’ve never eaten so much in my life… ever. I caught up with Max and Jake, who had spent the morning trying to fly, and trying to look normal, respectively. In fact, Jake had a windbreaker over his shirt and wings, and looked rather normal, quite unlike the 17 year old avian-human cross he was. That was good. We could at least try to live semi-normal lives after all this. Max was frustrated by his failure to take flight. He’d been trying to fly for about three hours. “Max, I think I know why you haven’t--” I was cut off.
“Attention, all patents. We would like to run several tests on all of you. This may take several days. So that none of you accidentally slip out and get lost, we are placing trackers on all of you”. What? Time to leave. My friends and I rose up out of our chairs and ran toward the exit. No Good! It was blocked by two security guards, who deftly grabbed us as we tried to stop short of running into them. I felt a cold metal band around my wrist, and heard one say, “Well, our near escapee tries and fails again…” I was shoved through the door, along with my friends.

The next three days were amazingly boring. My mind was consumed with worry. Worry for my friends, worry for my family, and worry for my self. For two days I struggled with out any success to get my tracker off my wrist. I also never remembered to tell Max that we could angle our wings more horizontally. I forgot about that myself. Jake disappeared for three days, only to show up in our room to go to sleep. He eventually showed us a notebook that had all the guard shift times. Studious to say the least. Max had been also off to himself. He walked in our shared room the same time Jake showed me the notebook. “We can’t fly man…” max moaned to me, “The wings are all show…”
Then it hit me that I never told Max what the doctor told me.
“Umm… Max did I ever finish telling you what I started to tell you in the mess hall the day we got trackers?”
“Ummm…” a pause. “No you never did. What were you going to say?”
“I know how to fly.”
At that moment, a kid busted in our room. He had wings, but looked scared and flustered. “Has any of you seen my brother?”
“What?” I answered. “Slow down kid, tell us the whole story”.
“My brother was in the first group of kids to get tested, but they never came back! It’s been three days! He was always kind of a loner, but I never wanted to loose him! Please, has any of you seen him!” I realized at that moment that the kids they called for testing never came back. All my internal alarms went off, but I managed to remain calm. “Kid, he may be in another room… keep looking”, I said.
He just ran off.
I turned to my friends. “We got to get out of here, now. The tests that they are running are just a way for them to get at some of the kids and drag them away from the rest of us. I don’t know what they are doing to the selected kids, but it can’t be good. Max, the secret to flight is we need to angle our shoulder blades more horizontally, in order to catch the wind in the right direction, after that… remember to flap”.
Jake looked at me. “O.K, so the next guard shift is in 10 minutes at the east wall, but this is all null and void if we can’t get these things off”, he said, showing me our trackers.
“We just have to risk it”.
“No you don’t”, said a voice I never thought I’d hear again. Mr. Blockwood!
I spun around and saw him holding a key chain with a huge amount of keys on it.
“I lifted this from a rack in a lab. Here are the three keys to your locks”, he said handing us the keys. I took my tracker and stuffed it under my pillow, my friends did the same.
“I’ve heard what they eventually want to do to all of you, the scientist that did some real tests on you told me. You don’t want it to happen to you. We’re working together to try and free all of you, but you’ve got to tell me how and if you kids can fly”, he asked me. “We just move our shoulder blades out…” I showed him how I managed to curve my wings more horizontally. “After that, a good running jump should get us high enough to get lift on a powerful down stroke. After that, well… remember to flap”, I said.
“Gotcha… I’m sorry about all of this. That scientist is sorry too. You boys get out of here, and don’t turn around for nothing!”
As we ran out into the hall, a compound guard noticed me with out a tracker. “Hey, what is going on here?” he demanded at me. I spun around ready to show him not to mess with a mutant freak, when Blockwood put a hand on my shoulder. “You, fly away. I got this guy.” Blockwood charged him and took him out with a roundhouse kick. “I’ll help the others, you guys get out of here!”

As we ran out to the central field, we sped past several other kids. I had been so lost in my own problems, that I never saw how few kids there were around. Maybe Blockwood and the scientist had only just started, I thought. But as I glimpsed the starry sky, I remembered all the names they had called in for ‘testing’. I would not have been surprised if more than 100 kids had been called. The guards were ready for us, already spreading into a circle to trap us in. Bubbly Lady was in the center. She called out to us as we ran toward her, “Going somewhere, dears?” She still sounded happy! Max and Jake where yelled out instructions on how to fly. I smiled. You might want to try a cage, I thought, to capture something with wings. I slid my shoulder blades out and sprinted. Leaping forward and up I flapped down hard with my wings. I did not hit the ground. I flapped again. I gained altitude. I was flying!

Flying is one of those great indescribable things. It’s part euphoria, part freedom. It feels like nothing can take you down, like you’re in control of the whole world. You feel stronger, and more powerful than ever before. With each down stroke I felt better and better. As I beat my wings, I yelled insults and threats to the astonished faces of my captors. I heard from below, “How did they figure out how to fly?” I yelled back, “We’re part bird, nimrod! We’d figure out how to fly eventually!” I heard the distinctive sound of gunfire. All of the sudden, a bright patch of red appeared on the wing of the girl above me. She fell fast. One of the kids below us caught her, and I yelled, “Come on! Lets fly away from these poor chemistry dropouts!” I smiled as we flew far from the compound into the starry sky.

An hour or so later…

By some bizarre group impulse, we all (more or less) camped at the same stretch of desert. Several kids had several fires going as we all camped in our own groups. I sat, looking into the fire Jake had made, and just relaxed. The last hour or so had been crazy. The guards had followed us for a time before giving up. I saw at least three kids go down with gunshot wounds. My worries had seemed to mount up even after my escape. Where the hell were we? Did anyone still have a tracker? Was everyone O.K.? What were we going to do next? I was starving. I had only eaten a huge dinner, what 5 hours ago? How could I be so hungry? What time was it for that matter? Where my parents O.K.?

That last question changed my focus. I’d take a rest here for the night, but after that I was off to find my parents. Hunger could wait. I told my plan to my friends my plan. Max nodded, but Jake seemed a little more worried. “What if… what if our parents don’t want us anymore? I don’t know if they’d like the wings and stuff…” I put my arm around him. “They won’t mind the wings. Your parents will love you no matter what you look like. At least we came out of this with out any mental damage, and can still use our limbs. We’re stronger, more agile and can see better than the average human. We can hide our wings somewhat. All in all, I’m worried about my parent’s safety more than how they’ll perceive me when I get them”. Max then spoke up, “Look, we don’t know where we are, how do we know which direction to fly in?” I faced east. “Well, we go east until we see a town, then we pick up a map and figure it out from there”. Wait, how the hell do I know which direction is east? I point toward the distance. “Do you guys think this is east?” I got a pair nods, and then a pair of startled glances. Max figured it out. “We’ve got a hawk’s vision so I guess we’ve also got a hawk’s directional sense”.
That made sense. I nodded. “Good night”, I told my friends. I curled into a ball on the desert sand, and folded my wings over me like a blanket. I must have been tired, and was asleep in seconds.

The next day…

“There is no way this is 180 miles from the other town. This map must be wrong”. We had got up early, and took off before dawn. We stopped in the first town we saw. We then got lucky. Jake still had his windbreaker, so he went into town. An errant man left his credit card at a gas station. Now I am against stealing, but I am sure this man was a Good Samaritan and would have let us ring up some crazy charges on his credit card. Anyway, Jake went into a Gap outlet and bought us all new clothes. There was also a McDonald’s, and we caused a bit of a disturbance with the amount of food we ordered. Apparently, it is uncommon to order 2 double quarter pounders per person. Who would have thought? I had a theory about why I could eat so much. Flight was very energy intensive and we had super fast metabolisms to make the energy required. We also found an AAA outpost and managed to pick up a map there. We then flew for two hours. Apparently, even though Max could not believe it, we managed 90 miles an hour. Plus, we don’t need to worry about traffic. It’s rather cool.

However, I was hungry again. Also, my wings burned. Flight was exhausting. We stopped at another tiny town the seemed to be built for a mall in the middle of nowhere. According to our map, we were somewhere over Texas. I told my friends that we were stopping there for a refuel and take a needed break. I got two tired nods of assent. We dove down about three miles away from town. I hoped to God no one saw us. We tucked our wings in and pulled our windbreakers over them. At the mall, we got an entrée from nearly every spot at the food court. Several amazed people watched us eat the large amount of food we ordered. In fact a well-meaning father walked up to us and said, “Are you boys O.K.?” Before I could stop him, Max got up and said, “Yeah, flight just really makes you hungry”. We left the mall before the man could recover. I looked at Max wrathfully. “Look, the way that guy looked was funny as hell, but we really can’t afford to drop ‘hints’ about our wings, alright?” He chuckled, “Yeah, whatever”.

We flew for another two hours, then decided to get dinner and crash for the night. We stopped at a Wendy’s. Again, we shocked the staff with the sheer amount of food we ordered. I had a feeling I needed to get used to that. We then checked into a Motel 6 and promptly crashed for the night. We locked our door, threw the dead bolt and put a chair against it just to be safe. After closing the curtains, we all let our wings stretch out a bit. I think I fell asleep before I hit the covers.

The next morning, we found out that our credit card had been canceled when we tried to buy a bag to carry in flight rations on. Looks like the last leg of our journey would be one straight shot home. We were looking at about 5 hours in the air. Fuelled on by a big breakfast from the hotel (it was complementary), we started this marathon flight. It was rough. About three hours in, my stomach started to growl. Four hours in, my wings began to ache. I did not think I’d be able to make it. At one point, I was only able to keep going when I thought about what the lab people might do to my parents. Sheer willpower kept me in the air. I was boosted on however, when I began to see familiar sights. We landed a few miles outside of town by the interstate.
We split up when we got to town with a promise to call each other about our families ASAP. I walked up to my house uncertainly. My mind racing I knocked on the door.

“Hello? Oh My God… Jack!”, my mother embraced me warmly. “It’s so good to have you back!” She was crying on my shoulder. “Mom, I can’t breathe. Let’s talk inside”. My mom nodded and called my Dad in. We sat down on the living room, and I told my parents the whole story. Every last bit. For my mom’s sake, I left out all the connections with AIR and the lab people. When we got to the point where I got wings, I pulled of my windbreaker and showed them my wings. Both my parents were totally awestruck. I began to tell them my warning when I was done. “Mom, they might come after you or Dad next, to try and force me to go back. You’ve got to leave, disappear. Stay at a relatives house or something, just drop off the grid. Please”. At that moment, the door bell rung. Two large men with pistols at their hips in suits where at the door. I guess we did not travel fast enough after all. I got up and glared at them. My fingers curled into fists. I’d been worried sick and running for two days. Inwardly, I knew that normally I’d be much stronger and faster than them, but after my marathon flight, we’d be more even matched. I smiled as they opened the front door. It was fighting time.

“Well, Jack, you’ve ran right home, just like a little kid. And here we are, the big bad men, here to take you back. Perhaps you’ve should of thought more about all of this”, the man on the left said.
“I don’t know if you talked to a certain doctor, but I’m close to three times your speed and two times your strength. You two overgrown buffoons have nothing on me”, I replied.
“We’ll se about that!”, the one on the right raged as he dove at me. Jeez, talk about over inflated ego. I jumped left and brought all my strength into an overhand strike. My hands slammed into his back, knocking him to the floor with an oof. The other pulled out his gun. I rushed him. Unprepared for my speed I slammed my fist in his gut and grabbed his firearm and wrenched it from his grasp. I tossed it away. The other got up and tackled me from my blind side. With some hidden instinct, I moved with the grab, and managed to flip him over my shoulder. As I completed the throw the other punched me hard getting me across the face. I staggered back and he followed through with another punch and a kick to my torso. I slammed in the couch. I saw stars, but managed to will my self to get up again. My vision was blurry.

I heard my mother yell in the most pained voice I’d ever heard. Like her soul was being wrenched in half. “NO! Not my son, don’t you DARE--”, then her voice cut out. White hot fury replaced my exhaustion. “I did not fly all this way to let you take my parents!”, I yelled. I was up again. I shook off the pain I felt. My vision cleared. One of the men in suits had my Mom and was telling her to shut up or die. I lept up from my position and sprinted at the man holding my mom. I jumped over both of them then spun around and aimed a powerful kick to the back of the man’s knee. He crumpled and fell. I rushed the second man again. My furry lent me strength and precision I never knew I had. I hit him with a right hook, than an uppercut with my left hand. As he staggered back I kept running at him and kicked him with the same snap kick I used on the kid in the field. My kick did not do nearly as much damage, perhaps cracking his jawbone. I walked back to the first and relieved him of his fire arm. Cocking it, and fusing around with it I managed to flick the safety. “Now both of you get the hell out, and don’t think of coming back. If your lab people send more goons, I’ll give them the same beating I gave you two. Get out of my life. Now.” They were up in a flash, and pulling out of my driveway even faster. I slumped down and felt myself beginning to fade.

I woke up in my bed. I was still hungry, but my head did not hurt and my chest felt better too. As I slumped out of my room, I found both my Dad. He had a huge meal ready on the table. Dad saw me and smiled as he called me to come over and eat. I laughed (and surprised my self when it didn’t hurt) and told him, “You probably didn’t make enough. I eat a lot now”. Dad laughed.
“I made quite a bit of food… you’d better be eating more now”.
I ate almost all of it. Dad was surprised to say the least. After I finished, he spoke up. “Son, your mom went out grocery shopping. We need to talk about some things your mom and I discussed. We are going to stay here…wait before you object.” He held up a hand, and I fell silent. “You are going to take self defense courses, and other than that we are going to lead a normal life”. “How?”, I questioned. Dad smiled. “Your mom came clean with me, so I guess you should know too. The people--”. I stopped him. “The DNA therapy treatment thingy worked with some nanotechnology developed by AIR, I knew all about it”. Now Dad was silent again. “How did you know?”
“I saw every document she ever wrote and out on the web or sent by e-mail. I’m her systems administrator, so I got access to everything she did”.
“Oh. Well, anyway, we’ve blackmailed the company. We threatened to expose them if they ever tried to kidnap anyone ever again. They agreed to stop kidnapping in exchange for secrecy”.
I smiled. “You clever rascals. However, won’t they still come after us? They might not be able to kidnap anyone, but if they get us… wait, how do we even know they kidnapped someone? It’s not like they left a huge trail when they kidnapped me”.
Dad shook his head. “We won’t be able to stop them totally, but they can’t touch anyone we know without getting at us first. Both your friends, Max and Jake that were involved in the whole thing have all the info we do. So, they have to get all three of you, and your families to totally shut us up”.
I looked at my Dad. “It’s not foolproof. I would feel safer if we just dropped off the grid for a while”.
“Son, we can’t do that…we have lives here, lives we can’t just give up”.
I nodded quietly. “O.K. I see your point… I need to sort out all my feelings though, these last couple days have been one hell of a rollercoaster ride”. I walked out to my garage. I got on my bike and rode off, smiling as the wind blew back my hair. Flight was so much better it wasn’t even funny.

[[Category:Johnothano]]
[[Category:Story]]
[[Category:Avian]]

Conversions

2008-07-22T02:30:41Z

Johnothano:

{{byline|name=Johnothano|author=Johnothano}}

{{author note| My first shot (and perhaps only) at a Blind Pig story. Constructive criticism is wanted and appreciated as usual.}}

I saw the bar from a ways off. Eagle eyes in earnest. A few drinks might be nice, I thought, knowing full well however that now I only drink to forget. SCABs tended to do that to you. I paused, considering my options. Most shelters won’t take people that are drunk out of their minds, but if I decided to find a shelter, I’d have to spend tonight remembering what SCABs did to my life. I choose the drink and fending for myself on the streets. I walked briskly in the late-autumn chill.

Most SCAB-friendly bars I went to were depressing. People went there to drink to forget. I wandered from town to town, living off whatever I could find or get for free. Most of the time, I ate freshly killed rats and mice. Before you go to puke, I’m a golden eagle animorph. I really have two states I alternate in, a more humanoid state and full out eagle. In my most human, I’ve still got feathers, a tail and a beak.

This place was different from the other bars. I could see that from about two blocks away. This place was not sad. Rather, I could hear sounds of laughter as I got closer, the lights seemed to twinkle merrily and the SCABs inside were not the usually sad bunch, or the occasional angry bunch, but a different breed altogether. They seemed to take there changed status in stride, and get on with life with a smile.

Good for them, I thought grumpily. I was reminded of a line from Jethro Tull’s First Snow on Brooklyn, where Ian Anderson croons, “Now, it's the first snow on Brooklyn and my cold feet are drumming/You don't see me in the shadows from your cozy window frame”. I felt like that. Unwanted and uncared for. Cold too. I walked in, and sized the place up. The bar was well lit, but dim enough to create darker corners and long shadows. The place was actually quite large, with booths where some of the more timid prey animals talked in hushed tones. The bar was well equipped for SCABs, I saw all manner of specialty equipment from paw cups to beanbag chairs for flightless birds. This place must really be a hotspot in order to afford all of that, I thought. The patrons themselves were quite varied. There was a man at the piano, singing something from Bob Dylan, and a couple of lupines where howling along. Quite a few patrons glanced up at me and sized me up. Some shrugged and went back to their business, some kept a close eye on the newcomer, but many morphs with enhanced smelling crinkled their noses. Nothing goes by an eagle unnoticed. I probably smelled like shit, actually to be more on the mark, piss, but I really didn’t give a damn.

I had other issues. My predator instincts were kicking in, and kicking hard. I wanted to dig in to the feast around me. Mice, rabbits, voles, even a raccoon in the back, all here for the taking. I took a step in further, and let the door close behind me. I closed my eyes, and told myself that these were people, not food and that I was not a golden eagle, not a predator come for his prey. I was just a sad, kicked out and lonely hobo looking for a drink. Closing my eyes has always helped me to curtail the instincts.

I chose a barstool that had a few empty barstools by it. I wanted to be alone tonight and quickly bowed my head and prepared to wait. I looked like street trash, with a faded red hoodie that was on the brink of being scrapped, an old tee shirt that had yellowed with age, a pair of jeans that had more holes in them than material. I never wore shoes or socks; they just don’t make stuff for talons. I knew that this was a more respectable bar, hell it had a piano and pool table. They probably didn’t want my “kind” here. It was, however, a SCABs bar and I was going to get my drink. Screw all of that class stuff, after all, those upper-middle class bigots were the reason I was living my life like this. I had no idea how long it had been, and I tried my best not to think about it. It had happened so suddenly.

I glanced up and saw the barkeep, a huge man with a bull head. I was surprised to say the least. Some barkeeps never would serve me unless I asked, and then only did it because I would give them hell if they didn’t. Most just put me low on their list of people to serve. I got a drink, but after every one else got their drinks. “Give me the cheapest thing you got on tap. If you got a bottle that’s cheaper, I’ll go for that”, I told him. The barkeep wandered away, and I was again surprised I didn’t get the old jaw drop reaction that I could talk.

The barkeep was good, and I got my drink (beer from the tap) quickly and silently thanked God that I could still process all the normal things humans could. I had still remained faithful all these years, and tonight was a good one, so why loose my faith now? I was in a good bar, a place where I didn’t have to worry about getting mugged, I had a good barkeep and money to pay for the ale I was about to drink. I was warm for the first time in a while. So why on earth was I still depressed?

I took a long gulp from my glass, and put it down to find the barkeep signing something at me. My eyes widened in shock. I hadn’t used sign in so long, I was surprised I still remembered some of the motions. I remembered using it to pass along answers back in high school… can’t think about that kind of stuff tonight. I shook my head and signed that I needed to see that again. I don’t think I wanted to talk out of my troubled mood, but I wanted to talk out sheer curiosity. I wanted to see what kind of grasp I still had on the language. I had no idea, but this was the start of an important night, and the start of me finally turning my life around.

You want to talk about something?, he signed. I started to try and sign back that I didn’t want to talk to anybody when I couldn’t. I just didn’t remember all the motions. I fumbled around for a bit and then just gave up. I was embarrassed and felt a blush, but I knew I didn’t show it. Feathers don’t turn red.

“Its been forever since I last signed… I’m- I’m sorry, I just don’t remember all the motions. I…I guess now I kind of owe you my story. My name’s Chris…,” I said.
My name is Donnie, and well, I got time for a story. If you don’t want to tell, fine, he signed back. I needed him to resign a few things, but I got the sentence in the end.

I looked into my drink and toyed with it for a few minuets. I really hated talking about my past… but I’d told other barkeeps the whole thing when I was drunk enough, and Donnie was good. I would probably tell him it anyway, later tonight. No harm done, I thought if only one person hears about it. Now that I wanted to talk, I had to figure out where to start. I took a deep breath and began.

“I’m…I’m from central Alabama. We really don’t get too many people up that way, so ours was one of the last communities to be hit by the Flu. I got it, just like everyone else. My uncle died from it. I got off with just flu-like symptoms, but I… I also got SCABs. I transformed into a golden eagle in the middle of catholic mass. Heh, I was actually singing lead in the choir when it happened. It was so fast, I never even figured out what the hell happened. One moment I was gearing up my voice to jump up an octave, the next, I’m screeching as an eagle to go in for the kill… It was the St. Patrick’s Day mass and on that mass our priest does a blessing of all pets. I killed a small pet ferret right there in front of everyone. There was blood every freakn where, and a little girl screamed in terror. That did not go over big with the congregation, to say the least. I was still an eagle, so I took off with my kill and flew away”.

I finished off my beer, and noticed several other people beginning to listen in on my story. The barkeep had drifted away to help some other customers but he came back, and refilled my glass. “So, what did you do then?” a wolf morph asked me.

“Well”, I replied, feeling more confident now, “I totally lost my human half for a while. I think it was about two months. I began to remember in fragments what I had done and who I was. I lived as a hawk in the same area I lived as a human. My parents never gave up on me… they eventually found a golden hawk who could faintly remember their faces as important and didn’t fly away when they got close. They worked hard, taking me in my feral state and showing me pictures and all sorts of things that were important to me. I took another month of piecing together, but I slowly began to find myself amid all my eagle instincts. One day, I was looking at some computer code I had never finished, and I all of it came rushing back. All the memories and everything I’d ever done, myself came back. At that moment, I ‘switched’ into my more humanoid form… this. My parents never rejected what had happened to their son, and they were there through it all. Everything looked like it would work out. I began to figure out how to sing again and in another two weeks, I was able to join the choir again. Those two weeks were the hard. I relearned how to eat, sleep, drink, talk, and drive… everything. I caught on quick, and I was persistent. I’d never be able to do some things, but I could sing again.”

“I guess I need to explain a bit, but I’m still Roman Catholic. My faith is a very important part of my being, and I am… was very attached to the mass and choir. Perhaps too attached, because as I’m sure most of you know, SCABs tends to bring out the religious fanaticism in people. I still try to go to mass, but I’ve been thrown out of more churches than I can count. And somehow, every one still hurts… but the first one hurt the worst”.

I took a moment to gather my feelings. I took a deep breath. Tears pooled up in my eyes. I couldn’t breakdown, not right here, not in the middle of the bar. I blinked back the tears and was angry at myself for almost loosing control. I was holding my beer glass, and had another mouthful. I bottled my anger inside of me, yeah, psychiatrists say that that’s a bad thing to do, but it works, and its quick. Just force it down and deal with it later. I never even noticed the small crowd that was now gathering around to hear my tale. Eagles may have amazing eyes, but that doesn’t help at all when you’re not looking around.

“I walked back into the church, dressed as best as I could in my choir uniform. The other members of the choir had helped me out over those two weeks. My girlfriend, Lynda, even helped me relearn how to eat with a beak. She had decided that we were still meant for each other, and wanted to go out on a date, as soon as I felt ready. Life was looking to be great. As more of the congregation filed in, they looked at me and were very suspicious. I can’t blame them, after all I killed a -very- special ferret right there in the same church. About fifteen minutes before the mass started, I walked up to the podium. I still remember what I said, probably because my words would be twisted against me not three minuets later”.

“Dear ladies and gentlemen, I think an apology is in order. I have committed a huge error right here in this church. I can’t say it really was my fault, because I was not of my mind when it happened. I killed one of God’s creation right here inside of God’s house. My offence is even worse, however. I killed a little girl’s favorite pet, her lifelong companion, the one special thing she attributed to helping her through her chronic illness. I have destroyed that girl’s guardian angel, her hope and her love. I don’t have the words to say that I’m sorry, and I can’t bring the pet back. I humbly submit myself to her family and you, my brothers and sisters, and ask that you judge me with forgiveness, as our savior would have done”.

“Now, I thought that was a damn good speech, but… I was too late. I hadn’t told the choir I planed to do this, or else they may have warned me. The girl’s father had already turned the congregation against SCABs, and had pronounced us as demons and the spawn of hell itself. Our pastor was a hard line catholic and was inclined to agree. My plea for mercy was nothing compared to his emotionally charged speech. I looked out upon the faces of the Catholics assembled before me, and saw hate, disgust and fear. Some people were trying to control there facial expressions, but nothing escapes an eagle’s gaze. Most just didn’t care, and were angry that a hell-spawn would profane the sacred alter and mock Christ. If I saw a Satanist give the speech I gave, I’d have felt the same way. Only problem was that I was and am not a Satanist or demon spawn”.

“Our pastor strode up, furious, and threw me off the alter and into the central isle. I was so shocked, I just laid there and didn’t even try to defend myself. ‘You! You of all people- no, you are not a person, things- to ask for forgiveness! Do you know the full story of that girl, demon? Do you!? Her illness killed her, because she didn’t want to fight it anymore! You stole that fight from her, and you should be charged with murder!’”

“His face was bright red and he spat out every word with disgust. His nostrils flared, he was clearly pissed. I heard catcalls of, ‘Yeah, SCABs aren’t human!’ and ‘Kick it out father, this is a place for humans not animals!’”

“He continued, ‘You heard me, murder! You claim that you were not totally of your right mind, all the more reason for the charge! The devil overcame you and lives within your soul, because in there is no light and only darkness! Be gone from my church and my sight!’”

“I staggered to my feet, angrier than ever before. I felt my body beginning to change, my hands starting to become wings. ‘Take that back! I don’t deserve that! I’m not a demon, I’m still a person! I didn’t want to hurt that girl or the ferret! It was out of my control, but I’m better now!’ I yelled. The priest turned his back on me then, and threw his nose in the air, as if he was above all of this. ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’ I screeched (more physically than metaphorically) and felt my predator instincts begin to kick in. I didn’t care, I was so angry. I wanted to hurt him, slash him, maim him. I lunged forward at him, starting to leap in the air to slash at him with a talon, when strong hands griped me and slammed me down. I twisted my neck around and saw an old friend, his face contorted with fury and hate. That facial expression shocked me out of my anger. It also accelerated my change, so in a few seconds, I was full golden eagle. I pecked and ripped at the hands holding my feet. He was shocked by my change (after all, he started holding down something man sized, and was now holding something bird sized) and let go almost as soon as I began to peck at him. I flew out as fast as I could”.

I realized my glass was empty again, and Donnie promptly gave me a refill. I was so lost in my tale, that I never even saw that large group that had stopped to listen in. I didn’t need tears to show my pain at recalling these memories. God, I had been living most of my life on the streets, and I’ve seen my fair share of the horror humanity could do, but I never saw anything that made me as scared and angry and sad as that day. I think it broke something inside of me, but… I never lost my faith in God. I did loose my faith in humanity and eventually lived my life by the maxim, “The world would be a great place, if there weren’t so many people on it.” It’s how I felt ever since that day. After a long pause I continued.

“My life never really got back on track. The papers were all over it the next morning. There were reporters who camped out on my families’ yard for a week. We were constantly being harassed and asked questions. Fame sucks, take it from me. I felt horrible about the pain I caused my family. Eventually, the press went away, but the looks never did. The college I had been accepted to withdrew my acceptance, citing a unforeseen admissions problem. The other schools I had applied to said that my application had been lost in the paperwork and I would need to wait until next year to apply again. I was fired from my job due to a downsize. Funny thing is, I was the only one laid off”.

“My friends stopped receiving my calls. I couldn’t go to most of the stores in my community anymore, they didn’t serve SCABs. The cops down there are just as crooked as the crooks, and refused to help me. If suicide wasn’t forbidden by the Catholic Church, I would have killed myself. Instead, I ran away. I ran from all the religious fanaticism and hate. I ran from the twisted small town I lived in. I ran from what I saw as a small black well of corruption that was threatening to swallow me whole. The hate was everywhere, and was inescapable. I just left one night. I walked out with twenty bucks, a credit card that expired a month later and the clothes on my back. I still wonder what ever happened to my family. I don’t know if they were shut out and hurt like I was, or seen with mercy and needing help due to the child I was. I really hope the latter…”

My tale was finished and I drank the last of my glass. I looked out among the people watching me for the first time, and saw twelve faces looking back with pity and sadness. I never meant to spill my heart out to so many people; I wanted to be alone tonight and instead got twelve people who saw me as a poor little birdie caught in a cage. They had no idea how much the cage hurt. They hadn’t lived most of their lives on the streets or out in the country, roving (actually really flying) from town to town running from a past burned with hate. I didn’t want their sympathy, it was too much. Eventually, the wolf morph put a paw on my back and said, “I’m sorry, I really am. Luckily, you came to the right place. We can help-”

My bottled up rage and shame broke at that point. This was just too much. I think also I lost track of how much I had to drink that night and alcoholic rage had quite a bit to do with my reaction. All my emotions just flowed out in a rush. I glared at him in a way only an eagle can. I focused my gaze and loaded it with all the emotion I had bottled up in me all these years. He stopped talking, which was my intent.

“I don’t want your help. I’ve managed to live by my self all these years, and I’ll keep doing that. You know, the psychiatrists said they could help too, but all they wanted was for me to pay the stupid government money that they’d just embezzle. Yeah, help. You’re not the first or the last I’ve heard that line from. Help! All I want to do is enjoy my drink and try to forget about what I once was, so leave me be, all right!?” I screeched. I mixed in eagle whistling and calling with my yelling. Promptly, all noise must have died off when I had my outburst, so now everyone in the bar was staring at me.

My self-control broke at that point, and I felt my self change. My clothes fell to the ground, and a golden eagle in all his magnificence stood on the barstool. It was all I could do to fly out of the bar and into the starry sky, rather than slash a few faces off. Lucky for me, someone was just coming in when I zoomed out.

I flew around for a while, and eventually landed on a church steeple. I cried for a bit, (sobs wracked my eagle body, but I never shed tears… eagles don’t have tear ducts) but got my emotions in order and when I calmed down realized I blew my best chance and turning my life around. God, I was sick of living like this. This was only a bit better than back home. I still got the looks, even though people would try to hide it, or only look when they thought I wasn’t looking. An eagle never misses much. I was cold at night, hot during the day and hungry all the time. Winter was the worst, because I could only rarely find mice and such to hunt or fish, so I had to beg for food sometimes. God that’s bad, because you got to look everyone right in the eye to challenge them to donate. You can’t turn your face away from the hate, you got to look right at it and plead with it. I realized I’d have to go without clothes again this winter, because I just left my current set at the bar, and I was not going back there. Why did I blow up like that? They were only trying to help… and I need help, I realized. I needed it bad, because I can’t keep running like this. I might as well blow my brains out, because I couldn’t keep doing this, and I didn’t think I would ever find a place like that bar again.

I landed on the ground and flipped back to my more human state. I tried the church doors, and found that they yielded easily. It was dark in there, but some low running lights illuminated the alter enough. I walked in, and blessed myself with holy water. Finding a pew, I knelt down and began to pray.

“God, I know that you are out there, somewhere. My life has gone to hell, but I’ve never lost faith in you. I’ve always believed, even when I got thrown out of my own church. I had faith in you, even when I was starving on the streets. I had faith in you when I almost got shot by a hunter. You’ve more or less kept me alive. But, God, I can’t do this anymore. That girl’s picture is burned in my eyes forever. I can’t keep living like this, I keep having nightmares about the first time I was kicked out of a congregation. I’ve let shame and grief ruin my life, and I got to get away from it all. I’ve run for so long, I don’t know how to do anything else. I’ve got to run to the only place where the hate can’t get me. I’m asking for forgiveness God, because I think I’ve blown my last chance at healing. I’m warped and twisted and sick. Bless me Father for I have sinned, my last confession was a lifetime ago”.

I began to confess all my sins in that church, on that cold, empty night. I heard the priest say his part in my head, and I confessed to all the crimes I had committed to survive these long years. With each sin confessed, I felt a memory tug at me. I apologized to all the people I had stolen food from, the people I stole clothes from, and the poor guy I pick pocketed to get money for tonight. The last things I confessed were murder, for that poor girl and murder, for myself. I was so lost in thought that at first, I thought it was just the mental priest I thought of to make my last confession.

“Well, you’ve done quite a lot, haven’t you? Your penance is to go back to the Blind Pig and tell them that you need help. Don’t bother about those murder charges, because they aren’t your sins”.

What?! I pulled my head up and saw a ferret look up at me. He cocked his head to the side and showed me his custom little vestments for him. He smiled and made the sign of the cross with a little paw and said, “I absolve you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Now get out so I can lock up. I heard your story at the Blind Pig, and they can help you. You haven’t been doing that well on your own, but with some friends and a bit of love, I’ll see that you become the proud eagle God made you,” he said.

I was outright shocked, and didn’t fully realize what I just told that ferret until I was outside. He now knew both sides of my life, the before and after, and I quickly became angry again. How could I have been so stupid? However, my anger just boiled off. I just let it go, on that night, because I might never find that ferret again. And he was a priest. A SCAB priest! The thought hit me like a freight train, and I jumped up and down with elation. A church that didn’t hate SCABs! I might be able to sing for God again! I could go to mass again! I sung out to the starry sky. Then, I remembered his penance. I didn’t want to go back to the bar… but… I knew that he was giving me a second chance. God was giving me a second chance. I morphed full eagle and took off, allowing my eyes to pick out the bar again from the other buildings in this city.

I decided to go in full eagle, hopefully recognize a face and get my clothes back. Then, I’d apologize and get help. I’d get my life back. I let out a sharp whistle when I saw the place, I was so happy. I swooped down and right in, as luck would have it, as someone was leaving when I was coming in. I perched on the bar, and forced myself not to whistle at the bartender.

“Hey, look whose back!” I turned my head and saw the wolf morph. “You going to change back so we can talk a bit, or are you stuck?”
I made a jabbing motion with my beak at his shirt and pants.
“Ah, you don’t want to be naked… decency is not as strict here, but if it’ll make you feel more comfortable…” I looked around and saw quite a few almost total animorphs with nothing on. I still wanted clothes, however.
“Here,” he came back with a much nicer pair of jeans and a collared shirt and jacket. “I’ll help you in the restroom where you can change in private”. I fluttered over to his shoulder. I realized that I didn’t have to run anymore. I found a place where I could go if life got rough and no one would look at me with fear or hate. Well, that raccoon was still pretty scared in the back, but I’d work on that. For the first time in my life, I wanted tomorrow to come. I really couldn’t wait.

<months later>

I turned to Jack DeMule, “You ready?” He nodded. I let out a loud screech, and promptly got the silence I wanted.
“Hey, everyone, I need to say something,” I told the patrons. “I want to thank everyone for getting my life back together. Sherry, thanks for hooking my up with the computer services job and teaching me how to type. Rich, thanks for finding me a place to stay. It beats every tree I’ve ever slept in, and has a roof to boot. Joy, you still owe me five bucks because you lost that bet, that sign was green”, I got a few chuckles and guffaws. I wondered how I ever got mad at all these wonderful people.
“Most of all, I want to thank Joseph, my favorite lupine companion and Father Fur, as he goes by over here, for taking care of me on my first night at the pig and showing me light at the end of a tunnel. Most of all, I want to thank you, Donnie, for opening the tight clamp I put on my past and letting me change. I’ve told all of you how I could sing, but I don’t think I’ve ever sung for you. I might have when deep in my cups, but I don’t remember it. Tonight, I’m singing Old City Bar by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra and I dedicate it to our good barkeep Donnie over there. Hit it, Jack”.

He began to play and I felt the old rush of singing begin to fill my veins. I looked out over the bar and saw my audience look at me with expectant, curious faces. I took a deep breath and began to sing.

In an old city bar/That is never too far/ From the places that gather/ The dreams that have been

In the safety of night / With its old neon light / It beckons to strangers / And they always come in

And the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / The music was low / And the night Christmas Eve

I remembered how I spent weeks figuring out the guitar as piano music. I remember spending just as much time with Jack helping him learn the part I had written. I remembered the hours I practiced in my room just to give a little back to this bar… no this community of people which gave me a new lease on life. I whished I could have given more.
Then the door opened wide / And a child came inside / That no one in the bar / Had seen there before

And he asked did we know / That outside in the snow / That someone was lost / Standing outside our door

Then the bartender gazed / Through the smoke and the haze / Through the window and ice / To a corner streetlight

Where standing alone / By a broken pay phone / Was a girl the child said / Could no longer get home

And the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / The bartender turned / And said , not that I care / But how would you know this? / The child said I've noticed / If one could be home / They'd be all ready there

I began to increase my intensity and get louder. My heart thumped harder as I began to inject the emotions I felt that night into my song, a song that told the story of this wonderful place better than anything else. I would later wonder if somehow, that band had been here and used the Blind Pig as the inspiration for it.
My voice told a story that was not what was written down. I sung my song that night, the song of a busted, burned out bum who was given a second chance by not friends or even relatives, but strangers who had seen a burned out young soul and give it a second chance to rise from the ashes. The song naturally rose in intensity as I started on the bridge.

If you want to arrange it / This world you can change it / If we could somehow make this Christmas thing last

By helping a neighbor / Or even a stranger / And to know who needs help / You need only just ask

I poured out my soul as the song hit its climax, and I hit an intensity that I’d thought I’d never be able to sing again. I didn’t even bother trying to stop the emotion in my voice, and sung out my very being. I revealed more of myself tonight than I did that autumn night, but now I wanted them to know me. Now, I wanted them to see how they rekindled my old flames.

And the cynics will say / That some neighborhood kid / Wandered in on some bums / In the world where they hid

But they weren't there / So they couldn't see / By an old neon star / On that night, Christmas Eve

When the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / And in case you should wonder / In case you should care

Why we're on our own / Never went home / On that night of all nights / We were already there

With that, the song was done. Out of breath and emotionally spent, I smiled and said, “Now I’m not the bartender, and I am not that rich, but everyone’s next drink is on me. Merry Christmas to all of you, and God bless”.
I walked over to the bar amid the best thing a singer can ask for. The only signal that the audience accepts him and wishes him to share his gifts: applause.

[[Category:Johnothano]]
[[Category:Story]]
[[Category:Avian]]
[[Category:Tales from the Blind Pig]]

Conversions

2008-07-22T02:17:35Z

Johnothano:

Conversions

2008-07-22T02:09:38Z

Johnothano:

Conversions

2008-07-22T02:04:11Z

Johnothano:

{{byline|name=Johnothano|author=Johnothano}}

Author’s Note: My first shot (and perhaps only) at a Blind Pig story. Constructive criticism is wanted and appreciated as usual.

I saw the bar from a ways off. Eagle eyes in earnest. A few drinks might be nice, I thought, knowing full well however that now I only drink to forget. SCABs tended to do that to you. I paused, considering my options. Most shelters won’t take people that are drunk out of their minds, but if I decided to find a shelter, I’d have to spend tonight remembering what SCABs did to my life. I choose the drink and fending for myself on the streets. I walked briskly in the late-autumn chill.

Most SCAB-friendly bars I went to were depressing. People went there to drink to forget. I wandered from town to town, living off whatever I could find or get for free. Most of the time, I ate freshly killed rats and mice. Before you go to puke, I’m a golden eagle animorph. I really have two states I alternate in, a more humanoid state and full out eagle. In my most human, I’ve still got feathers, a tail and a beak.

This place was different from the other bars. I could see that from about two blocks away. This place was not sad. Rather, I could hear sounds of laughter as I got closer, the lights seemed to twinkle merrily and the SCABs inside were not the usually sad bunch, or the occasional angry bunch, but a different breed altogether. They seemed to take there changed status in stride, and get on with life with a smile.

Good for them, I thought grumpily. I was reminded of a line from Jethro Tull’s First Snow on Brooklyn, where Ian Anderson croons, “Now, it's the first snow on Brooklyn and my cold feet are drumming/You don't see me in the shadows from your cozy window frame”. I felt like that. Unwanted and uncared for. Cold too. I walked in, and sized the place up. The bar was well lit, but dim enough to create darker corners and long shadows. The place was actually quite large, with booths where some of the more timid prey animals talked in hushed tones. The bar was well equipped for SCABs, I saw all manner of specialty equipment from paw cups to beanbag chairs for flightless birds. This place must really be a hotspot in order to afford all of that, I thought. The patrons themselves were quite varied. There was a man at the piano, singing something from Bob Dylan, and a couple of lupines where howling along. Quite a few patrons glanced up at me and sized me up. Some shrugged and went back to their business, some kept a close eye on the newcomer, but many morphs with enhanced smelling crinkled their noses. Nothing goes by an eagle unnoticed. I probably smelled like shit, actually to be more on the mark, piss, but I really didn’t give a damn.

I had other issues. My predator instincts were kicking in, and kicking hard. I wanted to dig in to the feast around me. Mice, rabbits, voles, even a raccoon in the back, all here for the taking. I took a step in further, and let the door close behind me. I closed my eyes, and told myself that these were people, not food and that I was not a golden eagle, not a predator come for his prey. I was just a sad, kicked out and lonely hobo looking for a drink. Closing my eyes has always helped me to curtail the instincts.

I chose a barstool that had a few empty barstools by it. I wanted to be alone tonight and quickly bowed my head and prepared to wait. I looked like street trash, with a faded red hoodie that was on the brink of being scrapped, an old tee shirt that had yellowed with age, a pair of jeans that had more holes in them than material. I never wore shoes or socks; they just don’t make stuff for talons. I knew that this was a more respectable bar, hell it had a piano and pool table. They probably didn’t want my “kind” here. It was, however, a SCABs bar and I was going to get my drink. Screw all of that class stuff, after all, those upper-middle class bigots were the reason I was living my life like this. I had no idea how long it had been, and I tried my best not to think about it. It had happened so suddenly.

I glanced up and saw the barkeep, a huge man with a bull head. I was surprised to say the least. Some barkeeps never would serve me unless I asked, and then only did it because I would give them hell if they didn’t. Most just put me low on their list of people to serve. I got a drink, but after every one else got their drinks. “Give me the cheapest thing you got on tap. If you got a bottle that’s cheaper, I’ll go for that”, I told him. The barkeep wandered away, and I was again surprised I didn’t get the old jaw drop reaction that I could talk.

The barkeep was good, and I got my drink (beer from the tap) quickly and silently thanked God that I could still process all the normal things humans could. I had still remained faithful all these years, and tonight was a good one, so why loose my faith now? I was in a good bar, a place where I didn’t have to worry about getting mugged, I had a good barkeep and money to pay for the ale I was about to drink. I was warm for the first time in a while. So why on earth was I still depressed?

I took a long gulp from my glass, and put it down to find the barkeep signing something at me. My eyes widened in shock. I hadn’t used sign in so long, I was surprised I still remembered some of the motions. I remembered using it to pass along answers back in high school… can’t think about that kind of stuff tonight. I shook my head and signed that I needed to see that again. I don’t think I wanted to talk out of my troubled mood, but I wanted to talk out sheer curiosity. I wanted to see what kind of grasp I still had on the language. I had no idea, but this was the start of an important night, and the start of me finally turning my life around.

You want to talk about something?, he signed. I started to try and sign back that I didn’t want to talk to anybody when I couldn’t. I just didn’t remember all the motions. I fumbled around for a bit and then just gave up. I was embarrassed and felt a blush, but I knew I didn’t show it. Feathers don’t turn red.

“Its been forever since I last signed… I’m- I’m sorry, I just don’t remember all the motions. I…I guess now I kind of owe you my story. My name’s Chris…,” I said.
My name is Donnie, and well, I got time for a story. If you don’t want to tell, fine, he signed back. I needed him to resign a few things, but I got the sentence in the end.

I looked into my drink and toyed with it for a few minuets. I really hated talking about my past… but I’d told other barkeeps the whole thing when I was drunk enough, and Donnie was good. I would probably tell him it anyway, later tonight. No harm done, I thought if only one person hears about it. Now that I wanted to talk, I had to figure out where to start. I took a deep breath and began.

“I’m…I’m from central Alabama. We really don’t get too many people up that way, so ours was one of the last communities to be hit by the Flu. I got it, just like everyone else. My uncle died from it. I got off with just flu-like symptoms, but I… I also got SCABs. I transformed into a golden eagle in the middle of catholic mass. Heh, I was actually singing lead in the choir when it happened. It was so fast, I never even figured out what the hell happened. One moment I was gearing up my voice to jump up an octave, the next, I’m screeching as an eagle to go in for the kill… It was the St. Patrick’s Day mass and on that mass our priest does a blessing of all pets. I killed a small pet ferret right there in front of everyone. There was blood every freakn where, and a little girl screamed in terror. That did not go over big with the congregation, to say the least. I was still an eagle, so I took off with my kill and flew away”.

I finished off my beer, and noticed several other people beginning to listen in on my story. The barkeep had drifted away to help some other customers but he came back, and refilled my glass. “So, what did you do then?” a wolf morph asked me.

“Well”, I replied, feeling more confident now, “I totally lost my human half for a while. I think it was about two months. I began to remember in fragments what I had done and who I was. I lived as a hawk in the same area I lived as a human. My parents never gave up on me… they eventually found a golden hawk who could faintly remember their faces as important and didn’t fly away when they got close. They worked hard, taking me in my feral state and showing me pictures and all sorts of things that were important to me. I took another month of piecing together, but I slowly began to find myself amid all my eagle instincts. One day, I was looking at some computer code I had never finished, and I all of it came rushing back. All the memories and everything I’d ever done, myself came back. At that moment, I ‘switched’ into my more humanoid form… this. My parents never rejected what had happened to their son, and they were there through it all. Everything looked like it would work out. I began to figure out how to sing again and in another two weeks, I was able to join the choir again. Those two weeks were the hard. I relearned how to eat, sleep, drink, talk, and drive… everything. I caught on quick, and I was persistent. I’d never be able to do some things, but I could sing again.”

“I guess I need to explain a bit, but I’m still Roman Catholic. My faith is a very important part of my being, and I am… was very attached to the mass and choir. Perhaps too attached, because as I’m sure most of you know, SCABs tends to bring out the religious fanaticism in people. I still try to go to mass, but I’ve been thrown out of more churches than I can count. And somehow, every one still hurts… but the first one hurt the worst”.

I took a moment to gather my feelings. I took a deep breath. Tears pooled up in my eyes. I couldn’t breakdown, not right here, not in the middle of the bar. I blinked back the tears and was angry at myself for almost loosing control. I was holding my beer glass, and had another mouthful. I bottled my anger inside of me, yeah, psychiatrists say that that’s a bad thing to do, but it works, and its quick. Just force it down and deal with it later. I never even noticed the small crowd that was now gathering around to hear my tale. Eagles may have amazing eyes, but that doesn’t help at all when you’re not looking around.

“I walked back into the church, dressed as best as I could in my choir uniform. The other members of the choir had helped me out over those two weeks. My girlfriend, Lynda, even helped me relearn how to eat with a beak. She had decided that we were still meant for each other, and wanted to go out on a date, as soon as I felt ready. Life was looking to be great. As more of the congregation filed in, they looked at me and were very suspicious. I can’t blame them, after all I killed a -very- special ferret right there in the same church. About fifteen minutes before the mass started, I walked up to the podium. I still remember what I said, probably because my words would be twisted against me not three minuets later”.

“Dear ladies and gentlemen, I think an apology is in order. I have committed a huge error right here in this church. I can’t say it really was my fault, because I was not of my mind when it happened. I killed one of God’s creation right here inside of God’s house. My offence is even worse, however. I killed a little girl’s favorite pet, her lifelong companion, the one special thing she attributed to helping her through her chronic illness. I have destroyed that girl’s guardian angel, her hope and her love. I don’t have the words to say that I’m sorry, and I can’t bring the pet back. I humbly submit myself to her family and you, my brothers and sisters, and ask that you judge me with forgiveness, as our savior would have done”.

“Now, I thought that was a damn good speech, but… I was too late. I hadn’t told the choir I planed to do this, or else they may have warned me. The girl’s father had already turned the congregation against SCABs, and had pronounced us as demons and the spawn of hell itself. Our pastor was a hard line catholic and was inclined to agree. My plea for mercy was nothing compared to his emotionally charged speech. I looked out upon the faces of the Catholics assembled before me, and saw hate, disgust and fear. Some people were trying to control there facial expressions, but nothing escapes an eagle’s gaze. Most just didn’t care, and were angry that a hell-spawn would profane the sacred alter and mock Christ. If I saw a Satanist give the speech I gave, I’d have felt the same way. Only problem was that I was and am not a Satanist or demon spawn”.

“Our pastor strode up, furious, and threw me off the alter and into the central isle. I was so shocked, I just laid there and didn’t even try to defend myself. ‘You! You of all people- no, you are not a person, things- to ask for forgiveness! Do you know the full story of that girl, demon? Do you!? Her illness killed her, because she didn’t want to fight it anymore! You stole that fight from her, and you should be charged with murder!’”

“His face was bright red and he spat out every word with disgust. His nostrils flared, he was clearly pissed. I heard catcalls of, ‘Yeah, SCABs aren’t human!’ and ‘Kick it out father, this is a place for humans not animals!’”

“He continued, ‘You heard me, murder! You claim that you were not totally of your right mind, all the more reason for the charge! The devil overcame you and lives within your soul, because in there is no light and only darkness! Be gone from my church and my sight!’”

“I staggered to my feet, angrier than ever before. I felt my body beginning to change, my hands starting to become wings. ‘Take that back! I don’t deserve that! I’m not a demon, I’m still a person! I didn’t want to hurt that girl or the ferret! It was out of my control, but I’m better now!’ I yelled. The priest turned his back on me then, and threw his nose in the air, as if he was above all of this. ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’ I screeched (more physically than metaphorically) and felt my predator instincts begin to kick in. I didn’t care, I was so angry. I wanted to hurt him, slash him, maim him. I lunged forward at him, starting to leap in the air to slash at him with a talon, when strong hands griped me and slammed me down. I twisted my neck around and saw an old friend, his face contorted with fury and hate. That facial expression shocked me out of my anger. It also accelerated my change, so in a few seconds, I was full golden eagle. I pecked and ripped at the hands holding my feet. He was shocked by my change (after all, he started holding down something man sized, and was now holding something bird sized) and let go almost as soon as I began to peck at him. I flew out as fast as I could”.

I realized my glass was empty again, and Donnie promptly gave me a refill. I was so lost in my tale, that I never even saw that large group that had stopped to listen in. I didn’t need tears to show my pain at recalling these memories. God, I had been living most of my life on the streets, and I’ve seen my fair share of the horror humanity could do, but I never saw anything that made me as scared and angry and sad as that day. I think it broke something inside of me, but… I never lost my faith in God. I did loose my faith in humanity and eventually lived my life by the maxim, “The world would be a great place, if there weren’t so many people on it.” It’s how I felt ever since that day. After a long pause I continued.

“My life never really got back on track. The papers were all over it the next morning. There were reporters who camped out on my families’ yard for a week. We were constantly being harassed and asked questions. Fame sucks, take it from me. I felt horrible about the pain I caused my family. Eventually, the press went away, but the looks never did. The college I had been accepted to withdrew my acceptance, citing a unforeseen admissions problem. The other schools I had applied to said that my application had been lost in the paperwork and I would need to wait until next year to apply again. I was fired from my job due to a downsize. Funny thing is, I was the only one laid off”.

“My friends stopped receiving my calls. I couldn’t go to most of the stores in my community anymore, they didn’t serve SCABs. The cops down there are just as crooked as the crooks, and refused to help me. If suicide wasn’t forbidden by the Catholic Church, I would have killed myself. Instead, I ran away. I ran from all the religious fanaticism and hate. I ran from the twisted small town I lived in. I ran from what I saw as a small black well of corruption that was threatening to swallow me whole. The hate was everywhere, and was inescapable. I just left one night. I walked out with twenty bucks, a credit card that expired a month later and the clothes on my back. I still wonder what ever happened to my family. I don’t know if they were shut out and hurt like I was, or seen with mercy and needing help due to the child I was. I really hope the latter…”

My tale was finished and I drank the last of my glass. I looked out among the people watching me for the first time, and saw twelve faces looking back with pity and sadness. I never meant to spill my heart out to so many people; I wanted to be alone tonight and instead got twelve people who saw me as a poor little birdie caught in a cage. They had no idea how much the cage hurt. They hadn’t lived most of their lives on the streets or out in the country, roving (actually really flying) from town to town running from a past burned with hate. I didn’t want their sympathy, it was too much. Eventually, the wolf morph put a paw on my back and said, “I’m sorry, I really am. Luckily, you came to the right place. We can help-”

My bottled up rage and shame broke at that point. This was just too much. I think also I lost track of how much I had to drink that night and alcoholic rage had quite a bit to do with my reaction. All my emotions just flowed out in a rush. I glared at him in a way only an eagle can. I focused my gaze and loaded it with all the emotion I had bottled up in me all these years. He stopped talking, which was my intent.

“I don’t want your help. I’ve managed to live by my self all these years, and I’ll keep doing that. You know, the psychiatrists said they could help too, but all they wanted was for me to pay the stupid government money that they’d just embezzle. Yeah, help. You’re not the first or the last I’ve heard that line from. Help! All I want to do is enjoy my drink and try to forget about what I once was, so leave me be, all right!?” I screeched. I mixed in eagle whistling and calling with my yelling. Promptly, all noise must have died off when I had my outburst, so now everyone in the bar was staring at me.

My self-control broke at that point, and I felt my self change. My clothes fell to the ground, and a golden eagle in all his magnificence stood on the barstool. It was all I could do to fly out of the bar and into the starry sky, rather than slash a few faces off. Lucky for me, someone was just coming in when I zoomed out.

I flew around for a while, and eventually landed on a church steeple. I cried for a bit, (sobs wracked my eagle body, but I never shed tears… eagles don’t have tear ducts) but got my emotions in order and when I calmed down realized I blew my best chance and turning my life around. God, I was sick of living like this. This was only a bit better than back home. I still got the looks, even though people would try to hide it, or only look when they thought I wasn’t looking. An eagle never misses much. I was cold at night, hot during the day and hungry all the time. Winter was the worst, because I could only rarely find mice and such to hunt or fish, so I had to beg for food sometimes. God that’s bad, because you got to look everyone right in the eye to challenge them to donate. You can’t turn your face away from the hate, you got to look right at it and plead with it. I realized I’d have to go without clothes again this winter, because I just left my current set at the bar, and I was not going back there. Why did I blow up like that? They were only trying to help… and I need help, I realized. I needed it bad, because I can’t keep running like this. I might as well blow my brains out, because I couldn’t keep doing this, and I didn’t think I would ever find a place like that bar again.

I landed on the ground and flipped back to my more human state. I tried the church doors, and found that they yielded easily. It was dark in there, but some low running lights illuminated the alter enough. I walked in, and blessed myself with holy water. Finding a pew, I knelt down and began to pray.

“God, I know that you are out there, somewhere. My life has gone to hell, but I’ve never lost faith in you. I’ve always believed, even when I got thrown out of my own church. I had faith in you, even when I was starving on the streets. I had faith in you when I almost got shot by a hunter. You’ve more or less kept me alive. But, God, I can’t do this anymore. That girl’s picture is burned in my eyes forever. I can’t keep living like this, I keep having nightmares about the first time I was kicked out of a congregation. I’ve let shame and grief ruin my life, and I got to get away from it all. I’ve run for so long, I don’t know how to do anything else. I’ve got to run to the only place where the hate can’t get me. I’m asking for forgiveness God, because I think I’ve blown my last chance at healing. I’m warped and twisted and sick. Bless me Father for I have sinned, my last confession was a lifetime ago”.

I began to confess all my sins in that church, on that cold, empty night. I heard the priest say his part in my head, and I confessed to all the crimes I had committed to survive these long years. With each sin confessed, I felt a memory tug at me. I apologized to all the people I had stolen food from, the people I stole clothes from, and the poor guy I pick pocketed to get money for tonight. The last things I confessed were murder, for that poor girl and murder, for myself. I was so lost in thought that at first, I thought it was just the mental priest I thought of to make my last confession.

“Well, you’ve done quite a lot, haven’t you? Your penance is to go back to the Blind Pig and tell them that you need help. Don’t bother about those murder charges, because they aren’t your sins”.

What?! I pulled my head up and saw a ferret look up at me. He cocked his head to the side and showed me his custom little vestments for him. He smiled and made the sign of the cross with a little paw and said, “I absolve you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Now get out so I can lock up. I heard your story at the Blind Pig, and they can help you. You haven’t been doing that well on your own, but with some friends and a bit of love, I’ll see that you become the proud eagle God made you,” he said.

I was outright shocked, and didn’t fully realize what I just told that ferret until I was outside. He now knew both sides of my life, the before and after, and I quickly became angry again. How could I have been so stupid? However, my anger just boiled off. I just let it go, on that night, because I might never find that ferret again. And he was a priest. A SCAB priest! The thought hit me like a freight train, and I jumped up and down with elation. A church that didn’t hate SCABs! I might be able to sing for God again! I could go to mass again! I sung out to the starry sky. Then, I remembered his penance. I didn’t want to go back to the bar… but… I knew that he was giving me a second chance. God was giving me a second chance. I morphed full eagle and took off, allowing my eyes to pick out the bar again from the other buildings in this city.

I decided to go in full eagle, hopefully recognize a face and get my clothes back. Then, I’d apologize and get help. I’d get my life back. I let out a sharp whistle when I saw the place, I was so happy. I swooped down and right in, as luck would have it, as someone was leaving when I was coming in. I perched on the bar, and forced myself not to whistle at the bartender.

“Hey, look whose back!” I turned my head and saw the wolf morph. “You going to change back so we can talk a bit, or are you stuck?”
I made a jabbing motion with my beak at his shirt and pants.
“Ah, you don’t want to be naked… decency is not as strict here, but if it’ll make you feel more comfortable…” I looked around and saw quite a few almost total animorphs with nothing on. I still wanted clothes, however.
“Here,” he came back with a much nicer pair of jeans and a collared shirt and jacket. “I’ll help you in the restroom where you can change in private”. I fluttered over to his shoulder. I realized that I didn’t have to run anymore. I found a place where I could go if life got rough and no one would look at me with fear or hate. Well, that raccoon was still pretty scared in the back, but I’d work on that. For the first time in my life, I wanted tomorrow to come. I really couldn’t wait.

<months later>

I turned to Jack DeMule, “You ready?” He nodded. I let out a loud screech, and promptly got the silence I wanted.
“Hey, everyone, I need to say something,” I told the patrons. “I want to thank everyone for getting my life back together. Sherry, thanks for hooking my up with the computer services job and teaching me how to type. Rich, thanks for finding me a place to stay. It beats every tree I’ve ever slept in, and has a roof to boot. Joy, you still owe me five bucks because you lost that bet, that sign was green”, I got a few chuckles and guffaws. I wondered how I ever got mad at all these wonderful people.
“Most of all, I want to thank Joseph, my favorite lupine companion and Father Fur, as he goes by over here, for taking care of me on my first night at the pig and showing me light at the end of a tunnel. Most of all, I want to thank you, Donnie, for opening the tight clamp I put on my past and letting me change. I’ve told all of you how I could sing, but I don’t think I’ve ever sung for you. I might have when deep in my cups, but I don’t remember it. Tonight, I’m singing Old City Bar by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra and I dedicate it to our good barkeep Donnie over there. Hit it, Jack”.

He began to play and I felt the old rush of singing begin to fill my veins. I looked out over the bar and saw my audience look at me with expectant, curious faces. I took a deep breath and began to sing.

In an old city bar/That is never too far/ From the places that gather/ The dreams that have been

In the safety of night / With its old neon light / It beckons to strangers / And they always come in

And the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / The music was low / And the night Christmas Eve

I remembered how I spent weeks figuring out the guitar as piano music. I remember spending just as much time with Jack helping him learn the part I had written. I remembered the hours I practiced in my room just to give a little back to this bar… no this community of people which gave me a new lease on life. I whished I could have given more.
Then the door opened wide / And a child came inside / That no one in the bar / Had seen there before

And he asked did we know / That outside in the snow / That someone was lost / Standing outside our door

Then the bartender gazed / Through the smoke and the haze / Through the window and ice / To a corner streetlight

Where standing alone / By a broken pay phone / Was a girl the child said / Could no longer get home

And the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / The bartender turned / And said , not that I care / But how would you know this? / The child said I've noticed / If one could be home / They'd be all ready there

I began to increase my intensity and get louder. My heart thumped harder as I began to inject the emotions I felt that night into my song, a song that told the story of this wonderful place better than anything else. I would later wonder if somehow, that band had been here and used the Blind Pig as the inspiration for it.
My voice told a story that was not what was written down. I sung my song that night, the song of a busted, burned out bum who was given a second chance by not friends or even relatives, but strangers who had seen a burned out young soul and give it a second chance to rise from the ashes. The song naturally rose in intensity as I started on the bridge.

If you want to arrange it / This world you can change it / If we could somehow make this Christmas thing last

By helping a neighbor / Or even a stranger / And to know who needs help / You need only just ask

I poured out my soul as the song hit its climax, and I hit an intensity that I’d thought I’d never be able to sing again. I didn’t even bother trying to stop the emotion in my voice, and sung out my very being. I revealed more of myself tonight than I did that autumn night, but now I wanted them to know me. Now, I wanted them to see how they rekindled my old flames.

And the cynics will say / That some neighborhood kid / Wandered in on some bums / In the world where they hid

But they weren't there / So they couldn't see / By an old neon star / On that night, Christmas Eve

When the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / And in case you should wonder / In case you should care

Why we're on our own / Never went home / On that night of all nights / We were already there

With that, the song was done. Out of breath and emotionally spent, I smiled and said, “Now I’m not the bartender, and I am not that rich, but everyone’s next drink is on me. Merry Christmas to all of you, and God bless”.
I walked over to the bar amid the best thing a singer can ask for. The only signal that the audience accepts him and wishes him to share his gifts: applause.

Conversions

2008-07-22T01:51:18Z

Johnothano: New page: Conversions Author’s Note: My first shot (and perhaps only) at a Blind Pig story. Constructive criticism is wanted and appreciated as usual. I saw the bar from a ways off. Eagle ey...

Conversions

Author’s Note: My first shot (and perhaps only) at a Blind Pig story. Constructive criticism is wanted and appreciated as usual.

I saw the bar from a ways off. Eagle eyes in earnest. A few drinks might be nice, I thought, knowing full well however that now I only drink to forget. SCABs tended to do that to you. I paused, considering my options. Most shelters won’t take people that are drunk out of their minds, but if I decided to find a shelter, I’d have to spend tonight remembering what SCABs did to my life. I choose the drink and fending for myself on the streets. I walked briskly in the late-autumn chill.

Most SCAB-friendly bars I went to were depressing. People went there to drink to forget. I wandered from town to town, living off whatever I could find or get for free. Most of the time, I ate freshly killed rats and mice. Before you go to puke, I’m a golden eagle animorph. I really have two states I alternate in, a more humanoid state and full out eagle. In my most human, I’ve still got feathers, a tail and a beak.

This place was different from the other bars. I could see that from about two blocks away. This place was not sad. Rather, I could hear sounds of laughter as I got closer, the lights seemed to twinkle merrily and the SCABs inside were not the usually sad bunch, or the occasional angry bunch, but a different breed altogether. They seemed to take there changed status in stride, and get on with life with a smile.

Good for them, I thought grumpily. I was reminded of a line from Jethro Tull’s First Snow on Brooklyn, where Ian Anderson croons, “Now, it's the first snow on Brooklyn and my cold feet are drumming/You don't see me in the shadows from your cozy window frame”. I felt like that. Unwanted and uncared for. Cold too. I walked in, and sized the place up. The bar was well lit, but dim enough to create darker corners and long shadows. The place was actually quite large, with booths where some of the more timid prey animals talked in hushed tones. The bar was well equipped for SCABs, I saw all manner of specialty equipment from paw cups to beanbag chairs for flightless birds. This place must really be a hotspot in order to afford all of that, I thought. The patrons themselves were quite varied. There was a man at the piano, singing something from Bob Dylan, and a couple of lupines where howling along. Quite a few patrons glanced up at me and sized me up. Some shrugged and went back to their business, some kept a close eye on the newcomer, but many morphs with enhanced smelling crinkled their noses. Nothing goes by an eagle unnoticed. I probably smelled like shit, actually to be more on the mark, piss, but I really didn’t give a damn.

I had other issues. My predator instincts were kicking in, and kicking hard. I wanted to dig in to the feast around me. Mice, rabbits, voles, even a raccoon in the back, all here for the taking. I took a step in further, and let the door close behind me. I closed my eyes, and told myself that these were people, not food and that I was not a golden eagle, not a predator come for his prey. I was just a sad, kicked out and lonely hobo looking for a drink. Closing my eyes has always helped me to curtail the instincts.

I chose a barstool that had a few empty barstools by it. I wanted to be alone tonight and quickly bowed my head and prepared to wait. I looked like street trash, with a faded red hoodie that was on the brink of being scrapped, an old tee shirt that had yellowed with age, a pair of jeans that had more holes in them than material. I never wore shoes or socks; they just don’t make stuff for talons. I knew that this was a more respectable bar, hell it had a piano and pool table. They probably didn’t want my “kind” here. It was, however, a SCABs bar and I was going to get my drink. Screw all of that class stuff, after all, those upper-middle class bigots were the reason I was living my life like this. I had no idea how long it had been, and I tried my best not to think about it. It had happened so suddenly.

I glanced up and saw the barkeep, a huge man with a bull head. I was surprised to say the least. Some barkeeps never would serve me unless I asked, and then only did it because I would give them hell if they didn’t. Most just put me low on their list of people to serve. I got a drink, but after every one else got their drinks. “Give me the cheapest thing you got on tap. If you got a bottle that’s cheaper, I’ll go for that”, I told him. The barkeep wandered away, and I was again surprised I didn’t get the old jaw drop reaction that I could talk.

The barkeep was good, and I got my drink (beer from the tap) quickly and silently thanked God that I could still process all the normal things humans could. I had still remained faithful all these years, and tonight was a good one, so why loose my faith now? I was in a good bar, a place where I didn’t have to worry about getting mugged, I had a good barkeep and money to pay for the ale I was about to drink. I was warm for the first time in a while. So why on earth was I still depressed?

I took a long gulp from my glass, and put it down to find the barkeep signing something at me. My eyes widened in shock. I hadn’t used sign in so long, I was surprised I still remembered some of the motions. I remembered using it to pass along answers back in high school… can’t think about that kind of stuff tonight. I shook my head and signed that I needed to see that again. I don’t think I wanted to talk out of my troubled mood, but I wanted to talk out sheer curiosity. I wanted to see what kind of grasp I still had on the language. I had no idea, but this was the start of an important night, and the start of me finally turning my life around.

You want to talk about something?, he signed. I started to try and sign back that I didn’t want to talk to anybody when I couldn’t. I just didn’t remember all the motions. I fumbled around for a bit and then just gave up. I was embarrassed and felt a blush, but I knew I didn’t show it. Feathers don’t turn red.

“Its been forever since I last signed… I’m- I’m sorry, I just don’t remember all the motions. I…I guess now I kind of owe you my story. My name’s Chris…,” I said.
My name is Donnie, and well, I got time for a story. If you don’t want to tell, fine, he signed back. I needed him to resign a few things, but I got the sentence in the end.

I looked into my drink and toyed with it for a few minuets. I really hated talking about my past… but I’d told other barkeeps the whole thing when I was drunk enough, and Donnie was good. I would probably tell him it anyway, later tonight. No harm done, I thought if only one person hears about it. Now that I wanted to talk, I had to figure out where to start. I took a deep breath and began.

“I’m…I’m from central Alabama. We really don’t get too many people up that way, so ours was one of the last communities to be hit by the Flu. I got it, just like everyone else. My uncle died from it. I got off with just flu-like symptoms, but I… I also got SCABs. I transformed into a golden eagle in the middle of catholic mass. Heh, I was actually singing lead in the choir when it happened. It was so fast, I never even figured out what the hell happened. One moment I was gearing up my voice to jump up an octave, the next, I’m screeching as an eagle to go in for the kill… It was the St. Patrick’s Day mass and on that mass our priest does a blessing of all pets. I killed a small pet ferret right there in front of everyone. There was blood every freakn where, and a little girl screamed in terror. That did not go over big with the congregation, to say the least. I was still an eagle, so I took off with my kill and flew away”.

I finished off my beer, and noticed several other people beginning to listen in on my story. The barkeep had drifted away to help some other customers but he came back, and refilled my glass. “So, what did you do then?” a wolf morph asked me.

“Well”, I replied, feeling more confident now, “I totally lost my human half for a while. I think it was about two months. I began to remember in fragments what I had done and who I was. I lived as a hawk in the same area I lived as a human. My parents never gave up on me… they eventually found a golden hawk who could faintly remember their faces as important and didn’t fly away when they got close. They worked hard, taking me in my feral state and showing me pictures and all sorts of things that were important to me. I took another month of piecing together, but I slowly began to find myself amid all my eagle instincts. One day, I was looking at some computer code I had never finished, and I all of it came rushing back. All the memories and everything I’d ever done, myself came back. At that moment, I ‘switched’ into my more humanoid form… this. My parents never rejected what had happened to their son, and they were there through it all. Everything looked like it would work out. I began to figure out how to sing again and in another two weeks, I was able to join the choir again. Those two weeks were the hard. I relearned how to eat, sleep, drink, talk, and drive… everything. I caught on quick, and I was persistent. I’d never be able to do some things, but I could sing again.”

“I guess I need to explain a bit, but I’m still Roman Catholic. My faith is a very important part of my being, and I am… was very attached to the mass and choir. Perhaps too attached, because as I’m sure most of you know, SCABs tends to bring out the religious fanaticism in people. I still try to go to mass, but I’ve been thrown out of more churches than I can count. And somehow, every one still hurts… but the first one hurt the worst”.

I took a moment to gather my feelings. I took a deep breath. Tears pooled up in my eyes. I couldn’t breakdown, not right here, not in the middle of the bar. I blinked back the tears and was angry at myself for almost loosing control. I was holding my beer glass, and had another mouthful. I bottled my anger inside of me, yeah, psychiatrists say that that’s a bad thing to do, but it works, and its quick. Just force it down and deal with it later. I never even noticed the small crowd that was now gathering around to hear my tale. Eagles may have amazing eyes, but that doesn’t help at all when you’re not looking around.

“I walked back into the church, dressed as best as I could in my choir uniform. The other members of the choir had helped me out over those two weeks. My girlfriend, Lynda, even helped me relearn how to eat with a beak. She had decided that we were still meant for each other, and wanted to go out on a date, as soon as I felt ready. Life was looking to be great. As more of the congregation filed in, they looked at me and were very suspicious. I can’t blame them, after all I killed a -very- special ferret right there in the same church. About fifteen minutes before the mass started, I walked up to the podium. I still remember what I said, probably because my words would be twisted against me not three minuets later”.

“Dear ladies and gentlemen, I think an apology is in order. I have committed a huge error right here in this church. I can’t say it really was my fault, because I was not of my mind when it happened. I killed one of God’s creation right here inside of God’s house. My offence is even worse, however. I killed a little girl’s favorite pet, her lifelong companion, the one special thing she attributed to helping her through her chronic illness. I have destroyed that girl’s guardian angel, her hope and her love. I don’t have the words to say that I’m sorry, and I can’t bring the pet back. I humbly submit myself to her family and you, my brothers and sisters, and ask that you judge me with forgiveness, as our savior would have done”.

“Now, I thought that was a damn good speech, but… I was too late. I hadn’t told the choir I planed to do this, or else they may have warned me. The girl’s father had already turned the congregation against SCABs, and had pronounced us as demons and the spawn of hell itself. Our pastor was a hard line catholic and was inclined to agree. My plea for mercy was nothing compared to his emotionally charged speech. I looked out upon the faces of the Catholics assembled before me, and saw hate, disgust and fear. Some people were trying to control there facial expressions, but nothing escapes an eagle’s gaze. Most just didn’t care, and were angry that a hell-spawn would profane the sacred alter and mock Christ. If I saw a Satanist give the speech I gave, I’d have felt the same way. Only problem was that I was and am not a Satanist or demon spawn”.

“Our pastor strode up, furious, and threw me off the alter and into the central isle. I was so shocked, I just laid there and didn’t even try to defend myself. ‘You! You of all people- no, you are not a person, things- to ask for forgiveness! Do you know the full story of that girl, demon? Do you!? Her illness killed her, because she didn’t want to fight it anymore! You stole that fight from her, and you should be charged with murder!’”

“His face was bright red and he spat out every word with disgust. His nostrils flared, he was clearly pissed. I heard catcalls of, ‘Yeah, SCABs aren’t human!’ and ‘Kick it out father, this is a place for humans not animals!’”

“He continued, ‘You heard me, murder! You claim that you were not totally of your right mind, all the more reason for the charge! The devil overcame you and lives within your soul, because in there is no light and only darkness! Be gone from my church and my sight!’”

“I staggered to my feet, angrier than ever before. I felt my body beginning to change, my hands starting to become wings. ‘Take that back! I don’t deserve that! I’m not a demon, I’m still a person! I didn’t want to hurt that girl or the ferret! It was out of my control, but I’m better now!’ I yelled. The priest turned his back on me then, and threw his nose in the air, as if he was above all of this. ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you!’ I screeched (more physically than metaphorically) and felt my predator instincts begin to kick in. I didn’t care, I was so angry. I wanted to hurt him, slash him, maim him. I lunged forward at him, starting to leap in the air to slash at him with a talon, when strong hands griped me and slammed me down. I twisted my neck around and saw an old friend, his face contorted with fury and hate. That facial expression shocked me out of my anger. It also accelerated my change, so in a few seconds, I was full golden eagle. I pecked and ripped at the hands holding my feet. He was shocked by my change (after all, he started holding down something man sized, and was now holding something bird sized) and let go almost as soon as I began to peck at him. I flew out as fast as I could”.

I realized my glass was empty again, and Donnie promptly gave me a refill. I was so lost in my tale, that I never even saw that large group that had stopped to listen in. I didn’t need tears to show my pain at recalling these memories. God, I had been living most of my life on the streets, and I’ve seen my fair share of the horror humanity could do, but I never saw anything that made me as scared and angry and sad as that day. I think it broke something inside of me, but… I never lost my faith in God. I did loose my faith in humanity and eventually lived my life by the maxim, “The world would be a great place, if there weren’t so many people on it.” It’s how I felt ever since that day. After a long pause I continued.

“My life never really got back on track. The papers were all over it the next morning. There were reporters who camped out on my families’ yard for a week. We were constantly being harassed and asked questions. Fame sucks, take it from me. I felt horrible about the pain I caused my family. Eventually, the press went away, but the looks never did. The college I had been accepted to withdrew my acceptance, citing a unforeseen admissions problem. The other schools I had applied to said that my application had been lost in the paperwork and I would need to wait until next year to apply again. I was fired from my job due to a downsize. Funny thing is, I was the only one laid off”.

“My friends stopped receiving my calls. I couldn’t go to most of the stores in my community anymore, they didn’t serve SCABs. The cops down there are just as crooked as the crooks, and refused to help me. If suicide wasn’t forbidden by the Catholic Church, I would have killed myself. Instead, I ran away. I ran from all the religious fanaticism and hate. I ran from the twisted small town I lived in. I ran from what I saw as a small black well of corruption that was threatening to swallow me whole. The hate was everywhere, and was inescapable. I just left one night. I walked out with twenty bucks, a credit card that expired a month later and the clothes on my back. I still wonder what ever happened to my family. I don’t know if they were shut out and hurt like I was, or seen with mercy and needing help due to the child I was. I really hope the latter…”

My tale was finished and I drank the last of my glass. I looked out among the people watching me for the first time, and saw twelve faces looking back with pity and sadness. I never meant to spill my heart out to so many people; I wanted to be alone tonight and instead got twelve people who saw me as a poor little birdie caught in a cage. They had no idea how much the cage hurt. They hadn’t lived most of their lives on the streets or out in the country, roving (actually really flying) from town to town running from a past burned with hate. I didn’t want their sympathy, it was too much. Eventually, the wolf morph put a paw on my back and said, “I’m sorry, I really am. Luckily, you came to the right place. We can help-”

My bottled up rage and shame broke at that point. This was just too much. I think also I lost track of how much I had to drink that night and alcoholic rage had quite a bit to do with my reaction. All my emotions just flowed out in a rush. I glared at him in a way only an eagle can. I focused my gaze and loaded it with all the emotion I had bottled up in me all these years. He stopped talking, which was my intent.

“I don’t want your help. I’ve managed to live by my self all these years, and I’ll keep doing that. You know, the psychiatrists said they could help too, but all they wanted was for me to pay the stupid government money that they’d just embezzle. Yeah, help. You’re not the first or the last I’ve heard that line from. Help! All I want to do is enjoy my drink and try to forget about what I once was, so leave me be, all right!?” I screeched. I mixed in eagle whistling and calling with my yelling. Promptly, all noise must have died off when I had my outburst, so now everyone in the bar was staring at me.

My self-control broke at that point, and I felt my self change. My clothes fell to the ground, and a golden eagle in all his magnificence stood on the barstool. It was all I could do to fly out of the bar and into the starry sky, rather than slash a few faces off. Lucky for me, someone was just coming in when I zoomed out.

I flew around for a while, and eventually landed on a church steeple. I cried for a bit, (sobs wracked my eagle body, but I never shed tears… eagles don’t have tear ducts) but got my emotions in order and when I calmed down realized I blew my best chance and turning my life around. God, I was sick of living like this. This was only a bit better than back home. I still got the looks, even though people would try to hide it, or only look when they thought I wasn’t looking. An eagle never misses much. I was cold at night, hot during the day and hungry all the time. Winter was the worst, because I could only rarely find mice and such to hunt or fish, so I had to beg for food sometimes. God that’s bad, because you got to look everyone right in the eye to challenge them to donate. You can’t turn your face away from the hate, you got to look right at it and plead with it. I realized I’d have to go without clothes again this winter, because I just left my current set at the bar, and I was not going back there. Why did I blow up like that? They were only trying to help… and I need help, I realized. I needed it bad, because I can’t keep running like this. I might as well blow my brains out, because I couldn’t keep doing this, and I didn’t think I would ever find a place like that bar again.

I landed on the ground and flipped back to my more human state. I tried the church doors, and found that they yielded easily. It was dark in there, but some low running lights illuminated the alter enough. I walked in, and blessed myself with holy water. Finding a pew, I knelt down and began to pray.

“God, I know that you are out there, somewhere. My life has gone to hell, but I’ve never lost faith in you. I’ve always believed, even when I got thrown out of my own church. I had faith in you, even when I was starving on the streets. I had faith in you when I almost got shot by a hunter. You’ve more or less kept me alive. But, God, I can’t do this anymore. That girl’s picture is burned in my eyes forever. I can’t keep living like this, I keep having nightmares about the first time I was kicked out of a congregation. I’ve let shame and grief ruin my life, and I got to get away from it all. I’ve run for so long, I don’t know how to do anything else. I’ve got to run to the only place where the hate can’t get me. I’m asking for forgiveness God, because I think I’ve blown my last chance at healing. I’m warped and twisted and sick. Bless me Father for I have sinned, my last confession was a lifetime ago”.

I began to confess all my sins in that church, on that cold, empty night. I heard the priest say his part in my head, and I confessed to all the crimes I had committed to survive these long years. With each sin confessed, I felt a memory tug at me. I apologized to all the people I had stolen food from, the people I stole clothes from, and the poor guy I pick pocketed to get money for tonight. The last things I confessed were murder, for that poor girl and murder, for myself. I was so lost in thought that at first, I thought it was just the mental priest I thought of to make my last confession.

“Well, you’ve done quite a lot, haven’t you? Your penance is to go back to the Blind Pig and tell them that you need help. Don’t bother about those murder charges, because they aren’t your sins”.

What?! I pulled my head up and saw a ferret look up at me. He cocked his head to the side and showed me his custom little vestments for him. He smiled and made the sign of the cross with a little paw and said, “I absolve you in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Now get out so I can lock up. I heard your story at the Blind Pig, and they can help you. You haven’t been doing that well on your own, but with some friends and a bit of love, I’ll see that you become the proud eagle God made you,” he said.

I was outright shocked, and didn’t fully realize what I just told that ferret until I was outside. He now knew both sides of my life, the before and after, and I quickly became angry again. How could I have been so stupid? However, my anger just boiled off. I just let it go, on that night, because I might never find that ferret again. And he was a priest. A SCAB priest! The thought hit me like a freight train, and I jumped up and down with elation. A church that didn’t hate SCABs! I might be able to sing for God again! I could go to mass again! I sung out to the starry sky. Then, I remembered his penance. I didn’t want to go back to the bar… but… I knew that he was giving me a second chance. God was giving me a second chance. I morphed full eagle and took off, allowing my eyes to pick out the bar again from the other buildings in this city.

I decided to go in full eagle, hopefully recognize a face and get my clothes back. Then, I’d apologize and get help. I’d get my life back. I let out a sharp whistle when I saw the place, I was so happy. I swooped down and right in, as luck would have it, as someone was leaving when I was coming in. I perched on the bar, and forced myself not to whistle at the bartender.

“Hey, look whose back!” I turned my head and saw the wolf morph. “You going to change back so we can talk a bit, or are you stuck?”
I made a jabbing motion with my beak at his shirt and pants.
“Ah, you don’t want to be naked… decency is not as strict here, but if it’ll make you feel more comfortable…” I looked around and saw quite a few almost total animorphs with nothing on. I still wanted clothes, however.
“Here,” he came back with a much nicer pair of jeans and a collared shirt and jacket. “I’ll help you in the restroom where you can change in private”. I fluttered over to his shoulder. I realized that I didn’t have to run anymore. I found a place where I could go if life got rough and no one would look at me with fear or hate. Well, that raccoon was still pretty scared in the back, but I’d work on that. For the first time in my life, I wanted tomorrow to come. I really couldn’t wait.

<months later>

I turned to Jack DeMule, “You ready?” He nodded. I let out a loud screech, and promptly got the silence I wanted.
“Hey, everyone, I need to say something,” I told the patrons. “I want to thank everyone for getting my life back together. Sherry, thanks for hooking my up with the computer services job and teaching me how to type. Rich, thanks for finding me a place to stay. It beats every tree I’ve ever slept in, and has a roof to boot. Joy, you still owe me five bucks because you lost that bet, that sign was green”, I got a few chuckles and guffaws. I wondered how I ever got mad at all these wonderful people.
“Most of all, I want to thank Joseph, my favorite lupine companion and Father Fur, as he goes by over here, for taking care of me on my first night at the pig and showing me light at the end of a tunnel. Most of all, I want to thank you, Donnie, for opening the tight clamp I put on my past and letting me change. I’ve told all of you how I could sing, but I don’t think I’ve ever sung for you. I might have when deep in my cups, but I don’t remember it. Tonight, I’m singing Old City Bar by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra and I dedicate it to our good barkeep Donnie over there. Hit it, Jack”.

He began to play and I felt the old rush of singing begin to fill my veins. I looked out over the bar and saw my audience look at me with expectant, curious faces. I took a deep breath and began to sing.

In an old city bar/That is never too far/ From the places that gather/ The dreams that have been

In the safety of night / With its old neon light / It beckons to strangers / And they always come in

And the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / The music was low / And the night Christmas Eve

I remembered how I spent weeks figuring out the guitar as piano music. I remember spending just as much time with Jack helping him learn the part I had written. I remembered the hours I practiced in my room just to give a little back to this bar… no this community of people which gave me a new lease on life. I whished I could have given more.
Then the door opened wide / And a child came inside / That no one in the bar / Had seen there before

And he asked did we know / That outside in the snow / That someone was lost / Standing outside our door

Then the bartender gazed / Through the smoke and the haze / Through the window and ice / To a corner streetlight

Where standing alone / By a broken pay phone / Was a girl the child said / Could no longer get home

And the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / The bartender turned / And said , not that I care / But how would you know this? / The child said I've noticed / If one could be home / They'd be all ready there

I began to increase my intensity and get louder. My heart thumped harder as I began to inject the emotions I felt that night into my song, a song that told the story of this wonderful place better than anything else. I would later wonder if somehow, that band had been here and used the Blind Pig as the inspiration for it.
My voice told a story that was not what was written down. I sung my song that night, the song of a busted, burned out bum who was given a second chance by not friends or even relatives, but strangers who had seen a burned out young soul and give it a second chance to rise from the ashes. The song naturally rose in intensity as I started on the bridge.

If you want to arrange it / This world you can change it / If we could somehow make this Christmas thing last

By helping a neighbor / Or even a stranger / And to know who needs help / You need only just ask

I poured out my soul as the song hit its climax, and I hit an intensity that I’d thought I’d never be able to sing again. I didn’t even bother trying to stop the emotion in my voice, and sung out my very being. I revealed more of myself tonight than I did that autumn night, but now I wanted them to know me. Now, I wanted them to see how they rekindled my old flames.

And the cynics will say / That some neighborhood kid / Wandered in on some bums / In the world where they hid

But they weren't there / So they couldn't see / By an old neon star / On that night, Christmas Eve

When the snow it was falling / The neon was calling / And in case you should wonder / In case you should care

Why we're on our own / Never went home / On that night of all nights / We were already there

With that, the song was done. Out of breath and emotionally spent, I smiled and said, “Now I’m not the bartender, and I am not that rich, but everyone’s next drink is on me. Merry Christmas to all of you, and God bless”.
I walked over to the bar amid the best thing a singer can ask for. The only signal that the audience accepts him and wishes him to share his gifts: applause.

User:Johnothano

2008-07-22T00:04:06Z

Johnothano:

Hi. I just sort of fell into TF writing, and am new to the whole thing. I've been a member of the fandom for about a year now, and have just started writing stories. It all started when I was really board at work and had a great idea for a story, and then I wrote it down. Then a pair of magical things happened: 1) I enjoyed writing and 2) My writing was not ''that'' bad. It still needs a lot of work, so constructive critisim is appreciated.

My stories:

*[[Music Talent]]
*[[Wings of Freedom]]
*[[Conversions]]

[[Category:Author|Johnothano]]

Wings of Freedom

2008-07-08T22:48:20Z

Johnothano:

Music Talent

2008-07-08T22:46:50Z

Johnothano:

{{byline|name=Johnothano|author=Johnothano}}

{{author note| My first story, so if its god awful I got an excuse. However, constructive criticism is appreciated and wanted.}}

I looked at my flute tutor, waiting her to point out a million mistakes I had made with my audition piece. “John, that was great. Real great,” she said. I was amazed.

She smiled at my shock. Lyn was actually completing my playing. I shook my head and smiled. “Wow…. Thanks.” She replied, “I need to fill you in on some of the changes to the audition this year”. I snapped back into reality. “What changes?” I was nervous. The audition had been the same every year since I first started playing the flute. Why change it now?

“Instead of three selected pieces to audition with, you now only need to play one selected piece and you get to pick another piece to go with it,” Lyn said as she pulled a piece of music out of an ancient-looking book. The music was yellow with age and slightly faded. There was a slight tear at one corner, but other than that, it was in very good condition for its apparent age. I read the title. My eyebrows rose up, questioning, “Canticle of Change? I have never heard of that piece”.

That was not very surprising. I got into flute after hearing Jethro Tull’s Bouree. I was always more of a rocker than a classical musician. Lyn smiled again, “Its three pages of long, technically challenging, difficult to interpret music. However, we still have three weeks to the audition and I think you are up to the challenge”. I glanced at the piece.
O my God, it looked hard. It looked like my first audition piece at light speed on crack. Then the next page was totally different. It became melodic, and slower than a snail. I thought I had actually flipped to a different piece. “Wha… that’s crazy. Impossible,” I protested. “There is no way anyone can change styles so fast. There is not even the slightest pause-” Lyn cut me off. “Look at the third page”.

I did. I then decided this piece was from music hell.

It was another new style. Where the first had been fast, it was a dark fast, an Ian Anderson fast, the kind of fast I liked. The next section had been slow, but with major notes. Nothing that would pop out of tune like a C# or E. The third page was fast, but it was lighter. A lot of short notes all over the place. Any note I had to hold out for more than a beat was a note I dreaded. C#, E, notes above middle B. Not easy or fun at all. I could hand this piece to a DragonForce guitarist and he’d cry. “Lyn, do you really think I can do this?” I was hoping this was some kind of stupid music joke. “Yep,” she said cheerfully. Not the answer I wanted. Not at all. I looked around for a pencil. Might as well start trying to make sense of this abomination. I saw the clock out of the corner of my eye. Wow, 6 o’clock already? “Lyn, I gotta go,” I said handing her a check. She replied, “OK, I expect you to have the first part figured out when we see each other next week. Just bring the music, I don’t think you’ll need your flute.” Awesome. There was no mistake about it then, she did expect me to play this… I didn’t know what to call it because music was not that insane.

I drove home thinking about the music. (I know I said it wasn’t music, but it was written with notes so I guess I had to call it that) I realized I had no idea who wrote it. When I got to my house, I made myself something to eat (Mom, Dad, and my brother were out at a parent-teacher conference) and looked for the name of a composer. There was none. No name anywhere on the music at all. Perhaps it just rubbed off or something. I decided to see if I could find a sound clip of the song on the internet. It would give me a place to start from. iTunes was, as usual, no help and lime wire came up with no hits either. A quick Google search gave me no music, but an interesting article.

It was from some crazy transformation website. I had always, in my heart of hearts, wanted to join one of these websites and mailing lists, but never could bring myself to do so. I would be on the verge of joining up, but then think that if I did I would have totally lost it. After all, what was the point of wishing or writing about not being human? It was a fact, and an easy one. Can’t really debate the issue. Anyone who did clearly had lost it a bit. Yet, every time I opted out, a voice inside of my head would say, At least they have the balls to do something they wanted to do, even if it was a little weird. I did not feel like staring an internal debate with myself, so I just read the article.

Apparently, someone had done some research on the Canticle of Change. They had found part of it on the walls of some ancient temple. Underneath it, was pictures of people listening to something, and as they listened, changing into animals. Not completely animals. What was the term…. Furries. I checked the music on the picture with the music I had. It matched the last part of the third page, the hardest part. It was like two melodies fighting for control, and eventually blending in together. Weird. Like a human and animal morph…. What was I thinking? There was no way a piece of music could change people, no matter how difficult. Yet, sometimes when you play well, really well, you don’t feel quite so human, do you? No… I was not going to keep thinking that, I still had all my marbles. I shook my head to clear it. I grabbed the music, my flute and a pencil and got to work. This was just as hard as I thought it was. I had just finished marking up the first part on the first page when my eyelids started to droop. I put down the pencil. Just close my eyes for a second then I’ll get up and get in my bed…just a second…come on, I got to get to bed… screw it…

I wake up in a grassy field. I look around to get my bearings. There is one tree, a big live oak, in the middle of the field, and the field is surrounded by a forest. Some level of my mind knows that this is just a dream, but I don’t dream often and it feels so real. I realize that I’m seeing things from a bit higher up than I’m used to, almost as if I have grown a foot taller. I realize that I’m thirsty. I also realize that I know there is a pool of water just beyond the woods. I run over to the woods, and find out that I’m moving a lot faster than I should. I stop. Something inside me tells me that I should stop; if I go there I will not be the same. I’m tired of running away from my passions and desires. Besides, this is just a dream, right? It feels so real, though. I go through the woods. I’m moving with far more agility than I should be able to. I get to the pool quickly. When I look in, something is troubling the waters and I can’t see my reflection. I bend down to drink. I can’t reach the water. I try to kneel down, but for some reason my legs are not working. Then the water turns as smooth as glass. I can see my reflection clearly, as if I am looking in a mirror. I jump back with shock and fright. The reflection looking back at me was human from the waist up, but after that had the body of a deer. Kinda like the centaurs from Greek mythology, but with a deer body instead of a horse. As the dream fades I hear the canticle softly in my ear.

BAM! “oww…” I hit the back of my head on my chair. I quickly get up and scrawl out my dream in my dream journal. The journal is the remnant of a wish that I could actually remember what I dream at night. This time I remember it all very clearly. I realize what I had been dreaming about. I look down. Thank God, I only have two legs. A part of me, however, feels regret. I shake my head again. I like being human because it is what I am. ‘nuff said. I check a clock. 7:30 in the morning. Well, I was never good at going back to sleep, so I got up, stretched out (my neck hurt. Bad) and set a pot of water to boil for tea. As I wait for the water to boil, I think about the song. Could it have made me dream that? Was that even possible? I try to think of something else. Anything else. My mind keeps coming back to the dream and the song. Did Lyn know about this?

The teapot whistles as the water boils. I pour myself a mug and try to make up a logical explanation for all of this. I can’t find an explanation, so I decide on a course of action. I will keep working with the song, and when I see Lyn next week, I will tell her about this whole thing then. I finish off my mug of tea.

After talking a quick shower, I tried to get the song and dream out of my head. Eventually, I just gave up. I ran some more searches on the Canticle of Change. Nothing of any value except that article. I look for more about it on the website. Looks like I need to be a member to get full access to the site. And read the rest of the article. Well, life just boxed me in a corner. I am only doing this to get the full story on the canticle, I tell myself as I click the join up for free button. Yeah right, you know you’re here for more than that. Feel proud of yourself, you are finally being you.

Fine, whatever. But right now, I needed to read that entire article. I finish the sign up page and decide to make my screen name DeertaurFlautist. God, I’ve truly gone crazy now. Well, might as well read the rest of the article. I got about half way down and stop. “… it was also said that the player of the music would receive ‘magical visions’ of what he or (in rare cases) she would transform into…” I check to see if I have two legs again. Yep, still do. Good.

I decided not to wait a week to talk to Lyn, she was getting a call. Right now. I grabbed my cell phone and called her. No answer. Damn. Well, I’ve gone this far haven’t I? I grab the piece of music again and crank up Liquid Tension Experiment. It’s a crazy gift of mine, but I can work on a piece of music while listening to a totally different piece of music. After about an hour I put down the music. It really is crazy hard. I think about reading some stories on the website, but stop myself. I only signed up for that article, I tell myself sternly. I am still normal, not like those people…
I wonder if I should tell my parents and little brother about all of this. Nah, no point in worrying them.

My phone rings, snapping my out of my thoughts. I fumble with the receiver and answer “Hello?”
“This is Lyn, you called?”
“Yeah, something has come up about the canticle… I don’t know if I want to play it for the audition.”
“What is the problem?” She was concerned. I usually was too stubborn to change pieces.
“I had a weird dream last night….”
“Oh… come over to my house, I’ll explain it all then.” Wait, she knew?
“I’m on my way.”

I hung up in disgust. She never told me about this part of the song…. If I had known about all of this I would have never decided to play it. I would have protested… Well, she was promising answers. I grabbed my wallet and keys.

“Please, sit down.”
I nod my head in thanks and Lyn begins to explain it all to me. It takes about an hour for her to explain it all. When she is done, I decide to repeat the important bits back to make sure I got this story straight.
“OK, you’re telling me that you have been passing this music down for generations, since ancient times, waiting for the right person to play it. This song was once played a lot, and that is where we get all the ancient myths from. They all really existed, and were just people transformed by this song. However, the song lost its potency from overuse. People began to abuse it. After a while, it stopped working. Then, people lost their faith in its abilities. But not everyone. There are still a few copies of this song left passed down by musicians to people who they believe can either protect the song, or play it again. When a person that can play the song right gets a copy, they figure it out at alarming speeds. You think that the song has been gathering power and now when it is finally played correctly, will transform not just the player and the immediate listeners, but the world.” She nods.

“And you think I can play it correctly.”

More nodding. “John, you are the best student I have ever tutored. You’re talented. You can do things on flute that I never thought possible. You learn fast. I think you are the one.”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want this… I don’t want to transform at all… I like being human, why would I want to be anything else?”
“Just be open to the possibility… you never know. Also, don’t worry about the difficulty of the piece. Just go with it.”

I grunt. Whatever. I say goodbye. Throughout the drive home and the rest of the day I think about what Lyn said. I raged in an internal debate. Be open to the idea, that is all she is asking. No, I am still normal, still sane, I respond. Eventually that night, I decide to take a chance. Fine, I tell myself. I’ll go on the website and read some stories. I’ll be open to the outside chance that I might be the one to play this song right. I fall asleep surprisingly quickly.

I open my eyes the field again. I check my lower body, and I now look down and confirm that yes, I do have the lower body of a deer. As I lift my head up it feels heavier than normal. I reach up and touch a pair of antlers growing from my forehead. Did I have them before? I think back to my last dream. Yeah, I think I did. As I drop my hand my arm brushes against my ear. A deer ear. I feel my face and upper body. That is still human. I now begin to explore my new form. I walk (trot?) slowly around the field. I pick up speed, and eventually speed up to a full-fledged gallop. I feel amazing. This is euphoria. With a sudden burst of speed I leap over a dead log and into the woods. Reveling in my agility, I run from tree to tree. Never before have I felt so normal… so right. I get to the pool of water. Slowing down, I check the pool. The water is troubled. Again, I struggle to bend down to get a drink. A voice inside of me rages, “You cannot drink. If you do, everything you have worked for will be lost!” The pool again smoothes out. I look at my new form. But If I take a drink, I realize, I will be able to have this all the time…I hear the canticle louder than before. My dream fades out slowly.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I slam my alarm clock into another dimension. Getting out of bed slowly, I realize that I have mass today. Duh, it’s Sunday, and I am in the choir. I mill over the new dream in the shower. I freeze suddenly. The Roman Catholic Church was started after the song supposedly stopped working and was hidden. Will I be excommunicated if I transform? I realize how much of my life will change if the song is all it’s cracked up to be. If Lyn is correct, than more people than you will transform, you know that. It is hard to say how many, really. Perhaps my life will not be totally messed up, or at least other people will be there with me…. I smile. I need to focus on the mass.

<about an hour later>

“That was great!”, Father exclaimed. “That has got to be some of the best playing I have ever heard”.
I am totally dumbfounded. The pastor at my church is one for speed masses. He was never a supporter of music in the mass. Hearing a compliment from him was even better than hearing it from my tutor. I take a deep breath. I think I can play the canticle… and even worse I think I want to play it.

<two days later>

I looked at the music. How did I…? The music just fell into place. In only two days I have done what I thought was impossible. I just need to ‘touch up’ a bit on the music and then… well, I have no clue.

I take a break and start to read several of the stories on the website. They are good. I loose all track of time as I read about all sorts of morphs and wild transformations. With each story, I feel more comfortable about my own probable transformation. Perhaps I won’t be hated or feared by everyone after all. The front door opens. Mom is home. The rest of my day seems to pass in a blur as I wonder what I will dream about tonight.

I’m standing the field with the tree again. I now trot to the edge of the woods and walk through with out a passing thought. I come to the pool, which now is not troubled. Now working my deer legs and torso muscles together, I manage to bend down and get my lips to water. I take a long drink. I feel totally refreshed and at peace. I hear the canticle much louder now, and realize the reason I was able to work so fast on it is that I am hearing it in my dreams. As my vision fades to black, I see other morphs in the shadows of the trees. Play the song, hold nothing back they whisper. The sooner the better.

I wake up to the sunlight shining in my window. I feel totally refreshed, and a quick glance at my clock tells me its 9 am. I glance down at lower body. I still have two legs, but not for long. I guess I decided to accept my inner longings and dreams. The canticle does have the power to change, and it is a change I want. I take a quick shower and grab a pop-tart for breakfast. I eat as I read the message board on the transformation website. I post a message about the canticle, but I know today is the day. I know it in my heart of hearts. I make my last few marks on the piece and warm up. Hold nothing back they whispered in my dream. Can I do it? I realize this is my final chance to back down. This won’t just affect me, but everyone that wants to transform I think as I run trough the piece in my head. I had played it in parts before when I was working on it, but this will be the first time I play the whole thing. I cut the music off on my computer. Sunlight streaming through the window paints a prism on my shirt. I place my flute to my mouth.

I began to play. I am sure of that. My vision faded out and the canticle was only the faintest echo in my head. I hear bits and peaces of some of my favorite songs. My favorite parts to those songs. The piano of Bruce Springsteen in Thunder Road, Herman Lee’s Guitar Solo in DragonForces’ Through the Fire and Flames. Genesis’ drum beat in Jesus He Knows Me, the bass line in The Lemon Heads’ Miss Robinson just to name a few. They all come together in my head. It is one great symphony, and I now hear my flute above all of it. I am merging, blending human and animal together. The sound is now more like a needle and thread stitching together what was torn asunder. I hear the final protest from my old way of life, “No! You have no right to do this! You are far out of your league. Please come back to sanity…please.” The song responds for me, “I have never felt so sane or right in my life.” As I hold out the last note I realize that my vision hasn’t faded out, I just closed my eyes. I open them as my note fades away. I look down and then stamp my hoof in approval. I turn around and look out into the bright day at a rather astonished, but happy cat morph who was out jogging. She looks at me and I just shrug my shoulders. I realize I have no way to explain what just happened to my parents or my brother or my friends. I’ll figure out something.

[[Category:Story]]
[[Category:Johnothano]]
[[Category:Cervine]]

Wings of Freedom

2008-07-08T02:12:05Z

Johnothano:

Wings of Freedom

“Wings are far more than feathered arms. They are part mystery – and part miracle. For what bares high the body may also give flight to the soul.” From The Wings of Merlin

I pedaled hard. The wind swept back my hair and I flung my arms out wide, enjoying the feeling of wind rushing past me. With my eyes closed, I envisioned myself not on a bike, but with wings of my own, soaring on the sky.

Alas, friction slowed the bike down, and I came back to reality. I’m the product of a very premature birth from two aerodynamic engineers. I am tall and thin. Very thin. And I eat a lot. Go figure. Another fun catch is that I’ve been surrounded by airplanes and flight all my life. I used to love to go and look at the cockpits of the passenger jets I flew on so often. My greatest dream when I was little was to fly an airplane. I never did get a pilot’s license due to a move my family made. Although I’ve given up on becoming a pilot, I’ve never given up on flying. I have dreams of flying on my own wings, wings of flesh and blood, across the sky. I’m going into my senior year of high school and I am hopeless dreamer. I’ve researched all sorts of things on genetic engineering, and I know that a sort of human-avian cross is impossible. Birds are built for flight, humans are built for brains.

I pull in to my driveway, noting with caution a black van I have never seen before. My mom’s company, AIR (Aerospace Innovative Research) has done some backroom research work for the government that she doesn’t tell the rest of the family. I’m the systems administrator for her company, so I pretty much know exactly what she’s doing. I haven’t told her I know, because I’m embarrassed about it. The only reason I’m the Systems Admin is because she is tech illiterate. She needs someone to do it and I work for dirt cheap. Another reason not to tell, I could find my job outsourced to someone else.

I walk in to my house on the alert for anything unusual. The man in the suit with dark shades on my couch factors a 10 on the unusual scale. Ridiculously, the first thing I think of is how clichéd the man looks. Nervously I say, “Hi. I’m Jack, Beth’s oldest son. I’m the Systems Administrator for her company”. He smiles, “Your parents have already told me all about you”. Why do you want to know about me?, I wonder. I sit down saying, “Well then you have me at an advantage, Mr. ?”
“Blockwood. Now, can you tell me about this?” He holds up a notebook. I see the cover, and feel my anger replacing caution. “How much have you read?” There is an edge to my tone.
“Enough”, he responds flatly.
“That was personal, I never meant for anyone to read it or even know about it”.

What he was holding up was a notebook I wrote all my dreams of flight in. Sometimes, I’d draw pictures of the anatomy of humans with wings, and which organs would be needed and such. Sometimes, my entries were just rambles on how much I wanted to fly. It was all deeply personal stuff.

“Well, you have quite--”, I cut him off.
“How much have you told my parents?”
“They already knew”.
“What? I never told anyone about that book!”
“Well, when you leave a notebook out, people tend to read it”. My rage switched targets. How dare they infringe on my privacy like this!
“Now back to what I was saying. It seems you would like to fly. Well, I think we can arrange something…”
“What are you talking about?” Curiosity held my anger back now
“We can give you wings, Jack. Wings for flight”.
“Who is ‘We’ and how come everything I’ve ever read points to the ‘your lying your face off’ category?”
“If you knew who ‘we’ were, we’d have to kill you. We have a new DNA treatment we’d like to… ah… test out so to speak”.
“Something tells me that the mortality rate is high here, or I’m a guinea pig for something that scientists don’t quite understand… deals off”.
“I was afraid you might say that. Let me show you something”. He passes what looks like a miniature T.V. to me. What I see in the screen takes the breath out of me. Mom, Dad and My 10 year old little brother, Jeff, are bound and gagged and there is a gun pointed to the back of Jeff’s head.
“Oh my god…” I glare at him. “This is horrible! If I say I’m in will you release them?”
“Yes”.
“I’m in then… and screw you”.
He pulls out a cell phone. “Yes… release them, he’s in”.

He walks out of my house to the black van; I follow after arming the alarm and locking up my house. I climb into the passenger seat in the front. “Here. It’s the scientific dissertation of what our DNA treatment does”.
“This is huge”. I thumb through the pages. 200 and some odd pages! I’d better know exactly what the hell was going to happen to me. Looking over at him, I respond,
“Your people aren’t big in PR are they? Because right now, the last thing I want to do is take a road trip with you”. His response shocks me to silence.
“I didn’t want to do it either… I’m sorry. I hope they didn’t hurt your family…”

I spent most of that road trip reading the dissertation. It took 3 days to get from where I lived to about 40 mi. out of Phoenix, Arizona where the lab and living quarters were. I also befriended Blockwood. He really was not a bad guy. He was struggling to make ends meet as a police officer in southern Louisiana. He took this job because he needed the money so his daughter could get through college. He hated some of the tactics the lab used to get potential ‘recruits’. However, when I pressed about who the other people where, he remained silent. I also managed to get in contact with my family from a payphone outside of a Motel 6. They were all fine. I silently prayed I’d be fine too.

Basically, the scientists at this lab had engineered modified avian DNA that would allow my body to blend the aspects of bird and human. Before any genes were added or even taken away, a bit of specialized RNA unzipped my DNA and cut it where new DNA would be placed. It also sped up the development of new organs to match my human age. Finally, it made my body receptive to DNA change. Quite a biological marvel. The bird DNA was engineered to fit where the new brakes were and take away some of my human DNA as well. The last bit, to me at least, was the most important. Another bit of specialized RNA would run through my DNA strands and check to make sure it all worked out. If it didn’t, the RNA would find the DNA necessary and ‘fix’ and problems. This eliminated any chance mutations due to the process. This whole process worked due to some nanotechnology that AIR had helped develop during a backroom deal for the government. Funny how sometimes what you do and don’t do can come around. Real funny.

“Well, it looks like they piggybacked the whole thing on a modified virus… I’ll might get sick for a while…”, I say hesitantly. “I don’t like that… not at all”.
The van stops.
Blockwood looks at me. “Sorry for all of this… and good luck”.
I smile. “Not your fault. Tell your daughter to study hard and stuff”.

I walked into a white building with a sign that said ‘Reception’. Blockwood had left in the van. It was HOT out here in Arizona. As I walked in the air conditioning hit me at full force. A receptionist smiled at me and said, “Hey. You must be Jack. Last but not least I always say.” She was WAY too happy. So happy, it was annoying. “Yeah… so where do I go?” I say quietly. “Just follow me.” She was… bubbly. I can’t think of a better word. Happiness just bubbled over in her like a bottle of shaken soda. I waked into a waiting room. Again I lost my breath on who I saw there.

“Jake? Max? What the hell are you guys doing here?”
“Same as you man… though its nice to see another familiar face”, Jake said.
“When do they start?” I asked
“Tomorrow… that’s why they prepped you on the drive”.
“Oh…” I turned to bubbly lady. “Can he show me around? We are friends.” I tried to smile. I really did.
“Sure.” Still annoyingly happy.
Max got up, “Come on, we’ll show you around.”

For the next hour or so, I learned about the compound. Jake and Max somehow got here a day earlier, even though we were abducted on the same day. I asked them how they felt about the whole thing. Max was all for it. In fact, during the ‘tour’ he would go into all the possibilities flight and wings would bestow on us. Jake wanted absolutely nothing to do with all of this. He had tried to escape last night. The guards found him and brought him back. (Yep, they surrounded the place with barbed wire and armed guards. Very cliché) I fell somewhere in the middle. I wanted wings, yeah, but this was wrong…

After the tour, which ended in our shared room, Jake said, “O.K. guys, I got an idea for getting out of here tonight…”
“Why?” Max responded. “Think about all we can do with wings! Flight for Christ’s sake. We’ll be able to fly!”
“No… we’ll be outcasts from society, never allowed to set foot in any town or city! We’ll be freaks! Don’t you get it?! Get your head out of the clouds, Max!” Jake yelled.
“We’ll find a way! We’re smart Jake! Don’t forget that you have that tracker on your wrist from the last time you tried to run. We don’t have enough time to figure out how to run…”
Jake looked cast fallen. “Oh yeah… Jack… you can use my plan… the main gate shifts guards at 9. You can sneak through then…”
“And leave you two here? We’ll get through this together. We’ll find a way to be normal Jake…I promise you.” Where the hell did that come from?
A single tear rolled down his cheek. “God, Jack… look at yourself. I’ve never seen you so resolute or determined about something before…” Jake said. “How though? We’ll have huge wings on our backs…”
“We don’t know how much we can fold them…we may be able to look normal in loose clothes. We worry about one problem at a time, O.K.? First is this DNA treatment. We can’t escape, I doubt we can fight, so we take it. Then, I don’t think we’ll just be free to go. We’ll escape here, and maybe figure out if there is a way to undo what will be done to us. Got it?” Where the hell was all this coming from? I was not a leader.
“Sounds good to me.” Jake said with a smile.
Max spoke up, “Your plan is good and all, but what if some of us don’t what to change back?”
“Then don’t.” I smile. “Lets get some rest.”

The sun streams through our window. I blink back at the light as I wake up. My friends are already up. Someone knocks at our door.
“Rise and shine, nestlings!” Oh, God it was bubbly lady. Wait, nestlings!? I sigh in relief when I realize I don’t have wings. Max chuckles at my sigh. “You really don’t like her, do you?” “No… when she said… you know what? Forget it”.

We ate a huge breakfast at the mess hall. “How many kids did you say are here?” I ask Max. “Dude, about 200… it’s a miracle there hasn’t been any leaks about all of this.”
“Yeah.” I shudder to think of some of the tactics that must have been used. I wonder what they made Mr. Blockwood do for them.
“Attention all patents! We will start with the oldest of you to the youngest.”
Smart, the oldest were the most likely to try to escape.
“So all 17 year olds please report to the lab.”
As we walked out, we saw armed guards watching our every move and also watching the mess hall for any signs of escape.
We arrived at the lab, a huge 5 story building.
“Ok, all patents First names A through J please enter the building. I trust you can find your way to your respective room; it has your name on it. You should not have to go above the third floor. Good luck”, a man in a white laboratory coat said.

I said my goodbyes, and found my room on the third floor quickly. When I got there their already was a doctor and a few nurses ready to go. So much for a wait to collect my thoughts. As I got on the bed, my arms and legs were tied and bound.
“Knock me out… right now. I don’t want to remember any of this. Not even hazy”
Thankfully, a nurse slipped a mask over my mouth, and I lost consciousness.

I woke up to a throbbing between my shoulder blades. I rolled over on my bed to in a better position. That’s the problem with wings, can’t lay on your back at all—wait wings?! I was up in a flash. I sat up and stretched out my wings. My god, they did it… I wondered how long I’d been out. My God… My God… wings felt so weird, and yet also so right. I tried an experimental flap. No that can’t be right… the air wasn’t under my wings right. I knew a lot about aerodynamics, and that was not right. Max woke up second. He yawned, then stretched his wings until the wingtips until they touched the ceiling. His eyes opened wide. “No way…”, I heard him mumble. He sat up too. “How long have you been up?” He asked me. “A few minutes at most”, I responded. Jake’s eyes flicked open. His hand brushed against his wing when he rolled over for a better position. His eyes opened so wide, he looked like he should be in some cartoon. “They did it”, he said simply. I got up, and realized that the shirt I had been wearing was gone. I looked back at my bed, and saw the torn fragments of it. Wow. I looked in the dresser for the first time, and found the shirts there had slits in the back for wings. I put a shirt on, and then told my friends, “I’m gonna go to that big field in the center of this compound and see what’s up with everyone else”. I got a pair of nods, then I opened the door, walked through, and hit my wings on the closing door.

I muttered a curse under my breath, and then clenched my wings as tightly as I could. Well, we could fold them in tight enough to slip a windbreaker over, so no worries with us never being able to blend in. Yeah right. As I walked to the field, my mind filled with worries. When could I go home? Could I ever lead a normal life? What if the wings don’t work? What else in my body was changed?

I walked out toward the field, then found about 30 winged mutant kids had already woken up, and were exploring like I was. I asked some of the older kids how their ‘operation’ went, and got stories similar to mine. Several kids were trying to fly. The range of motion was off. Our wings were attached to our backs, maybe our shoulder blades. They were flapping perpendicular to the ground, so the best they could hope for was to blow themselves down. I stretched out my wings and tried to figure out what I could do with them. I maneuvered my wings several ways, but could not seem to be able to get the wing to ‘cut’ the air at a parallel level to the ground. After I figured that, hopefully a running jump could get enough air movement for a takeoff.
BAM!
I stumbled and nearly fell over. Spinning around, I glared at a big kid (10 bucks says he’s a football star). This kid was unnaturally ripped. It was almost disgusting how big his muscles looked. Then I noticed something quite crazy. He did not have wings. Somehow stopping my mouth from dropping open, I said, “Hey, watch where you’re going!”

Normally, I would have let the whole thing pass. But, today I was frustrated with my inability to fly, and really worried about my future and my friends.

“Why should I have to worry about some mutant freak?!”, he responded. Fighting words.
“What, mama’s boy is sad because his body is too fucked up with steroids to undergo a DNA treatment?” Now, that was quite a few guesses in there. Mostly, I was just looking for insults. I was letting all my anger and stress out at someone who was quite a bit bigger than me. I win the noble prize for stupidity.

“Shut up, freak!” He yelled (with a surprising amount of venom) and aimed a punch at me. I was never a fighter. The last time I got into a fight was in the third grade, which I started and lost. That tends to kill any desire to start a fight again. Ever. However, to my fast bird-biased reflexes and vision (I learned this later), he was moving in slow motion. Adrenaline pumping, I stepped back to doge his punch and then leapt in the air (unnaturally high, I must have gotten two feet up) and delivered a snap kick to his face. His head snapped back to a crazy angle and blood seemed to pour out of every pore in his face. Apparently, I was also unnaturally strong. His head seemed to bounce back to a more normal angle, and his eyes rolled up inside of his head. Crazy. I just knocked out someone with one kick to the head and busted up quite a bit more. Scary. His body fell backward with a horrible sounding thud

A low approving whistle came in from behind me. Jake had seen the whole thing. “Wow… dude, that was crazy…”, his mouth was open so wide, I could have fit my head in it. Easy. However, now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I saw how much damage I did. Fuck, I may have killed him.
“He needs help!”, I yelled at Jake. Blood was everywhere. On the ground, on my shoe, in his hair, in his shirt, and his face looked like someone covered it in red paint. Jake ran off to find a doctor.

“What happened here?” Oh boy, a guard. Just what I needed right now. Awesome.
“Sir…” well, the truth will set you free right? “Sir, he tried to attack me. I was acting in self defense.”
“Oh? Is that why you have no bruises or scrapes at all and his face looks like it went through a meat grinder?” He grabbed the body. “Come along with me.” Crap.

“Well, you broke his nose, jawbone and wrecked his mouth, not to mention some muscle damage in his throat due to the whiplash”, the doctor/scientist said. I saw how much damage I did on an x-ray. Wow. “I did not know I was that strong, sir”, I said, trying to look innocent.
“We need to run a few tests on you to see what other surprises your body has in store for us”.
“Wait, you’re not mad?”
“Not in the least. We knew you would get stronger, but had no idea how strong. You had no idea. However, due try to be more careful”. I gave him a somber nod.
“Yes, sir…. But”
“What?” He was curious, it was written all over his face.
“Why did he not get wings… ok by that I mean, why did the treatment not work on him?”
“You guessed it right, according to the testimony by your friend. His body was no longer receptive to our serums because of drug use”.
“O.K, what kind of test are you thinking about?”

Several tests later…

“Well, I’ll be damned”, the doctor breathed. “You are predominantly human, but you have quite a few avian aspects to you… and some aspects that are totally new”.
“Please fill me in…” I said nervously.
“The totally new stuff is your heart and lungs. You heart is super-efficient and also beats very quickly. Also, your blood cells are capable of transporting more oxygen than a human or bird. You have slightly expanded lungs and air sacs, like birds, to get enough oxygen for flight. Your bones are ultra-light, but not brittle in the least. They are actually quite strong. You’ve grown about 3in. with the operation, and actually lost some weight. Your muscle structure is astounding. It seems like you can rotate your shoulder blades outwards to provide a more horizontal axis for your wings… amazing”.

I was free to go, so I said my goodbyes and walked out into the midday sun. I went to the mess hall and ate a ton. I’m not joking. I’ve never eaten so much in my life… ever. I caught up with Max and Jake, who had spent the morning trying to fly, and trying to look normal, respectively. In fact, Jake had a windbreaker over his shirt and wings, and looked rather normal, quite unlike the 17 year old avian-human cross he was. That was good. We could at least try to live semi-normal lives after all this. Max was frustrated by his failure to take flight. He’d been trying to fly for about three hours. “Max, I think I know why you haven’t--” I was cut off.
“Attention, all patents. We would like to run several tests on all of you. This may take several days. So that none of you accidentally slip out and get lost, we are placing trackers on all of you”. What? Time to leave. My friends and I rose up out of our chairs and ran toward the exit. No Good! It was blocked by two security guards, who deftly grabbed us as we tried to stop short of running into them. I felt a cold metal band around my wrist, and heard one say, “Well, our near escapee tries and fails again…” I was shoved through the door, along with my friends.

The next three days were amazingly boring. My mind was consumed with worry. Worry for my friends, worry for my family, and worry for my self. For two days I struggled with out any success to get my tracker off my wrist. I also never remembered to tell Max that we could angle our wings more horizontally. I forgot about that myself. Jake disappeared for three days, only to show up in our room to go to sleep. He eventually showed us a notebook that had all the guard shift times. Studious to say the least. Max had been also off to himself. He walked in our shared room the same time Jake showed me the notebook. “We can’t fly man…” max moaned to me, “The wings are all show…”
Then it hit me that I never told Max what the doctor told me.
“Umm… Max did I ever finish telling you what I started to tell you in the mess hall the day we got trackers?”
“Ummm…” a pause. “No you never did. What were you going to say?”
“I know how to fly.”
At that moment, a kid busted in our room. He had wings, but looked scared and flustered. “Has any of you seen my brother?”
“What?” I answered. “Slow down kid, tell us the whole story”.
“My brother was in the first group of kids to get tested, but they never came back! It’s been three days! He was always kind of a loner, but I never wanted to loose him! Please, has any of you seen him!” I realized at that moment that the kids they called for testing never came back. All my internal alarms went off, but I managed to remain calm. “Kid, he may be in another room… keep looking”, I said.
He just ran off.
I turned to my friends. “We got to get out of here, now. The tests that they are running are just a way for them to get at some of the kids and drag them away from the rest of us. I don’t know what they are doing to the selected kids, but it can’t be good. Max, the secret to flight is we need to angle our shoulder blades more horizontally, in order to catch the wind in the right direction, after that… remember to flap”.
Jake looked at me. “O.K, so the next guard shift is in 10 minutes at the east wall, but this is all null and void if we can’t get these things off”, he said, showing me our trackers.
“We just have to risk it”.
“No you don’t”, said a voice I never thought I’d hear again. Mr. Blockwood!
I spun around and saw him holding a key chain with a huge amount of keys on it.
“I lifted this from a rack in a lab. Here are the three keys to your locks”, he said handing us the keys. I took my tracker and stuffed it under my pillow, my friends did the same.
“I’ve heard what they eventually want to do to all of you, the scientist that did some real tests on you told me. You don’t want it to happen to you. We’re working together to try and free all of you, but you’ve got to tell me how and if you kids can fly”, he asked me. “We just move our shoulder blades out…” I showed him how I managed to curve my wings more horizontally. “After that, a good running jump should get us high enough to get lift on a powerful down stroke. After that, well… remember to flap”, I said.
“Gotcha… I’m sorry about all of this. That scientist is sorry too. You boys get out of here, and don’t turn around for nothing!”
As we ran out into the hall, a compound guard noticed me with out a tracker. “Hey, what is going on here?” he demanded at me. I spun around ready to show him not to mess with a mutant freak, when Blockwood put a hand on my shoulder. “You, fly away. I got this guy.” Blockwood charged him and took him out with a roundhouse kick. “I’ll help the others, you guys get out of here!”

As we ran out to the central field, we sped past several other kids. I had been so lost in my own problems, that I never saw how few kids there were around. Maybe Blockwood and the scientist had only just started, I thought. But as I glimpsed the starry sky, I remembered all the names they had called in for ‘testing’. I would not have been surprised if more than 100 kids had been called. The guards were ready for us, already spreading into a circle to trap us in. Bubbly Lady was in the center. She called out to us as we ran toward her, “Going somewhere, dears?” She still sounded happy! Max and Jake where yelled out instructions on how to fly. I smiled. You might want to try a cage, I thought, to capture something with wings. I slid my shoulder blades out and sprinted. Leaping forward and up I flapped down hard with my wings. I did not hit the ground. I flapped again. I gained altitude. I was flying!

Flying is one of those great indescribable things. It’s part euphoria, part freedom. It feels like nothing can take you down, like you’re in control of the whole world. You feel stronger, and more powerful than ever before. With each down stroke I felt better and better. As I beat my wings, I yelled insults and threats to the astonished faces of my captors. I heard from below, “How did they figure out how to fly?” I yelled back, “We’re part bird, nimrod! We’d figure out how to fly eventually!” I heard the distinctive sound of gunfire. All of the sudden, a bright patch of red appeared on the wing of the girl above me. She fell fast. One of the kids below us caught her, and I yelled, “Come on! Lets fly away from these poor chemistry dropouts!” I smiled as we flew far from the compound into the starry sky.

An hour or so later…

By some bizarre group impulse, we all (more or less) camped at the same stretch of desert. Several kids had several fires going as we all camped in our own groups. I sat, looking into the fire Jake had made, and just relaxed. The last hour or so had been crazy. The guards had followed us for a time before giving up. I saw at least three kids go down with gunshot wounds. My worries had seemed to mount up even after my escape. Where the hell were we? Did anyone still have a tracker? Was everyone O.K.? What were we going to do next? I was starving. I had only eaten a huge dinner, what 5 hours ago? How could I be so hungry? What time was it for that matter? Where my parents O.K.?

That last question changed my focus. I’d take a rest here for the night, but after that I was off to find my parents. Hunger could wait. I told my plan to my friends my plan. Max nodded, but Jake seemed a little more worried. “What if… what if our parents don’t want us anymore? I don’t know if they’d like the wings and stuff…” I put my arm around him. “They won’t mind the wings. Your parents will love you no matter what you look like. At least we came out of this with out any mental damage, and can still use our limbs. We’re stronger, more agile and can see better than the average human. We can hide our wings somewhat. All in all, I’m worried about my parent’s safety more than how they’ll perceive me when I get them”. Max then spoke up, “Look, we don’t know where we are, how do we know which direction to fly in?” I faced east. “Well, we go east until we see a town, then we pick up a map and figure it out from there”. Wait, how the hell do I know which direction is east? I point toward the distance. “Do you guys think this is east?” I got a pair nods, and then a pair of startled glances. Max figured it out. “We’ve got a hawk’s vision so I guess we’ve also got a hawk’s directional sense”.
That made sense. I nodded. “Good night”, I told my friends. I curled into a ball on the desert sand, and folded my wings over me like a blanket. I must have been tired, and was asleep in seconds.

The next day…

“There is no way this is 180 miles from the other town. This map must be wrong”. We had got up early, and took off before dawn. We stopped in the first town we saw. We then got lucky. Jake still had his windbreaker, so he went into town. An errant man left his credit card at a gas station. Now I am against stealing, but I am sure this man was a Good Samaritan and would have let us ring up some crazy charges on his credit card. Anyway, Jake went into a Gap outlet and bought us all new clothes. There was also a McDonald’s, and we caused a bit of a disturbance with the amount of food we ordered. Apparently, it is uncommon to order 2 double quarter pounders per person. Who would have thought? I had a theory about why I could eat so much. Flight was very energy intensive and we had super fast metabolisms to make the energy required. We also found an AAA outpost and managed to pick up a map there. We then flew for two hours. Apparently, even though Max could not believe it, we managed 90 miles an hour. Plus, we don’t need to worry about traffic. It’s rather cool.

However, I was hungry again. Also, my wings burned. Flight was exhausting. We stopped at another tiny town the seemed to be built for a mall in the middle of nowhere. According to our map, we were somewhere over Texas. I told my friends that we were stopping there for a refuel and take a needed break. I got two tired nods of assent. We dove down about three miles away from town. I hoped to God no one saw us. We tucked our wings in and pulled our windbreakers over them. At the mall, we got an entrée from nearly every spot at the food court. Several amazed people watched us eat the large amount of food we ordered. In fact a well-meaning father walked up to us and said, “Are you boys O.K.?” Before I could stop him, Max got up and said, “Yeah, flight just really makes you hungry”. We left the mall before the man could recover. I looked at Max wrathfully. “Look, the way that guy looked was funny as hell, but we really can’t afford to drop ‘hints’ about our wings, alright?” He chuckled, “Yeah, whatever”.

We flew for another two hours, then decided to get dinner and crash for the night. We stopped at a Wendy’s. Again, we shocked the staff with the sheer amount of food we ordered. I had a feeling I needed to get used to that. We then checked into a Motel 6 and promptly crashed for the night. We locked our door, threw the dead bolt and put a chair against it just to be safe. After closing the curtains, we all let our wings stretch out a bit. I think I fell asleep before I hit the covers.

The next morning, we found out that our credit card had been canceled when we tried to buy a bag to carry in flight rations on. Looks like the last leg of our journey would be one straight shot home. We were looking at about 5 hours in the air. Fuelled on by a big breakfast from the hotel (it was complementary), we started this marathon flight. It was rough. About three hours in, my stomach started to growl. Four hours in, my wings began to ache. I did not think I’d be able to make it. At one point, I was only able to keep going when I thought about what the lab people might do to my parents. Sheer willpower kept me in the air. I was boosted on however, when I began to see familiar sights. We landed a few miles outside of town by the interstate.
We split up when we got to town with a promise to call each other about our families ASAP. I walked up to my house uncertainly. My mind racing I knocked on the door.

“Hello? Oh My God… Jack!”, my mother embraced me warmly. “It’s so good to have you back!” She was crying on my shoulder. “Mom, I can’t breathe. Let’s talk inside”. My mom nodded and called my Dad in. We sat down on the living room, and I told my parents the whole story. Every last bit. For my mom’s sake, I left out all the connections with AIR and the lab people. When we got to the point where I got wings, I pulled of my windbreaker and showed them my wings. Both my parents were totally awestruck. I began to tell them my warning when I was done. “Mom, they might come after you or Dad next, to try and force me to go back. You’ve got to leave, disappear. Stay at a relatives house or something, just drop off the grid. Please”. At that moment, the door bell rung. Two large men with pistols at their hips in suits where at the door. I guess we did not travel fast enough after all. I got up and glared at them. My fingers curled into fists. I’d been worried sick and running for two days. Inwardly, I knew that normally I’d be much stronger and faster than them, but after my marathon flight, we’d be more even matched. I smiled as they opened the front door. It was fighting time.

“Well, Jack, you’ve ran right home, just like a little kid. And here we are, the big bad men, here to take you back. Perhaps you’ve should of thought more about all of this”, the man on the left said.
“I don’t know if you talked to a certain doctor, but I’m close to three times your speed and two times your strength. You two overgrown buffoons have nothing on me”, I replied.
“We’ll se about that!”, the one on the right raged as he dove at me. Jeez, talk about over inflated ego. I jumped left and brought all my strength into an overhand strike. My hands slammed into his back, knocking him to the floor with an oof. The other pulled out his gun. I rushed him. Unprepared for my speed I slammed my fist in his gut and grabbed his firearm and wrenched it from his grasp. I tossed it away. The other got up and tackled me from my blind side. With some hidden instinct, I moved with the grab, and managed to flip him over my shoulder. As I completed the throw the other punched me hard getting me across the face. I staggered back and he followed through with another punch and a kick to my torso. I slammed in the couch. I saw stars, but managed to will my self to get up again. My vision was blurry.

I heard my mother yell in the most pained voice I’d ever heard. Like her soul was being wrenched in half. “NO! Not my son, don’t you DARE--”, then her voice cut out. White hot fury replaced my exhaustion. “I did not fly all this way to let you take my parents!”, I yelled. I was up again. I shook off the pain I felt. My vision cleared. One of the men in suits had my Mom and was telling her to shut up or die. I lept up from my position and sprinted at the man holding my mom. I jumped over both of them then spun around and aimed a powerful kick to the back of the man’s knee. He crumpled and fell. I rushed the second man again. My furry lent me strength and precision I never knew I had. I hit him with a right hook, than an uppercut with my left hand. As he staggered back I kept running at him and kicked him with the same snap kick I used on the kid in the field. My kick did not do nearly as much damage, perhaps cracking his jawbone. I walked back to the first and relieved him of his fire arm. Cocking it, and fusing around with it I managed to flick the safety. “Now both of you get the hell out, and don’t think of coming back. If your lab people send more goons, I’ll give them the same beating I gave you two. Get out of my life. Now.” They were up in a flash, and pulling out of my driveway even faster. I slumped down and felt myself beginning to fade.

I woke up in my bed. I was still hungry, but my head did not hurt and my chest felt better too. As I slumped out of my room, I found both my Dad. He had a huge meal ready on the table. Dad saw me and smiled as he called me to come over and eat. I laughed (and surprised my self when it didn’t hurt) and told him, “You probably didn’t make enough. I eat a lot now”. Dad laughed.
“I made quite a bit of food… you’d better be eating more now”.
I ate almost all of it. Dad was surprised to say the least. After I finished, he spoke up. “Son, your mom went out grocery shopping. We need to talk about some things your mom and I discussed. We are going to stay here…wait before you object.” He held up a hand, and I fell silent. “You are going to take self defense courses, and other than that we are going to lead a normal life”. “How?”, I questioned. Dad smiled. “Your mom came clean with me, so I guess you should know too. The people--”. I stopped him. “The DNA therapy treatment thingy worked with some nanotechnology developed by AIR, I knew all about it”. Now Dad was silent again. “How did you know?”
“I saw every document she ever wrote and out on the web or sent by e-mail. I’m her systems administrator, so I got access to everything she did”.
“Oh. Well, anyway, we’ve blackmailed the company. We threatened to expose them if they ever tried to kidnap anyone ever again. They agreed to stop kidnapping in exchange for secrecy”.
I smiled. “You clever rascals. However, won’t they still come after us? They might not be able to kidnap anyone, but if they get us… wait, how do we even know they kidnapped someone? It’s not like they left a huge trail when they kidnapped me”.
Dad shook his head. “We won’t be able to stop them totally, but they can’t touch anyone we know without getting at us first. Both your friends, Max and Jake that were involved in the whole thing have all the info we do. So, they have to get all three of you, and your families to totally shut us up”.
I looked at my Dad. “It’s not foolproof. I would feel safer if we just dropped off the grid for a while”.
“Son, we can’t do that…we have lives here, lives we can’t just give up”.
I nodded quietly. “O.K. I see your point… I need to sort out all my feelings though, these last couple days have been one hell of a rollercoaster ride”. I walked out to my garage. I got on my bike and rode off, smiling as the wind blew back my hair. Flight was so much better it wasn’t even funny.

Wings of Freedom

2008-07-08T02:11:02Z

Johnothano:

Wings of Freedom

2008-07-08T02:08:29Z

Johnothano: New page: Wings of Freedom “Wings are far more than feathered arms. They are part mystery – and part miracle. For what bares high the body may also give flight to the soul.” From The Wings ...

Music Talent

2008-07-08T02:05:52Z

Johnothano:

Musical Talent

Author’s note: My first story, so if its god awful I got an excuse. However, constructive criticism is appreciated and wanted.

I looked at my flute tutor, waiting her to point out a million mistakes I had made with my audition piece. “John, that was great. Real great,” she said. I was amazed.

She smiled at my shock. Lyn was actually completing my playing. I shook my head and smiled. “Wow…. Thanks.” She replied, “I need to fill you in on some of the changes to the audition this year”. I snapped back into reality. “What changes?” I was nervous. The audition had been the same every year since I first started playing the flute. Why change it now?

“Instead of three selected pieces to audition with, you now only need to play one selected piece and you get to pick another piece to go with it,” Lyn said as she pulled a piece of music out of an ancient-looking book. The music was yellow with age and slightly faded. There was a slight tear at one corner, but other than that, it was in very good condition for its apparent age. I read the title. My eyebrows rose up, questioning, “Canticle of Change? I have never heard of that piece”.

That was not very surprising. I got into flute after hearing Jethro Tull’s Bouree. I was always more of a rocker than a classical musician. Lyn smiled again, “Its three pages of long, technically challenging, difficult to interpret music. However, we still have three weeks to the audition and I think you are up to the challenge”. I glanced at the piece.
O my God, it looked hard. It looked like my first audition piece at light speed on crack. Then the next page was totally different. It became melodic, and slower than a snail. I thought I had actually flipped to a different piece. “Wha… that’s crazy. Impossible,” I protested. “There is no way anyone can change styles so fast. There is not even the slightest pause-” Lyn cut me off. “Look at the third page”.

I did. I then decided this piece was from music hell.

It was another new style. Where the first had been fast, it was a dark fast, an Ian Anderson fast, the kind of fast I liked. The next section had been slow, but with major notes. Nothing that would pop out of tune like a C# or E. The third page was fast, but it was lighter. A lot of short notes all over the place. Any note I had to hold out for more than a beat was a note I dreaded. C#, E, notes above middle B. Not easy or fun at all. I could hand this piece to a DragonForce guitarist and he’d cry. “Lyn, do you really think I can do this?” I was hoping this was some kind of stupid music joke. “Yep,” she said cheerfully. Not the answer I wanted. Not at all. I looked around for a pencil. Might as well start trying to make sense of this abomination. I saw the clock out of the corner of my eye. Wow, 6 o’clock already? “Lyn, I gotta go,” I said handing her a check. She replied, “OK, I expect you to have the first part figured out when we see each other next week. Just bring the music, I don’t think you’ll need your flute.” Awesome. There was no mistake about it then, she did expect me to play this… I didn’t know what to call it because music was not that insane.

I drove home thinking about the music. (I know I said it wasn’t music, but it was written with notes so I guess I had to call it that) I realized I had no idea who wrote it. When I got to my house, I made myself something to eat (Mom, Dad, and my brother were out at a parent-teacher conference) and looked for the name of a composer. There was none. No name anywhere on the music at all. Perhaps it just rubbed off or something. I decided to see if I could find a sound clip of the song on the internet. It would give me a place to start from. iTunes was, as usual, no help and lime wire came up with no hits either. A quick Google search gave me no music, but an interesting article.

It was from some crazy transformation website. I had always, in my heart of hearts, wanted to join one of these websites and mailing lists, but never could bring myself to do so. I would be on the verge of joining up, but then think that if I did I would have totally lost it. After all, what was the point of wishing or writing about not being human? It was a fact, and an easy one. Can’t really debate the issue. Anyone who did clearly had lost it a bit. Yet, every time I opted out, a voice inside of my head would say, At least they have the balls to do something they wanted to do, even if it was a little weird. I did not feel like staring an internal debate with myself, so I just read the article.

Apparently, someone had done some research on the Canticle of Change. They had found part of it on the walls of some ancient temple. Underneath it, was pictures of people listening to something, and as they listened, changing into animals. Not completely animals. What was the term…. Furries. I checked the music on the picture with the music I had. It matched the last part of the third page, the hardest part. It was like two melodies fighting for control, and eventually blending in together. Weird. Like a human and animal morph…. What was I thinking? There was no way a piece of music could change people, no matter how difficult. Yet, sometimes when you play well, really well, you don’t feel quite so human, do you? No… I was not going to keep thinking that, I still had all my marbles. I shook my head to clear it. I grabbed the music, my flute and a pencil and got to work. This was just as hard as I thought it was. I had just finished marking up the first part on the first page when my eyelids started to droop. I put down the pencil. Just close my eyes for a second then I’ll get up and get in my bed…just a second…come on, I got to get to bed… screw it…

I wake up in a grassy field. I look around to get my bearings. There is one tree, a big live oak, in the middle of the field, and the field is surrounded by a forest. Some level of my mind knows that this is just a dream, but I don’t dream often and it feels so real. I realize that I’m seeing things from a bit higher up than I’m used to, almost as if I have grown a foot taller. I realize that I’m thirsty. I also realize that I know there is a pool of water just beyond the woods. I run over to the woods, and find out that I’m moving a lot faster than I should. I stop. Something inside me tells me that I should stop; if I go there I will not be the same. I’m tired of running away from my passions and desires. Besides, this is just a dream, right? It feels so real, though. I go through the woods. I’m moving with far more agility than I should be able to. I get to the pool quickly. When I look in, something is troubling the waters and I can’t see my reflection. I bend down to drink. I can’t reach the water. I try to kneel down, but for some reason my legs are not working. Then the water turns as smooth as glass. I can see my reflection clearly, as if I am looking in a mirror. I jump back with shock and fright. The reflection looking back at me was human from the waist up, but after that had the body of a deer. Kinda like the centaurs from Greek mythology, but with a deer body instead of a horse. As the dream fades I hear the canticle softly in my ear.

BAM! “oww…” I hit the back of my head on my chair. I quickly get up and scrawl out my dream in my dream journal. The journal is the remnant of a wish that I could actually remember what I dream at night. This time I remember it all very clearly. I realize what I had been dreaming about. I look down. Thank God, I only have two legs. A part of me, however, feels regret. I shake my head again. I like being human because it is what I am. ‘nuff said. I check a clock. 7:30 in the morning. Well, I was never good at going back to sleep, so I got up, stretched out (my neck hurt. Bad) and set a pot of water to boil for tea. As I wait for the water to boil, I think about the song. Could it have made me dream that? Was that even possible? I try to think of something else. Anything else. My mind keeps coming back to the dream and the song. Did Lyn know about this?

The teapot whistles as the water boils. I pour myself a mug and try to make up a logical explanation for all of this. I can’t find an explanation, so I decide on a course of action. I will keep working with the song, and when I see Lyn next week, I will tell her about this whole thing then. I finish off my mug of tea.

After talking a quick shower, I tried to get the song and dream out of my head. Eventually, I just gave up. I ran some more searches on the Canticle of Change. Nothing of any value except that article. I look for more about it on the website. Looks like I need to be a member to get full access to the site. And read the rest of the article. Well, life just boxed me in a corner. I am only doing this to get the full story on the canticle, I tell myself as I click the join up for free button. Yeah right, you know you’re here for more than that. Feel proud of yourself, you are finally being you.

Fine, whatever. But right now, I needed to read that entire article. I finish the sign up page and decide to make my screen name DeertaurFlautist. God, I’ve truly gone crazy now. Well, might as well read the rest of the article. I got about half way down and stop. “… it was also said that the player of the music would receive ‘magical visions’ of what he or (in rare cases) she would transform into…” I check to see if I have two legs again. Yep, still do. Good.

I decided not to wait a week to talk to Lyn, she was getting a call. Right now. I grabbed my cell phone and called her. No answer. Damn. Well, I’ve gone this far haven’t I? I grab the piece of music again and crank up Liquid Tension Experiment. It’s a crazy gift of mine, but I can work on a piece of music while listening to a totally different piece of music. After about an hour I put down the music. It really is crazy hard. I think about reading some stories on the website, but stop myself. I only signed up for that article, I tell myself sternly. I am still normal, not like those people…
I wonder if I should tell my parents and little brother about all of this. Nah, no point in worrying them.

My phone rings, snapping my out of my thoughts. I fumble with the receiver and answer “Hello?”
“This is Lyn, you called?”
“Yeah, something has come up about the canticle… I don’t know if I want to play it for the audition.”
“What is the problem?” She was concerned. I usually was too stubborn to change pieces.
“I had a weird dream last night….”
“Oh… come over to my house, I’ll explain it all then.” Wait, she knew?
“I’m on my way.”

I hung up in disgust. She never told me about this part of the song…. If I had known about all of this I would have never decided to play it. I would have protested… Well, she was promising answers. I grabbed my wallet and keys.

“Please, sit down.”
I nod my head in thanks and Lyn begins to explain it all to me. It takes about an hour for her to explain it all. When she is done, I decide to repeat the important bits back to make sure I got this story straight.
“OK, you’re telling me that you have been passing this music down for generations, since ancient times, waiting for the right person to play it. This song was once played a lot, and that is where we get all the ancient myths from. They all really existed, and were just people transformed by this song. However, the song lost its potency from overuse. People began to abuse it. After a while, it stopped working. Then, people lost their faith in its abilities. But not everyone. There are still a few copies of this song left passed down by musicians to people who they believe can either protect the song, or play it again. When a person that can play the song right gets a copy, they figure it out at alarming speeds. You think that the song has been gathering power and now when it is finally played correctly, will transform not just the player and the immediate listeners, but the world.” She nods.

“And you think I can play it correctly.”

More nodding. “John, you are the best student I have ever tutored. You’re talented. You can do things on flute that I never thought possible. You learn fast. I think you are the one.”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want this… I don’t want to transform at all… I like being human, why would I want to be anything else?”
“Just be open to the possibility… you never know. Also, don’t worry about the difficulty of the piece. Just go with it.”

I grunt. Whatever. I say goodbye. Throughout the drive home and the rest of the day I think about what Lyn said. I raged in an internal debate. Be open to the idea, that is all she is asking. No, I am still normal, still sane, I respond. Eventually that night, I decide to take a chance. Fine, I tell myself. I’ll go on the website and read some stories. I’ll be open to the outside chance that I might be the one to play this song right. I fall asleep surprisingly quickly.

I open my eyes the field again. I check my lower body, and I now look down and confirm that yes, I do have the lower body of a deer. As I lift my head up it feels heavier than normal. I reach up and touch a pair of antlers growing from my forehead. Did I have them before? I think back to my last dream. Yeah, I think I did. As I drop my hand my arm brushes against my ear. A deer ear. I feel my face and upper body. That is still human. I now begin to explore my new form. I walk (trot?) slowly around the field. I pick up speed, and eventually speed up to a full-fledged gallop. I feel amazing. This is euphoria. With a sudden burst of speed I leap over a dead log and into the woods. Reveling in my agility, I run from tree to tree. Never before have I felt so normal… so right. I get to the pool of water. Slowing down, I check the pool. The water is troubled. Again, I struggle to bend down to get a drink. A voice inside of me rages, “You cannot drink. If you do, everything you have worked for will be lost!” The pool again smoothes out. I look at my new form. But If I take a drink, I realize, I will be able to have this all the time…I hear the canticle louder than before. My dream fades out slowly.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I slam my alarm clock into another dimension. Getting out of bed slowly, I realize that I have mass today. Duh, it’s Sunday, and I am in the choir. I mill over the new dream in the shower. I freeze suddenly. The Roman Catholic Church was started after the song supposedly stopped working and was hidden. Will I be excommunicated if I transform? I realize how much of my life will change if the song is all it’s cracked up to be. If Lyn is correct, than more people than you will transform, you know that. It is hard to say how many, really. Perhaps my life will not be totally messed up, or at least other people will be there with me…. I smile. I need to focus on the mass.

<about an hour later>

“That was great!”, Father exclaimed. “That has got to be some of the best playing I have ever heard”.
I am totally dumbfounded. The pastor at my church is one for speed masses. He was never a supporter of music in the mass. Hearing a compliment from him was even better than hearing it from my tutor. I take a deep breath. I think I can play the canticle… and even worse I think I want to play it.

<two days later>

I looked at the music. How did I…? The music just fell into place. In only two days I have done what I thought was impossible. I just need to ‘touch up’ a bit on the music and then… well, I have no clue.

I take a break and start to read several of the stories on the website. They are good. I loose all track of time as I read about all sorts of morphs and wild transformations. With each story, I feel more comfortable about my own probable transformation. Perhaps I won’t be hated or feared by everyone after all. The front door opens. Mom is home. The rest of my day seems to pass in a blur as I wonder what I will dream about tonight.

I’m standing the field with the tree again. I now trot to the edge of the woods and walk through with out a passing thought. I come to the pool, which now is not troubled. Now working my deer legs and torso muscles together, I manage to bend down and get my lips to water. I take a long drink. I feel totally refreshed and at peace. I hear the canticle much louder now, and realize the reason I was able to work so fast on it is that I am hearing it in my dreams. As my vision fades to black, I see other morphs in the shadows of the trees. Play the song, hold nothing back they whisper. The sooner the better.

I wake up to the sunlight shining in my window. I feel totally refreshed, and a quick glance at my clock tells me its 9 am. I glance down at lower body. I still have two legs, but not for long. I guess I decided to accept my inner longings and dreams. The canticle does have the power to change, and it is a change I want. I take a quick shower and grab a pop-tart for breakfast. I eat as I read the message board on the transformation website. I post a message about the canticle, but I know today is the day. I know it in my heart of hearts. I make my last few marks on the piece and warm up. Hold nothing back they whispered in my dream. Can I do it? I realize this is my final chance to back down. This won’t just affect me, but everyone that wants to transform I think as I run trough the piece in my head. I had played it in parts before when I was working on it, but this will be the first time I play the whole thing. I cut the music off on my computer. Sunlight streaming through the window paints a prism on my shirt. I place my flute to my mouth.

I began to play. I am sure of that. My vision faded out and the canticle was only the faintest echo in my head. I hear bits and peaces of some of my favorite songs. My favorite parts to those songs. The piano of Bruce Springsteen in Thunder Road, Herman Lee’s Guitar Solo in DragonForces’ Through the Fire and Flames. Genesis’ drum beat in Jesus He Knows Me, the bass line in The Lemon Heads’ Miss Robinson just to name a few. They all come together in my head. It is one great symphony, and I now hear my flute above all of it. I am merging, blending human and animal together. The sound is now more like a needle and thread stitching together what was torn asunder. I hear the final protest from my old way of life, “No! You have no right to do this! You are far out of your league. Please come back to sanity…please.” The song responds for me, “I have never felt so sane or right in my life.” As I hold out the last note I realize that my vision hasn’t faded out, I just closed my eyes. I open them as my note fades away. I look down and then stamp my hoof in approval. I turn around and look out into the bright day at a rather astonished, but happy cat morph who was out jogging. She looks at me and I just shrug my shoulders. I realize I have no way to explain what just happened to my parents or my brother or my friends. I’ll figure out something.

Music Talent

2008-07-08T02:04:27Z

Johnothano: New page: Musical Talent Author’s note: My first story, so if its god awful I got an excuse. However, constructive criticism is appreciated and wanted. I looked at my flute tutor, waiting her ...

User:Johnothano

2008-07-08T01:59:53Z

Johnothano: New page: Hi. I just sort of fell into TF writing, and am new to the whole thing. I've been a member of the fandom for about a year now, and have just started writing stories. It all started when...