User:MatthiasRat/Made Alone
 | [[:Category:Paradise|Paradise]] story universe |
[[Setting::Paradise| ]]
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{{#if:Nuvola apps bookcase.png|}} | Works by MatthiasRat on Shifti |
This is the first story of Christopher's life in the Paradise setting.
{{#ifeq: User |User| Made Alone | Made Alone}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| Made Alone | Made Alone}}| ]]
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Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}}| ]]
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Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}}]] [[Author::{{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}}| ]]
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Authors: {{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}} |
Author: [[User:{{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}}|{{#ifeq: User |User| MatthiasRat | MatthiasRat}}]]
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"Have a good evening, sweetheart!"
The curly dark-haired woman waved to her husband as she hurried out the apartment door, dressed in her work uniform. "I'll try," Leslie muttered. Her husband nodded, knowing how much the evening shifts irritated her. Sometimes she wasn't home until nearly four o'clock in the morning. Once she'd been even later.
That would bring her to just about the time her husband would experience an annual event that science could not explain.
Though to all appearances, Leslie and her husband were a happily married couple, appearances, her husband had learned, were very deceiving. Because for the last six years, Christopher Mattiaz did not see the same face in the mirror that everyone else saw when they looked at him. In fact, from year to year, he did not see the same face. Every August the 17th since 1996, at just after five in the morning, he changed. But only he could see the change.
"I hope you're feeling better soon," Leslie said before offering him a tired smile and rushing up the stairs to the ground level.
"Flu's passing already," Christopher said to her back, and it was true; his annual flu had passed him by, which it always did by this point of the evening.
With a long sigh, Christopher let his arm fall to his side and he shut the door. Their dog lifted her old head from the bean bag, curious at the sound, and then lowered it again. But Christopher, a name he had once hated but now embraced because it was unmistakably masculine, could only stare at his hands and wonder what tomorrow they would look like.
For where everyone else saw four human digits and a thumb, he saw two thick finger ending in dark black hoof-like nails, and a single thumb that could barely touch either finger. He lifted those beastly hands to his face, rubbing over the long equine snout, flaring his nostrils, and then up over his long ears, and then back down his spiky, black mane. This year it had been a donkey, and as his hands rested on the shirt that hung loosely from his shoulders, he felt the straps of his bra. Not just a donkey, but a jenny.
"Father in Heaven," he prayed fervently, "please let me be male again."
Only a few days ago, Leslie and he had celebrated their second anniversary of marriage. He'd still been a man then; well, a rat, but he'd been male at least. But on August 17th, 2000, only six days after they'd been wed, he'd changed again, a change that no one else could see, feel, or understand. And that time he'd become a female dog, and his hopes had been dashed.
Christopher slumped on the couch, the hooves that ended his legs digging into the carpet. His long rope-like tail settled behind him, still comfortable despite being pinned behind his back. He closed his eyes and just breathed, taking in the many scents of their apartment. Their dog, Crystal, was the most obvious, as well as his own pungent aroma. Then there was last night's pasta caked on the pan still needing to be washed, and the fetid miasma of the trash that needed emptying. Leslie also had a flavor, one both sweet and simple, one that he always took the time to savor. And lastly, the persistent fragrance of scented candles which he often burned to hide his musk.
His ears bent to either side, and he sighed. Though the shape of his head prevented him from looking down at his chest, he could feel the two breasts snuggled judiciously in his bra. He may have spent the last two years as female -- and two more before that -- but he didn't wear the bra because he had embraced the feminine. It was a matter of practicality, gravity, and comfort. He hoped that by tomorrow he wouldn't have to wear any anymore.
His eyes strayed to the gold ring adorning the smaller of his two fingers on what passed for his left hand. His wedding band; he had two others already made because this one didn't fit his fingers in those forms. At least, despite the bizarreness of his body, he still had Leslie; one day she might even know the truth.
The female donkey sighed and rubbed at the base of his ears with thick nails. No sense berating himself for things he couldn't change, so he may as well start collecting all his donkey things and putting them in their box to store away. If the pattern of the last few years fit, he'd need much bigger clothes tomorrow morning.
Christopher stood up again, steady and sure on his hooves. He had twelve hours before his hour came; it would come whether he prepared or not. Hooves clopping, he walked down the narrow hall through the middle of their apartment and slipped into the computer room. He fired up his email and web browser. Who knows? Maybe one of his long-standing inquiries would finally prove that he wasn't alone in being a beast.
After an hour browsing the news, traipsing from website to website, scanning furry forums for questions that might imply a more intimate familiarity with the difficulties being a real furry would bring, Christopher closed his browser. A few years ago, he'd been certain that there had to be other people out there like him; people changed into animal forms that only they could see. With enough care, clever questioning, and investigation, he might find some of them and at last be able to share his story.
He sighed and rubbed heavy nails into his forehead. The tough hide shifted back and forth under his touch, and his supple lips formed the prayer that had been his for the last six years: "Father in Heaven, please don't let me be alone."
But he was alone, there could be no denying it. After six years, chasing down so many false trails, why should things be any different now?
He opened his eyes and stared in surprise at his email client. There at the bottom, unread, was a message bearing an attachment, the subject reading, "My Picture. I Hope You Like It!"
His heart beat faster, and his tail flicked from side to side. He recognized the email address as his most recent possibility. They'd been corresponding now for a few months, and Christopher has dropped several hints as to his equine condition. He'd even risked sending his new friend a picture of his hoofprint in the snow. It had taken him three weeks to work up the courage to do that! He usually brushed all his hoofprints, pawprints, or any other sort of print he might leave so that nobody would see them.
How well he remembered the day last January, when Leslie had seen the hoofprint. While he'd been on campus, Leslie had been out shopping and saw his name on an envolope at the photo shop. Thinking she was doing him a favor, she picked up the pictures, all of which were of him and the various signs he left with his hooves in the snow. When he'd returned home, she asked him if he'd sen the horse who'd left the prints. She couldn't see that he was a female donkey in the pcitures, but she could see the hoofprints.
And that hadn't been the first time he'd learned that the delusion that everyone else had when they saw him did not extend to things he left behind. Some days it was all he could to do to focus on not leaving any visible signs. When the stress was too great, he just called in sick.
Christopher shifted in his seat, tail flicking against his legs. His hooves tapped a staccato on the chair legs, as he opened the email, a small flicker of hope in his heart. Words upon words filled the screen, and he scrolled it until the picture came into view.
Human. Christopher let out a bray, and closed the screen. Of course they were still human, what else would they be? He smacked the pencil holder off the computer desk and they scattered over his printer and across the floor. Hot tears steamed his eyes and cheeks; agonized, he bent over until he was nearly on all fours, his pants stretching tightly over his wide hips.
Christopher wasn't human. He wasn't even a he anymore. He ground his blunt teeth together, running his thick tongue along their backs. Long ears folded to either side, and he rubbed at his cheeks with the remnants of his hands. After a few moments, he managed to lean back against the spare bed, hooves crossed before him, knees to muzzle, and enjoyed a good long cry. He was alone, and that was that.
It took him a while to gather the energy to move again. He made himself a hearty bowl of oatmeal -- just the oats, he didn't bother adding hot water -- and then opened the closet in the computer room. Leslie never went in there at his request, and he trusted her not to violate his privacy. Inside he saw twelve printer paper boxes stacked up to the top, and on the top shelf a stack of used journals.
He took out the top three boxes which were empty except for his feminine items, and opened them up, laying the box tops behind them. Munching on his oats while he worked, Christopher carefully went through his clothes drawers and emptied out his shirts and pants, folding them as tightly as he could, and then stored them in the boxes. Some of his clothes he left out; those would be big enough if he changed according to the pattern of the last six years.
He returned to the entranceway and grabbed both sets of shoes, sandals and sneakers, and tucked them away. So odd that he didn't need to wear shoes except that if he didn't, everyone would comment on his going barefoot. But whenever he slipped shoes on, they disappeared! Christopher shook his head, took another mouthful of oats from the bowl, and resumed scouring the apartment for anything else he needed to store away for the next time he became a donkey.
The last thing Christopher put away, always the last thing, was his wedding band. Carefully, he gripped it between two hard nails and began seesawing it back and forth, sliding it up and over the knuckle. He had to angle it just right to slide it free of the hoof-like nail at the tip of his wider finger, but with only a little bit of pain, it came free. He rolled the simple golden band around in his palm for a moment and sighed. He took a small jewelry box and set it inside to keep it safe for the next few years.
"Well," he said to himself, his voice sounding rough but soft at the same time, pitched as a woman's would be, "only thing left to do is see what happens tomorrow."
Not quite true, Christopher reminded himself. He still had to store away his current set of clothes, but that could wait until after he'd walked the dog one last time. Returning to his closet, he stared at the nine other boxes, especially those marked with a "3". If he changed the way he expected, he'd need them in the morning.
As he reached into the closet to drag them out, his eyes spied the journals sitting on the top shelf. He nickered to himself and grabbed them down instead. On the cusp of such an auspicious anniversary, he did enjoy remembering where he'd once been.
The journals were nothing more than the standard composition books with black and white cover. He'd started keeping them his freshmen year in college, and he had tabbed moments that were especially important to him. The first tab marked his first date with Leslie. The second his first change.
Christopher took the journals to the spare bed and sat down atop it, tail between his legs, hooves digging at the coverlet. He set the first journal aside and opened the second to the second tab. He trembled, ears folding down at the sight of his horrible scrawling. He flipped back a page, staring at his last human entry.
Aug 16, 1996
Well, the headache is finally going away. Been sick as a dog the last two days; figures it would happen right before I come back to Bridgewater. Band practice starts tomorrow, and I'd hate to miss it.
My folks moved Barry and I into our new dorm room today. It's a corner room, so we have windows on two sides. That'll be nice in the winter when they turn the boiler on. Maybe this year I won't roast all winter long if we can get a breeze going. Barry and I each have our sides of the room, and it should be just enough for both of us. This is the first time either of us haven't had a private room in years, so it should be interesting.
I am looking forward to this year. I have a good number of Math classes, but I'm also going to be taking a number of history and music classes. I finished all my science and english classes at least. And then there's Old Testament, oh boy, I know that one's going to be interesting. I hear the professor is one of those guys who doesn't think anybody who wrote the Bible actually wrote the Bible. Talk about headache inducing!
I think Barry is really going to like it here at Bridgewater. Nice small school, small town, lovely countryside. Heck, even the scent of cow and chickens is kind of nice. Weird how I realize how much I miss it when I get back here. My brother says he wants to major in Physics and Chemistry. Yikes, he'll be busy!
Leslie won't be in town until next week, which sucks, but I can be waiting with flowers for her or something. Yeah, I think I'll do that.
I really hope Band plays some good pieces this year. If we have to play another one of those Circus Marches I'm going to puke! I guess I shouldn't complain, Doc is the man!
Well, I'm still feeling kind of bleah, so I think I'll head to bed early tonight. Nothing is open on campus right now, so no point worrying about email or anything like that. Father, please bless this school year and help us both do well!
Christopher sighed and tried to imagine what he'd been thinking on that last day of his human life. After six years of hiding, surreptitiously buying clothes in all different sizes, sewing tail holes into his pants and underwear, and ever looking for signs that there might be other animal-men, he didn't really know how to think like a normal person. What he saw on the following page of the journal was more real than a human life.
So after I've given the bathroom my personal shake, Barry comes in and tells me to put my robe on. I yell at him, growl even, trying to ask him what's happened. Tell him I'm turning into a freaking dog. He calls me crazy. I say, 'Oh yeah, here, grab my tail'. He humors me, but he cannot feel it. I feel him put his hand on it, but he just doesn't feel it. So I let it drop, tell him that I must be really tired, apologize, and tell him to apologize to Doc for me, because I'm not going to make practice today.
Even if nobody else can see what's happened, I'm glad I didn't go. I spent most of today exploring my body, trying to figure out how it works, how to use the bathroom again, and even what breed I've become. I'm now a five and a half foot tall Rottweiler with opposable thumbs. My fingers are a little bit shorter, but I think I'll be able to handle the Tympani mallets okay. Not sure what I'm going to do with my tail. It's about two feet long, and there's no way I'm stuffing it down my pants.
My feet look like normal dog paws, just the four toes and no heel. They're bigger though. Shoes are weird. I can put them on, even though they don't fit at all, and they just disappear. And when I try to take them off, they come back. I don't get it.
I can hear a lot better. I played some of my tapes to calm my nerves, and had to turn the stereo way down to keep from hearting my ears. My ears flop down on either side of my boxy head. It's kind of cute, for a dog. I have a huge tongue, and I've been panting half the day whether I wanted to or not. I can smell a ton better, and dang do Barry's feet stink. Going to have to get some foot powder for him or something.
I'm going to have to go to band practice tomorrow. If Barry can't see that I'm a big Rottweiler, then maybe nobody can. Besides, maybe this happened to some others too. Sure, I spent all day just trying to master holding a pencil again, but at least I can write. If I wake up tomorrow and I'm still a Rottweiler, well, I guess it would be interesting to live like this for a while.
What am I going to do about Leslie? I can't tell her! If Barry thought I was nuts, what's my girlfriend going to think? 'All that roleplaying has finally gotten to you, hasn't it?'. Maybe I should just get her flowers. She does love dogs. Maybe this is a plus! Heh!
Okay, my paw is cramping again. And this bathroom is starting to really stink. I'm going to try to get some sleep and see what happens tomorrow, Rottweiler or not.
God, I don't know why this happened to me. Please guide me and help me understand what Your plan is for me! A-men.
Aug 17, 1996
I cannot even begin to describe this day. I can barely even write it with these hands... paws? What's happened to me? And why can't Barry see it? He just looked at me like I was an idiot when I tried to show him. He kept thinking I was trying to play a joke on him. I've got a tail and he thinks this is a joke!
Okay, this is too crazy, I have to try to write this down as best I can. I'm sitting here on a toilet because I don't want to bother Barry with any of this. Yeah, sitting on a toilet and trying to keep my tail from getting wet. My tail! My TAIL!
So I wake up a little before 5 in the morning. Odd, but I went to bed early last night, I don't think much of it. I sneak out in my sandals and bathrobe to get a shower and shave. Nobody else in the hall but my brother and me, so may as well. I'm showering, and then I feel really odd all over, like I'm cramping in every muscle. Next thing I know I'm scratching myself with claws! I'm looking at my hands, and instead of nails, I have short hooked black claws! First I think, I'm turning into a werewolf or something. Then I see my finger tips swelling and darkening, huge calluses like dogs and wolves have on their feet.
Yeah, I'm just going crazy, right? But when the heck have I ever been able to imagine anything this vivid? I don't even dream in color! I can't even really see in color at the moment, at least not much. This has to be real, I keep telling myself. It's just real. I'm transforming. I'm changing.
So I get out of the shower, scared crazy. I look at my face in the mirror, and my nose is black, and my teeth are getting sharper. I've got these black hairs growing all over my upper arms, sides and along my face, with rust colored fur growing over my hands, lower arms, neck, chest, and around my snout. Yes, my snout! I have a snout! I just watched it grow out of my face, like toothpaste squeezed out of a tube.
I didn't even notice that I'd grown a tail and I was standing on my toes. Just watching my face change was so captivating... like I was melting away and an animal was taking my place. My eyes... that was the most horrid thing... watching my blue eyes darken, the iris spreading until the whites were gone. All I saw was an animal's eye, dark brown, the only hint of intelligence was me looking out of them.
That's when I noticed that the throbbing sensation was gone. I look over myself, still dripping wet from the shower. I have a sudden urge to shake my body, and before I can stop myself, I do it! Just like a dog! That's when it hits me, I'm a dog! I'm a freaking dog! Okay, a dog that walks on two legs, can still talk and think and brush his own teeth, let alone handle a pencil - dang my fingers are cramped from all this writing!
Okay, my fingers are feeling better. I've stretched them out some, and gave them a few minutes break. Barry came in asking me if I'd fallen in. Haha. Why can't he see this? His brother has just been turned into a Rottweiler and nothing's wrong?
A slight smile creased Christopher's snout. That had been a wild first day. He'd been male that first change. Only two weeks later he had been with Leslie and they took pictures together. He hoped that he'd see himself as a man, but he'd still been a Rottweiler. Oddly though, he'd come to like the way he looked. So he scarfed down milkbones when no one was looking, so what? After a bit of adjustment, and adjusting his pants and underwear with holes for his tail, he'd grown comfortable with being a Rottweiler.
And the foot powder had worked wonders on Barry's stink.
Just the memory of that brought a bray to Christopher's throat. The first year hadn't been bad at all. His handwriting improved dramatically in a matter of weeks, and he even felt more assertive than he had before. Being a Rottweiler just made him feel tough. And he certainly had more muscles than he used to! If he could go back to being that, he'd bark to the Hallelujah Chorus.
He picked up the next journal in the series and opened it to the tab. He flipped back one page and read the previous entry.
Aug 16, 1997
Well, tomorrow is my one year anniversary of becoming a Rottweiler. All in all, I'd say I'm glad it happened. Sure, nobody else can tell, and I haven't seen anybody else whose changed like me, but it's definitely given me a new perspective on things. I've learned to sew for one. And I loved the expression on Nate's face when I caught that frisbee with my teeth last month!
"Of course, I have to keep some things hidden. It looks odd to see dog tracks in the snow, and Barry almost found my claw trimming kit that one time. And definitely keep clear of shag carpets! Oh, the worst is closing the door on my tail. That was so embarrassing to yipe, and then not be able to tell anyone why.
"Oh, and when that... that... Beth conspired to vote me out of the officers of the Sci-Fi club. I just couldn't stop barking and snapping at her! I thought for sure people would figure it out then. I helped found that club here at Bridgewater, and she has to stage a coup just to get me?! I wanted to bite her so bad.
"But that's past. I'm back at Bridgewater for another week of band practice before my senior year starts. Had another cold yesterday and today, but I guess its fitting to celebrate one year as a Rottweiler. I'm posting a picture of Leslie and me here, I think things are really looking up for us. Once I graduate and start my Master's degree, I think I'll propose to her. Maybe we'll have some puppies! Hehehe.
"Father in Heaven, I still don't know why I became a Rottweiler, but thank You for helping me make the best of this!
Christopher stared at the picture taped to the bottom of the page. There he was, dark boxy face with mahogany eyebrows and neck fur, one arm draped around Leslie's shoulders, his fingers spread, showing off his claws and paw pads. You could even see the end of his tail as it curled around his hip. He had a goofy grin, the end of his pink tongue sticking out between his teeth. His dark eyes were warm and happy.
If only he'd stayed that way.
Christopher set the journal aside and climbed to his hooves. He couldn't bear to look at the next page just yet. He'd take his dog for a walk first. Striding back into his living room, he grabbed his keys, shook them meaningfully, and Crystal got to her paws and followed his swishing tail out the door.
Crystal was an old dog, nearly thirteen. And while she had a few more years to her, Christopher hoped, she had slowed down considerably. When he'd moved to Blacksburg back in 98, she'd still been able to play chase with tennis balls for as long as he felt like throwing it. Now, she sauntered along at a leisurely pace, a contented old matron enjoying the survey of her domain.
Her lugubrious pace gave Christopher the time he needed to calm himself. One drawback of being female was his tendency to begin crying and for no single reason he could name. When Leslie was with him, he could keep the tears at bay. But sometimes, when he was all alone in their apartment, the tears came.
And by the time he returned to his apartment, he felt better. He should, tomorrow he'd change again, and there was an even shot of him being male again. In fact, if the odds were fifty-fifty, he had a better than even shot. He'd spent four of the last six years with breasts. Surely whatever caused his annual metamorphosis wouldn't make him female again. The odds of him being female five years out of seven were 21 in 128, so he had less than a 17% chance of being female again.
Then again, if it was an even fifty-fifty, he really still had a fifty percent chance of being a woman.
Christopher snorted in disgust and shut the door. Crystal climbed up in her bean bag, contented for now. He stomped back to the computer room, and stared at the array of boxes laying there. The journal sat open to his second change. He sighed and took it in his two-fingered hands and read.
Aug 17, 1997
This is not good. Somehow I've managed to get through today, but I'm about ready to scream. And of course nobody noticed a thing, not even these things on my chest! Barry looked straight at them and didn't even blink!
Slow down. I made it through the day, made it through band practice, and everything is fine.
No, everything is not fine! I wake up this morning, early again, and as I'm brushing my fangs, I feel a throbbing all over. I think, "Am I becoming human again?" Not even close!
My nose spreads and widens, ears stretching upwards, my black fur lightening to a grey, and shortening to a mere stubble. My fangs disappear and are replaced with ugly flat teeth. My paws... my poor paws, the fingers fuse until I've only got two left, and my claws become these blunt hoof-like things, black and hard. Next thing I know, I'm standing on hooves — hooves!
But then I see the worst of it all. Breasts! That's right, I've got a pair right there on my chest. And I've got nothing between my legs now. My hips are wide like a woman's too. Not only did I turn into a donkey, but I turned into a female donkey! Why? Why? How am I supposed to be a girl?
And now I'm crying. I can't stop. I can't.
I liked being a Rottweiler! Why can't I go back to being that? Father, please help me. I don't know what to do. How can I be with Leslie when I'm a girl too? Father, I need your help. Comfort me please. All I want to do is cry.
"And here I am a jenny again," Christopher said, running one of his hoof-like nails up across his bodice. "But hopefully..."
His ears lifted when the phone started to ring. Curious, he closed the journals and returned to the living room. A smile crossed his equine lips when he read the name on the caller ID. He picked up the handset, which had been the largest one he could find to accommodate the increased distance from his mouth to his ears. "Good evening, this is the Mattiaz residence. We're not home right now, but if you leave a message, and we deem you important enough, we might get around to getting back to you."
"Hello Chris," the ever cheery voice of Trevor replied. "I hope I am important enough!"
"Yeah, I guess you are. So you made it in okay?"
"My trip was very uneventful." Trevor chuckled lightly while he spoke. It didn't matter what he was saying, or how he really felt, there was always a laugh beneath his words. "I'm still putting all my things away, but 1600J is filled again with furs."
"Good," Christopher said, and meant it. Since he had become what folks like Trevor wished they could be, it seemed the best place to make friends, even if they were still truly human. The Furry Club of VT had started a couple years ago now, and Christopher had been one of its founding members. As had Trevor and his roommates in Foxridge 1600J. "What's the plan for this weekend?"
"Tonight, get things put away. I'd invite you over but Bob's feeling sick and doesn't want to give it to anybody else."
Christopher could imagine Bob moaning and complaining about being sick and how he shouldn't even be around anyone, all the while walking around and doing all the work around their apartment. "Except for all of you because he won't go to bed?"
"Exactly!" Trevor chuckled. "Well, how are you and Leslie?"
Christopher twirled the phone cord around one finger and his ears folded back. "Leslie's working tonight, and tomorrow night! All you undergraduates returning to campus and ordering pizza; it's driving her crazy!"
"But she does such a good job!" Trevor protested. "I order from her pizza place all the time."
"So she tells me," Christopher replied, a braying laugh escaping his throat. "I'm doing fine. I work tomorrow morning at Bullseye. Oh, did I tell you I'm working there now."
"No, you hadn't. Hey, were hoping to have all the furs over at our place tomorrow night. I know Leslie won't make it, but you are more than welcome to drop by."
"Thank you, Trevor, I'll do that. I'll give you a call if I have to bail for some reason." Like changing into a creature for which none of his clothes fit.
"Well then, we shall see you tomorrow. Good Night!"
"Good Night!" Christopher hung up the phone and disentangled his finger from the phone cord. That was good news at least. Bob and Nick had stayed over the summer, but both of them had taken summer jobs and they'd barely been able to get together. It would be nice to hang with the furs again.
But if only they just knew how furry he really was. He touched his breasts and grimaced. Well, maybe he didn't really want them knowing.
With a sigh, he trotted back into the computer room to finish reviewing his journals.
This Story is a Draft and still in Progess --MatthiasRat 05:20, 23 January 2008 (EST)