It didn't take SR long to rule out any chance of transformation in the Real World. Such things simply didn't happen: Magic was a children's philosophy. And if, by some technological, sociological and political miracle the means were developed to invoke such a transformation, the possibility still lay many more generations in the future than SR would ever see. Hoping to acquire it from extra-earth sources was as foolish as believing in magic. Logic having failed him, SR did the natural-- he turned to the illogical: his religion. It immediately became apparent that the answer to SR's question wasn't going to be found in the usual church documents. At first he poured over the scriptures, searching for any indication that in this life or the next humans could take on animal form. Every reference he found was at best sketchy. From there, he turned to books with commentary on the scriptures. When these failed to give him a definite answer, he moved to books with enumerations and lectures on church doctrine. He continued in this fashion until he was no longer sure that what he was reading was more word of God than philosophy of men. In all his searching, nowhere would the Books tell him the answer to his question. Undaunted, SR took the next logical step: he consulted his ecclesiastical leaders. The opportunity presented itself the day after he'd set his resolve, no matter the consequences, to find out the truth of the matter. In college religious groups such as the one to which SR belonged, pastors often have personal interviews with the members of the congregation in order to ensure that they, in their new-found freedom of college life, continue to develop faith in God and in the church. After the Sunday meetings, the pastor of SR's church pulled SR aside to set up just such an appointment. SR decided to use the opportunity to ask a theological question. The first half of the interview went pretty much cut-and-dry routine: They got acquainted and talked about the congregation and church in general. As the interview slowly wound to an end, and SR could feel the question coming-- the question all people who have ever held a church office always ask at the end of an interview: "So SR, do you have anything you'd like to ask me?" Wringing his hands very nervously, SR prefaced his statement by explaining that he hoped the question didn't seem too off-the-wall, and that he hoped the pastor wouldn't think less of him for asking. He then jumped in with both feet: "What does the Church have to say about people who would rather not be human?" A tense silence of about twenty seconds followed that, the pastor staring directly at SR, and SR, like a mirror, returning the gaze. Both parties were absolutely motionless, a frozen expression plastered to their faces. Finally: "I'm afraid you're going to have to help me out with this one." Ice broken, SR poured out his heart, describing as best he could the feelings and desires he'd had since childhood. Another silence followed, one not so tense, yet a bit longer than before while the pastor was deep in thought. When he again decided to speak, he explained to SR that he didn't have an answer, but would like SR to speak with the pastor's superior on the matter. Little less than a week later, SR found himself in almost the same situation as before, this time in a different building and with a slightly older gentleman. Again the interview drew to a close, and SR asked the fatal question. The response was not as SR had expected it: "I don't think the church has anything to say about people who would rather not be human." But it didn't end there: The older gentleman went on to explain that he didn't think such a thing was possible-- A human was a human and would always be a human, in this life and the life hereafter. Nowhere in God's plan were there provisions for transformations. SR felt like telling him that there was also nothing in the Plan to say such a thing is not possible, but from the look of contempt on the opposite's face, SR knew it was a moot point. To his benefit, though, the old man admitted that he didn't definitely know the answer to SR's question. Explaining his own conversion process, SR's companion told SR that if the question bothered him so much, he ought to earnestly study and ponder the matter, then ask God whether SR's dream could in fact be reality. Driving his Jeep back to his dorm room, SR couldn't have felt worse. He was back at square one, and had the ominous feeling that he would end up doing what he had always done in his life-- suppress the feelings and memories whenever they surfaced. Still, he'd made a promise to himself and the older gentleman, and knew what he had to do. He'd already had some experience in receiving answers to prayers and therefore knew what it involved. This was one of the most important questions he'd ever had in life. At all costs, including his eternal salvation if necessary, he didn't want to screw it up. He decided to take his time. Three weeks later, SR felt he was prepared. Switching off the ignition of the SUV after Pink Floyd finished singing "On the Turning Away," he paused for a moment before exiting the vehicle and walking to the center of the Stargazing Spot. Once there, he stared ponderously at the gibbous moon for a few minutes. Cirrus clouds high overhead created a hazy halo around it, making it seem like the iris of an eye that filled half the sky. He smiled, then kneeled in the frosty weeds. Hours were spent as SR poured out his soul to his maker, the moon, and anything else that cared to listen. When he felt the time was right, he asked God the question he knew He would understand: "Is it possible?" At that moment, for the second and last time, the vixen began to yip and whine, this time in the forest to the east. SR forced the sound out of his mind and concentrated on what he felt: He knew that an answer would come in the form of a feeling deep within his being. He'd prepared for weeks and had more than his life at stake-- he couldn't afford to be distracted now. Five minutes later, the vixen silenced herself and SR still felt nothing. Not letting his faith waver, SR gritted his teeth then asked another question: "If it's not possible, how can I purge these desires from my life?" Still nothing. For the next half hour, question after question was sent earnestly skyward. Later that night he drove home in silence. He felt... nothing. It had taken a total of forty-eight hours for the "answer" to sink in. SR let the drizzle running down the back of his neck accent the feeling of utter hopelessness that he felt. He had nowhere to go: The world could not help him. And God wouldn't. It was also all-too-apparent that God wasn't going to remove these desires either. All had deserted him. Even the stars on this night had hidden their faces behind a shroud of vapor. Bawling pitifully, SR leaned his head back, letting the drizzle mix with his tears. Torture on his face, he opened his eyes and stared up into nothing. "Take me home," he croaked. SR sat in the depression in the snow, crying uncontrollably as the vision faded and feelings of almost a month ago returned anew. He looked up at the stars, great bright drops of empathic sorrow flowing from their eyes, mixing with his own tears as they streaked through his blurred vision. "DAMN YOU!" he screamed at the heavens, rising angrily to his feet. "DAMN YOU!" between sobs, shaking both fists at the shower directly over his head. "DAMN YOU!... I HAD ALMOST FORGOTTEN!... WHY DID YOU HAVE TO REMIND ME?!" He fell to his knees, burying face in hands, "It would have been so easy... Why?... Why?... Why?" SR suddenly saw himself thrashing around the the Stargazing Spot, screaming at everything and venting his anger and frustration in the most non-violent way he could manage at that point. It was the night he shouldn't have survived the trip home-- the night he'd flown at nearly twice the recommended speed over... Vision still before his eyes, SR groaned, rising to his feet, struggling desperately to get back to his Jeep across the snowy field... He was running through the neighboring forest, trying desperately to get lost. The farmer that found him the next day said he was lucky that... Brushing the snow off his face, SR rose once again, only to immediately fall again on his way back to the Jeep. He resorted to crawling... It was 6:13am, and the sun was coming over the hills in the east. Apparently it was still to warm to get frostbite. SR would be sick for... His hands were frozen and aching and his vision completely blurred, but he was over half way there. Just a little farther... He was kneeling, beating his fists on his face and on the ground until all were stained with blood... Just a few more feet to the driver's side door... He was lying on his back in the center of the field, eyes closed. The only sound for miles around was the slight huffing of a grown man crying... SR slammed the door behind him. Immediately he collapsed his hands and head on the top of the steering wheel and let despair shake him. The visions had stopped, but no amount of venting would rectify what he now felt. He looked wearily back over the field from whence he came and saw the zig-zagging trail he'd made coming back to the car. Quietly at first the music of guitars began to fill his head. The CD player was off. SR instantly recognized Pink Floyd's "Hey you." "Oh God, will it ever stop?" he croaked into the air as he jammed the key in the ignition an turned. The car had just started as Roger Waters began singing. "Hey you! out there in the cold getting lonely, getting old, can you feel me" SR slammed on the seatbelt, threw the Jeep into gear, and all four tires spun on the ice as he smashed the accelerator.... "Hey you! standing in the aisles With itchy feet and fading smiles, can you feel me" A rotten fence post bounced off the hood as the car thundered toward the "wild" way-- the quickest route back to the dorms.... "Hey you! don't help them to bury the light" Spinning madly, he rocketed over an embankment on the right.... "Don't give in without a fight." A juvenile pine tree snapped over the bumper and the Jeep was back on the road, engine screaming in protest.... "Hey you! out there on your own Sitting naked by the phone would you touch me" The left rear section section of the vehicle scraped horribly against a boulder on the side of the road as the Jeep slid uncontrolled around a curve. The pedal remained pressed firmly against the floor.... "Hey you! with your ear against the wall Waiting for someone to call out would you touch me" With an ominous "crunch" the front two tires smashed into a wide horizontal rut in the frozen mud. Momentum carried the Jeep onward. SR closed his eyes.... "Hey you! would you help me to carry the stone" A protruding rock in the center of the road left its mark on the underbelly of the vehicle.... "Open your heart, I'm coming home" The right two tires slid into a long deep groove and the Jeep momentarily scraped to a halt. SR just sat, eyes strained closed and teeth clenched an bared as the guitars played onward. Eventually the left tires burned through the ice, and the vehicle lurched forward. Knuckles white on the wheel, SR opened his eyes.... "But it was only fantasy The wall was too high as you can see" The words seemed more potent than ever before. Blood materialized on SR's lip where his tongue was caught between his incisors.... "No matter how he tried he could not break free" SR screamed. All four tires left the ground as they passed over a slight inclination in the road.... "And the worms ate into his brain." SR shook his head violently in a vain attempt to clear the buzzing that filled his senses. The passenger side window exploded as the car careened into a tree around the next corner. They had reached a brief straight section of road on the top of the mountain. The speedometer climbed past 40... past 50... "Hey you! out there on the road Always doing what you're told, can you help me" 60... 65... "Hey you! out there beyond the wall Breaking bottles in the hall, can you help me" 70... 75... "Hey you! don't tell me there's no hope at all" 80... A hair-pin turn could be seen on the road ahead.... "Together we stand, divided we fall." The last line echoed in SR's mind as the song drew to a close. The Jeep flew toward the corner with unrelenting abandon. As the headlights crawled around the steep of the mountain at an ever increasing rate, suddenly two glowing yellow orbs came into view. Time nearly stopped. In less than the blink of an eye, the creature around the bend was in the full shine of the high-beams. It was the vixen. SR gasped as if he'd never breathed before. She stood, ears erect and mouth closed, staring solemnly through the shine and into SR's eyes. Their stares locked. SR released the accelerator and pushed the brake to the floor. Tires locked. The right rear tire exploded from the strain. In a silent dream, they watched eachother as SR slowly and smoothly glided past the vixen. The vehicle spun obligingly to keep the vulpine's indescribable stare in the shine of the lights. SR was greeted with a feeling of weightlessness. The fox walked to the edge of the precipice. They remained firmly swimming in each other's eyes as the vixen was carried up higher and higher. Her eyes only were only two bright lights in the distance by now. Suddenly all went black. Copyright © 1998 by SR Foxley. All rights reserved. Please contact the author if you have questions regarding the publication of this document.
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