Same as Me (Story) (Patreon)

I wrote "Same as Me" last year for an anthology that got canceled after the story was accepted. There are actually two versions of this piece, one written for a furry audience and one for a general audience. In both, I try and be very non descript on who the narrator is, although I did use a species in the furry version of the story. No gender is ever provided so the reader can choose that for themselves. 

The title of the story is drawn from the meaning of the Arabic word mithly, a nonderogatory term for homosexuals that has developed in the 21st century and one I have used in Scars of the Golden Dancer as a self identifying term for the characters. Below is the furry version of the story.

I cling to the sound of your words as the ink in my journal clings to the pages. Everything about you is perfect, my wolf, and yet so imperfect are we, so against what they say we should be. It’s the fact we’re the same that drives this connection, yet that’s the same reason they hate us. I know it’s the reason they sometimes lash out against me.

I wish it wasn’t so hard to be with you. I wish there weren’t so many hurdles to climb. Your beautiful eyes sparkle when you laugh, tail wagging. I hate seeing you sad with your ears down, tail drooping. It tears at me what they do to you, the abuse they give you because you are like me. It hurts that I’m the cause. I don’t understand why they care.

It’s not like we’re taking up much space in this world. If feels like there are so few like us, and yet I know there are others, others hiding, others still lurking in the dark. I wish they’d come forward so we could all stand together. I know some of them will never be as brave as us, but together we could push back. You tell me, “It’s okay, they can stay in the shadows,” but it doesn’t feel right to be this alone. We need allies to stand with us, yet there are none here in this town I trust beyond you with knowing the true depth of our love.

In the rain yesterday, out behind the library, I held you as you cried against me, sobbing. We huddled in the service doorway, the rain failing inches from our muzzles as you told me you loved me, told me that your parents were threatening to hurt you if we kept seeing each other. Back in that little shelter away from the storm, I did everything I could to comfort you. We didn’t say it was time to go, but we both knew it was. I only needed to ask if you wanted to get the tickets; your soft, sad nod as you wiped your eyes told me you were ready.

People shouldn’t care about who you are inside, who you love. Sadly, far too many of them do, and as I’m standing here next to you today, clutching a bus ticket to somewhere safer, somewhere far away from this cursed place, I worry about the future for us. I worry how we’ll find shelter the next time it rains. I don’t want to run, but we need to be safe. We are barely adults and already we need to build a whole new life for ourselves in a new town, the safety of home lost to us. I guess we should feel lucky we made it to this point, that we managed to get far enough along that we could walk out of this hell together before it all came crashing down upon our ears.

“Are you ready?” I ask you, as the bus pulls up and the door opens.

“As ready as I can ever be,” you whisper, as we walk forward, and find seats on the bus. I want to cry about the injustice, I want to scream about the pain they’ve given me, but I’m beyond that. I just want to find shelter somewhere I belong. I just want to love you in peace.

As your tail settles against the seat, and you sigh with your eyes closed, I reach for your hand and take it, feeling your fingers grip mine the way you would hold onto a lifeline. I wish we weren’t the only couple who had to run for being the same, but the hate is too great to stay.

I wish my parents still told me they loved me, but they only shake their heads at me now and act disappointed. Instead of seeing us as people, as two young lovers seeking to build a life together, our love is met far too often with scorn and hate. We are the same, yet for some, that is too different from themselves. Too other to belong.

As the bus pulls away, I want to look back, I want to look at my former home, but I can only cry silently, tears staining my face. Through misty eyes, I can see you do the same.