[Vfw-times] Story and brief author rant

Wyldesyde wyldesyde at telus.net
Wed Apr 3 21:03:26 CST 2002

Well, for those that remember me, here's another companion story to my Logs
Of A Wanderer chronicles. I finished this story in early February, but
certain events IRL kept me from even considering posting it until now. If
you're looking for a full explanation, there's one posted on my website. As
for the story itself, I originally wrote it as a commentary on the way world
events at that time were heading. I guess, now, everyone who reads it will
draw their own opinion on what it really means. Ah, well. C'est la vie.

Jason "Wyldesyde" Nieuwenhuis

with a new home on the WWW

and now, for the story.........................

The End Of An Era


When The S**T Hits The Fan

Christopher Samuels leaned back against the wall of the jail cell, wondering
what he had done to deserve such bad luck. All he had done was have the
misfortune to walk down 32nd street when the gunfire started. The police
hadn't even cared that he wasn't involved; they had arrested everyone on the

"Just until we can sort everything out. What a joke," he muttered, looking
around the cell, at the other unfortunates who were locked up with him.
Except for one fellow sitting on the only other bench in the cell, the other
five occupants looked like him. All were around 20 years old, and dressed
like college students. The exception was a hulking brute that happened to
dress like a biker. When the police put him in here, he had chased the
others in the cell off of the bench, and sprawled out onto it himself.

Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, Chris turned to look through the
cell's bars. Walking down the hallway, escorted by two officers, was a skunk
morph. When the officers opened the cell door, the morph walked in,
seemingly unconcerned with his surroundings. The brute sitting across from
Chris looked towards the officers, and started cursing at them.

"Ya damn pigs! Whatcha thinking, putting a stinking morph in here? I'm gonna
turn his ratty hide into a fur rug!"

Lumbering to his feet, the brute walked up to the morph. The officers simply
closed the cell door, and stood back to watch. Chris could swear he heard
one of the officers bet ten dollars that the brute wouldn't last two
minutes. Looking at the morph, Chris seriously doubted that. The skunk morph
didn't look like he weighed more than 175 pounds, and the brute easily
topped 300. And the morph wasn't even scared. He just stood there, with this
smile, no, a smirk on his muzzle.

"What are you smiling at, freak?"

The brute stopped when he was nose to nose with the morph, still yelling.

"Its bad enough they let freaks like you wander around, but they put one of
you flea-bitten mops in with normal people. You're dead meat."

As the brute started his swing, Chris cringed, but couldn't look away. The
blow never connected. Ducking, the morph grabbed the brute's arm, and
twisted, tossing the brute over his shoulder and into the cell bars. Walking
over to the bench, he laid down, arranging his tail to cover his legs, after
folding up his trench coat and using it as a pillow.

Somewhat dazed, the brute pulled himself to his feet, holding onto the cell
bars for support until he regained his balance. Looking around, he noticed
the morph lying on the bench. Somewhat unsteadily, he made his way across
the cell, until he stood above the morph.

"Move it, stinky. That's my seat."

Chris and the others moved as far away from the two as they could. Slowly,
the morph stood up, and pushed the brute away from himself. A brief flash
pulsed through the cell, temporarily blinding everyone. When his vision
cleared, Chris looked back towards the morph, hurriedly scrambling back in
surprise and fear.

Standing there was the morph. It was the wall behind him, however, that was
the source of Chris's fear. The middle of the wall had vanished, being
replaced by a glowing blue disc, from which arc's of energy were leaping to
the surrounding wall. Several arcs leapt out, and seemed to caress the
morph's tail and shoulders, crawling across his body as if they were alive.
Unconcerned, the morph picked up his coat, putting it on as he turned to
face the other occupants of the cell.

"Its simple hatred and intolerance like what I've witnessed here that will
be your downfall. Your society is heading straight towards its own
destruction, and unless you give up your prejudices and misconceptions, all
of you, humans and morphs, are doomed to generations of war. I've seen it
before, and I hoped that I wouldn't see it again."

Stopping to compose himself, the morph brushed a lone tear from the side of
his muzzle before continuing.

"I hope you all come to your senses before its too late, but, from what I've
seen in the short time that I have walked this world, it may already be too
late. I pray that your children don't suffer for your mistakes."

Turning, he walked up to the energy disc, and kept walking, straight into
it, the arcs of energy seeming to pull on the edges of the disc as it shrank
and vanished. Chris and the others watched in silence, not daring to move
for several moments afterwards. It was one of the officers who first spoke,
jarring everyone back into reality.

"How are we going to explain this to the chief," he asked his partner, both
of them leaning back against the wall opposite the cell door.

Before the second officer could answer, the building shook, the sound of a
large explosion carrying through the halls, along with war cries, the timber
and pitch of the voices revealing the owners to be morphs.

In the cell, Christopher Samuels hung his head in resignation, not even
noticing when the officers unlocked the cell and ran out, panicked. As the
others in the cell made their break for freedom, Chris pulled a photograph
from a hidden pocket in his jacket, lovingly tracing the outline of his
lover, Kierana.

"Please be safe, my love," he whispered, looking at the picture of a
stunning vixen morph, "I'll find my way to you somehow, and I hope that
someday we can all live in peace."

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