A Boy’s Tail

ABT I: Oh, F*** Me!

– o – o – o – o – o – o – o –

Wha…

His eyes cracked open, sunlight stabbing into them like red-hot needles. 

The world was a blur, shapes and colors bleeding together like a sample of modern art. His head snapped up, neck muscles screaming in protest as he sucked in air like a drowning man breaking the surface. The simple act of breathing felt foreign, lungs burning with each desperate gulp. Fucking nasty.

A half-second later, he immediately regretted it.

Fuck me, that’s nasty. His tongue felt thick and heavy in his own mouth, the taste of bile and blood coating it like a layer of rot, thick and cloying. 

He coughed, spit dribbling down his chin. Moving was a Herculean effort, his head full of rocks, his limbs dead weights. Just let me sleep. But his body betrayed him, chest spasming as he involuntarily gasped again. The smell hit him like a physical blow, rot and piss and fetid meat invading his nostrils, so rank he could feel it at the back of his skull.

Jesus Christ! That’s fuckin’ worse!  He tried to cover his nose, hands scrabbling clumsily at his face, but it was too late. The damage was done. 

Hot bile surged up his throat and he lurched forward, puking up a mouthful of what looked like black blood and something else brown and filthy. The force of it racked his body, muscles screaming in protest as he dry-heaved onto the filthy concrete. Just fucking end me already. 

But whatever cruel god he had angered wasn’t finished with him yet.

Instead, he doubled over and faced the ground again, as he continued to rid himself of whatever had been unfortunate enough to have been in his stomach before this.

Apparently, that turned out to be not much at all.

Nothing but simple liquid, watery vomit, struck the ground beneath him with disgustingly wet splatters. Wave after wave of nausea crashed over him, leaving him shaking and gasping on his hands and knees. The taste of bile was overwhelming, bitter and acrid, making his eyes stream with reflexive tears. Fuck me sideways. Each heave wracked his body, sending shudders through his whole body as he held himself on all fours. The taste of bile filled his mouth completely, bitter and acrid, making him retch again and again.

He spat weakly, trying to clear the foulness from his mouth. “Ughhhh…”

The groan slipped out as the heaving finally subsided, leaving him spent and trembling. Finally, his stomach empty, he blinked once and then once again, his eyes gritty and raw as he tried to orient himself past the fading nausea. He pushed himself up on quivering arms, the simple motion sending his head spinning. Where…? His mind was sluggish, thoughts moving through molasses. Gritting his teeth, he turned his head, neck muscles screaming in protest. What the hell is this place? 

Blinking back tears swimming in his eyes, he tried to focus, to see something besides blurred shapes and too-bright colors. Bags? Overstuffed garbage bags, some split open, spilling their rancid guts onto the ground. And a dumpster. It’s a dumpster, dumbass. The smell hit him again, making his nose prickle and burn like he’d snorted drain cleaner. 

Gotta get away from this shit. He stumbled back clumsily, one hand clutching his nose, trying to block out the stench. His legs felt like rubber, barely able to support his weight as he staggered drunkenly. Come on, get up. Bracing himself against the rough brick wall, he struggled to rise, muscles screaming in protest with every movement as his legs shook like a drug addict in withdrawal.

An alley? The thought drifted through the haze in his mind as he squinted against the harsh light. The space was narrow, walls rising up on either side like a canyon. Graffiti tags and old flyers clung to the bricks, faded and peeling. Shafts of sunlight sliced down from the sky, making his head throb with each flickering beam, the light stabbing into his brain like an icepick. How the fuck did I get here?

Okay, you’re in an alley. He tried to think past the dense fog clogging his brain. How? What? Nothing. No memories, no clue how he wound up face-down in trash-town. He caught a whiff of himself and nearly puked again. Guess I fit right in with the rest of the garbage.

Sliding one knee under himself, then the other. The world tilted dangerously but he fought down the urge to collapse. Not gonna die in an alley. Not today. Bracing himself against the gritty brick, he dragged himself upright, legs shaking like a junkie in withdrawal. From somewhere beyond the mouth of the alley, the sounds of the city drifted in – the distant rumble of traffic, the blare of horns, the indistinct chatter of voices. It all seemed strangely muted, like he was hearing it from underwater.

I gotta get out of here. Despite his insistent thoughts, his body didn’t seem to want to cooperate, legs trembling and weak, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself upright. Come on, you piece of shit. 

He growled, the sound rumbling in his throat, trying to force his muscles to obey. Move.

Even as he willed himself to take a step, his mind kept moving despite himself. How did I end up in this shithole? What the fuck happened? He racked his brain, trying to dredge up some scrap of memory, some clue to how he’d wound up passed out in a garbage-strewn alley.

Nothing.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the too-bright world, trying to focus past the pounding in his skull. Okay, okay. He took a slow breath, fighting down the urge to gag at the stench. Just… just try to remember. Something. Anything. 

He turned his head slowly, trying to get his bearings.

The dim outlines of the alley’s brick walls came into focus, graffiti smeared across them in chaotic splashes of color he couldn’t be fucked to read. The ground was a grimy mosaic of trash, puddles of murky water, and something that looked suspiciously like blood. Fuck me, this place is nasty.

Great, just great. Where the hell am I? The thought drifted through his head as he squinted, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The air was thick and heavy, the stench of piss and rotting garbage damn near overwhelming. He could hear the distant sounds of the city, car horns and sirens, but they seemed muted, like he was hearing them from underwater.

He took a tentative step forward, the motion making his head spin. The world seemed to tilt around him with that simple motion, the alleyway warping and twisting in his vision. Shit, I’m gonna throw up again. How bad did I get fucked up last night?

“Ugh…” he groaned, voice weak and raspy like he’d been gargling glass. He leaned heavily against the alley wall, the brick rough and gritty beneath his palm. Damn, I feel like straight-up ass. His clothes were damp, clinging to him uncomfortably like a second skin. He glanced down, squinting at himself in the dim light.

Did I get in a fight? He stared down at himself as he raised his arms, noting the scratches and scabbed-over wounds criss-crossing his dark skin. His vision swam again, the color seeming to shift and for a second he could have sworn he saw his melanin outright vanish, the shape of his arms replaced by something much more obese and much more… white? 

What the… His usual black tee and jeans were torn and stained, covered in grime and something that looked disturbingly like dried blood. Did I get in a fight? He raised his arms, staring at the scratches and scabbed-over wounds criss-crossing his dark skin. It looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a pissed-off alley cat.

His vision swam again and for a second, he could’ve sworn he saw his skin lighten, melanin straight-up vanishing as his arms seemed to change shape, getting thicker, paler. The fuck? He blinked hard, shaking his head, and the illusion was gone. I’m trippin’. Gotta lay off the hard shit.

Jeez, man. I know you’re twenty now, but that’s no excuse to get blackout drunk. He admonished himself, frowning as he tried to recall his birthday. Wait, am I twenty or… twenty-five… forty? The thought slipped away, lost in the haze of his mind. Shit, I can’t even remember how old I am. That’s bad, right?

Something felt off about his feet and he glanced down, blinking in confusion as he realized they were bare, toes curled against the filthy ground. Where the hell are my kicks? He wiggled his toes, grimacing at the feel of the damp concrete. Did I get jumped and they stole my shoes? And… socks? Who the fuck steals socks?

A sinking feeling hit his gut and he patted his pockets frantically, shoulders slumping as he found them empty. “Maybe I did get fuckin’ jumped. Phone and wallet gone.” Shit, ma’s gonna kill me. Fucking new iPhone too.

He let out a long groan, the sound echoing off the narrow walls of the alley. Okay, think. Gotta get outta here, figure out where I am. He pushed off the wall, swaying slightly as the world tilted around him. One step at a time. Just gotta… gotta get to the street. Find a landmark or some shit.

He shuffled forward, bare feet squelching in something he really didn’t want to think about. The mouth of the alley seemed impossibly far away, the light bleeding in from the street muted and hazy. Come on, almost there. Just…

The world spun violently and he stumbled, shoulder slamming into the brick wall as his knees gave out. Fuck! 

He scrabbled at the rough surface, trying to keep himself upright, the brick feeling oddly soft as his hands dug into it for purchase. Even still, he barely kept himself from sliding to the ground, the damp seeping into his jeans as he slumped back against the wall.

This ain’t good. The thought drifted through the fog, distant and echoey. His head was pounding, vision blurring at the edges. Gotta… gotta get up. Gotta… But his body felt heavy, limbs weighed down like they were encased in cement.

He blinked slowly, the dim light of the alley seeming to fade even further. Just… just need a minute. Catch my breath. His eyes fluttered and stopped just short of closing, head lolling back against the brick. Just a minute…

“Ayo my nigga, who is you?” The voice was harsh and rough, slicing through the fog in his brain like a razor blade. The tone and volume sent a jolt of adrenaline into his system, his heart instinctively pounding faster as he cracked his eyes open immediately.

Squinting against the too-bright light filtering into the alley, he could make out a group of men approaching him from a side path, their steps slow but their strides wide, like they had all the time in the world. Shit.

They got closer in no time at all, barely having to move more than a few meters to reach him and he could see they were all decked out in blue – blue bandanas, blue shirts, blue caps, all of it. Crips. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, his stomach twisting with a sudden, sickening sense of dread. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Wha, look, man,” he mumbled, blinking rapidly, trying to clear his vision. The men were a mix of builds and heights, but they all had the same hard, distrustful look in their eyes, like they were sizing him up, trying to figure him out. The leader was tall, lanky too, with light skin, a thin mustache and a thick gold chain around his neck. To his right was a muscular guy with a shaved head and a teardrop tattoo under his left eye, the ink stark against his dark skin. Two more flanked the group, one skinny with dreadlocks, the other heavyset with a fresh taper, both of them with a hand resting on their waistbands, the faint outline of a gun making his heart race faster. “For real, I just woke up.”

The leader and two more of them got in his face yelling questions and demands, their voices all raw aggression, the words blurring together in his panic. “You tryna spy on us, huh? You from the other side? Run your pocket, nigga! What set you claim, cuh?”

The alley suddenly felt narrower, the walls closing in on him, the stench of piss and rotting trash overwhelming. His heart was hammering against his ribs now, his palms slick with sweat. I gotta talk my way outta this, gotta make ’em understand.

“Nah, man, nah, look, it’s no-” He stumbled over his words as he tried to shake his head, quickly backing away. But before he could say anything else, he felt a presence behind him and whirled around, coming face to face with another one of them, blocking his escape. The dude was shorter but stocky, his face a roadmap of scars on caramel skin, his beady eyes glinting with something dark and dangerous.

“For real, I’m just… I’m just trying to get home. I ain’t-” 

But he didn’t get to finish.

There was a flash of movement, almost too fast for his sluggish brain to process, and then pain exploded in his mouth, white-hot and blinding. The butt of a pistol slammed into his face, the taste of blood flooding his mouth as he crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

Curses and insults rained down on him as the first blows landed, fists and feet connecting with his body, each impact sending shockwaves of pain through his already weakened body. He tried to curl up, to protect his head, but they were coming at him from all sides, a relentless barrage of violence.

Through the haze of pain, he caught glimpses of their faces between blows – twisted with anger and something darker, outright fucking happy even Why is this happening? He thought frantically, his mind reeling. I didn’t do anything, I don’t even know these motherfuckers!

He could hear his own labored breathing, ragged and wet, the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Each hit felt like it was dragging him deeper into the darkness, his vision narrowing until there was almost nothing left.

The leader, the one with the gold chain, kicked him viciously in the ribs, the force of it driving the air from his lungs in a choked gasp. The dude with the teardrop tattoo punched him in the side of the head, stars exploding behind his eyes, the world tilting wildly. The stocky one with the scars stomped on his leg, the bone protesting as he let out a weak groan.

The edges of his vision started to go black, the alley fading away into nothingness. He was vaguely aware of his body going limp, of the blows slowing but not stopping. I just wanted to go home, he thought dimly, the words echoing in his head.

Then he heard a sound, wet and thick, like someone hacking something up. A moment later, he felt something slimy and disgusting splatter across his face, warm spit dripping down his forehead and into his eyes. The sensation cut through the fog like a knife, a sudden, white-hot burst of rage igniting in his gut, burning away the pain and confusion.

Oh, hell nah. The thought was crystal clear, shining like a beacon in the darkness of his mind. These motherfuckers did not just spit on me. He could feel it building inside him, a pressure in his chest, a tingling in his limbs, like something clawing its way to the surface.

Fuck this. Fuck them. He didn’t care anymore. Not if he died, nothing. He could feel his muscles tensing, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Fuck everything!

Pain sharpened his focus, the fog of confusion and disorientation burning away in an instant. His body moved on pure instinct, fueled by a sudden, primal rage. One hand curled into a claw and snapped out, faster than he’d ever moved before, latching onto the leg of one of his attackers in a vise-like grip. The gangster’s eyes narrowed, shifting from excitement to shocked rage as he felt the pressure on his ankle.

“Ayy yo, get the fuck of m- aaaaAAAAAAHHHH!” The man’s shout turned into a shrill, agonized wail, nearly drowned out by the sickening crack of bone splintering under the force of the grip. The sound echoed off the alley walls, mingling with the screams and curses of the other attackers.

He let go, his fist slamming into the ground as he let out a bestial roar, the concrete cracking under the impact. The other men jumped back, a mix of confusion, shock, and outright fear flashing across their faces as they watched their friend collapse to the ground, clutching at his shattered leg, his screams turning to whimpers.

One of them, too caught up in the frenzy of violence to register the sudden shift, continued his assault. He threw a wild punch, aiming for the man on the ground, only to be met with a sudden, explosive surge of strength. The young man shot up like a coiled spring, his fist connecting with the attacker’s chest in a crushing blow that sent him flying back a good three feet. He hit the ground hard, the air leaving the man’s lungs in a whoosh, eyes wide and glassy with pain.

“Oh, you you you you one of them!” Another man, skinny and wild-eyed, pointed a shaking finger at the figure rising from the ground. His voice was high and tight with fear, his feet already backing away as he already started to run, quickly followed by one other. “You one of them supe niggas!”

But the leader, the one with the gold chain and the bandana around his neck, wasn’t ready to back down. His face twisted with rage and he reached for his waistband, pulling out a pistol and leveling it at the man standing defiantly in the alley. “Ayyy, fuck you, supe ass loser! This B-More, we don’t play that shit here!”

For a moment, the rush of adrenaline seemed to drain away, leaving him exposed, vulnerable. The gunman didn’t hesitate, his finger tightening on the trigger, the shots ringing out like thunder in the narrow space. He stumbled back with each impact, the bullets slamming into his chest, the force of them shaking his body. Pain blossomed with each hit, hot and sharp, stealing his breath.

Confusion reigned for a few moments as he looked down, expecting to see blood pouring from his wounds, expecting to feel his life slipping away. 

But there was no blood, no gaping holes. 

The bullets were lodged in his chest, flattened against his skin like they’d hit a wall of steel. They hurt like hell, like being punched by a heavyweight boxer, but they weren’t fatal.

Ohh… The realization dawned on him slowly, his mind struggling to process what was happening. Ohhhhhhhh… A smile spread across his face, wide and manic, his eyes glinting with a sudden, feral light. He reached up, plucking one of the bullets from his skin right above his heart, rolling it between his fingers as he watched the gunman’s face fall, fear replacing rage in his eyes.

The gunman turned to run, his survival instincts finally kicking in, but he was already moving, ready to give chase, to make him pay for what he’d done. But then he paused, a strange sensation pulling his attention downward. Did they steal my belt? He thought, glancing down in confusion. Why’s my ass feel so wei-

His eyes widened as he caught sight of what was hanging behind him, swaying gently in the air of the alley. 

A tail?

A goddamn, motherfucking tail. 

Long and black, covered in fur, twitching slightly as if in response to his mental question. He reached back, touching it gingerly, half-expecting it to disappear, to be some kind of pain-induced hallucination. But it remained solid, solid and real, the fur soft and pliable under his fingers.

Slowly but surely, his blank smile shifted into a wide grin, his teeth gleaming large and white in his mouth.

“Oh-fucking-kay,” he said quietly, his voice low and rough, almost a growl. ” I see how it is.”