The Sketchbook

1640

The boy opened his eyes. A paralyzing sting reminded him of the blows. He blinked as a drop of blood hit the sand. Another drop on the sketchbook, another drop on the sand. He brought his hand to his nose and held it to his eyes. A deep red tainted it.

He rose and looked to his aggressor. A foggy red covered his sights. His fists clenched in fury. He yelled and charged.

The bully gave a short, mocking laugh and pushed the boy into the sand. He kicked the ground, sending sand into the boy’s eyes, blinding him.

While the boy was stunned, the back of the bully’s hand cracked into the side of his skull, and the boy fell onto the shore, defeated.

The girl spoke up. “Jason, he’s had enough! Stop this!”

“He’s trash!” the bully sneered. “I can’t believe you were talking to him, Ally."

“It’s just a drawing! There's nothing bad about it, Jason.”

The breeze picked up on the beach, and the familiar sound of the tide rushed over all their ears, along with the distant sounds and shouts of volleyball and drunks.

“Nothing bad about it? Have you been online? They like to dress up in animal costumes and...ugh, it’s disgusting! They’re nothing but perverts!”

“Jason…”

“No,” he declared as he walked to the boy. He grabbed the boy’s hair and pulled his face to meet his own.

Practically spraying spit onto his face, he warned, “Listen to me carefully, Austin. You stay away from this party and stay away from her. Or else.”

With emphasis, the bully slammed the boy’s face into the sand. It seeped into his wounds and mixed with the blood on his face, and it stung viciously.

“Come on Ally, let’s go.”

The girl looked daggers at the bully. Scoffing, he turned on his heel and cut through the sand, making his way back to the party.

The girl turned to the boy. “I’m sorry, Austin. I don’t buy into that nonsense. Can I help you…?”

“Just...leave me alone…” The boy sat up and put his head on his knees. No emotion ed on his face.

“But Austin…” Ally extended a hand to help him up.

“No.” The boy gently but assuredly pushed her hand away. He picked up his sketchbook and stood up. “I’m going for a walk. Go back to the party.” He pleaded with his eyes.

The girl looked on with sorrow. “OK,” she said. “Take care of yourself, Austin.” She reluctantly walked back to the party.

The boy watched her leave for several seconds. With a sigh, he started to walk down the beach, away from the noise and shouting. His nose didn’t seem to bleed anymore; if anything, the sand had sealed the cut. It still stung like hell, though.

After a moment, he scanned the horizon. He spotted a large rock further off down the beach. Target established, he set off.

As he walked, he opened the sketchbook. He found the picture he had shown the girl. The one he took a beating for.

The lined drawing was of a humanoid otter, feminine in shape. Her fur was brown with a white patch from her throat down to her belly. Her clawed paws were also a milky white, and her fingers exhibited a web membrane.

He was proud of the webbing on the drawing. He had worked hard to make them look realistic but functional. The girl had especially liked that part of the piece, along with the blue eyes — she thought she could see her own soul in her eyes. He had appreciated the compliment.

At least before the bully had ruined everything he once knew.

The Sketchbook-The boy opened his eyes. A paralyzing sting reminded him of the blows. He blinked as a drop of blood hit the s

The rock was in front of him now. A large rock, beached upon the shore eons ago by primordial tides. On it was a spot that looked familiar to a bench, perfect for a human posterior. The boy decided to relax on this rock for a while, to clear his mind of the incident.

He walked over to the rock and sat in the natural seat. The area seemed to hum with a unique presence around him — the air and sounds started to ever so slightly slow down around him. This is odd, he thought.

He looked at his sketchbook and the drawing of the otter again. Could he improve upon her anymore?

He scoffed. Did it matter? Society had already made up its damn mind about him. About anyone that dared to draw anthropomorphic animals.

He wondered for the thousandth time why he bothered. He flipped through the book again.

Raccoon. Wolf. Lion. Deer. Another otter. Weasel. Cat…

Trash. All trash.

I’m trash.

He slammed the book shut and threw it in the sand. Letting his emotions get the better of him, he put his head in his hands, put his elbows on his knees, and cried. His tears mixed with the sand caked blood on his face.

Suddenly, he felt a hand - no, it was too soft for a hand - on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up.

His eyes went wide and he was mesmerized. Standing in front of him was his creation.

Her eyes were as blue as the sea, her fur brown, the splash of white on her belly, her white paws. All the details were the same.

“I must be dreaming…” he said.

“You ain’t dreaming, sugar. Right here, right now, I’m real.” The otter smiled at him in a playful manner. “And I, sure as God made little green apples, am not TRASH, sonny.” She crossed her arms and displayed her best grumpy face.

The boy blinked. “What? You know about that…” He looked away from her, the emotions returning.

The otter gently took his chin and locked eyes with him. “Buck up, son. How long will you worry about how people see you?”

The boy shrunk back at those words. “I don’t give a damn about what other people think...” he rebutted.

The otter let out a long, slow laugh. “Boy, you are on the beach, but you are in DEEEEE NILE!” She started to laugh again.

“Shut up!” the boy shouted. “How can I not care what they think of me?! How can I not be mad when I get the crap kicked out of me just for liking something like...like you?!” He kicked sand at the otter and crossed his arms.

The otter smiled a sad smile and sat down beside him, adjusting her tail as she did so. She placed a soft paw on his shoulder.

“Sonny, the world is broken. Evil abides here, and it abides in everyone. It takes root as a tiny seed. As a slight. As selfishness. As foolishness. As revenge.”

He uncrossed his arms and looked at her. She gave the same melancholy smile again.

She continued, “You have a choice to make in your dealings with people. You can treat them like for like, wrong for wrong. Or,” as she pretended to ponder her thoughts, “You can take the other option and love them no matter what they do.”

He scoffed at the idea. “How can I love someone like that jerk?”

The otter smiled. “I didn’t say it like that, sweetie. He’s got issues of his own that you don’t even know about.” She turned and gazed out over the ocean.

The boy turned his head to one side slightly. “Who are you?”

She turned back, an impish twinkle in her eye. “Who do you think I am?” she asked.

“A figment of my imagination,” the boy answered with a wry smile and a laugh.

“Perhaps,” she said. “But this figment of your imagination wants to show you something. Something that will help you. Something that will give you a chance to see things...differently.”

She snapped her fingers and a red and blue ball of flame materialized in her right and left paws. The boy shrunk back.

“You must choose. If you take the blue ball…”

“I’ve seen this before,” he claimed.

The hands closed. “Boy. You know that was a good movie, and if I want to take it back there, I can. I’m a damn magical otter and I do what I want.” The otter looked at the boy with a half head tilt.

“Fine,” the boy said.

“Okay then,” and as they agreed, the blue and red balls of flame rematerialized.

“Take the blue, I disappear and you "wake up" right here. Take the red, I give you a chance to see things differently. I won’t judge.”

The boy’s mind pondered the choice. If this was a dream, he thought, he was going to wake up no matter what. So why not see how deep the rabbit hole goes?

Steeling himself, he reached for the red ball.

The otter grabbed his wrist very firmly and bit hard at his hand, drawing blood.

The boy screamed in pain and doubled over, tumbling off the rock. “Son of a…”

“Hurts for something from a figment of your imagination, eh?” the otter laughed. “It shouldn’t take long now.”

“What are you talking about…” the boy said as he looked at his hand and the wound…

...began sprouting fur. Brown fur carpeted his hand, and soon it made its way up the boy’s arm. He turned his hand over and saw dark black pads harden and form, his nails quickly reforming into black claws.

He experienced no pain as the fur and transformation spread like wildfire over his body — his torso, the other arm and legs. He felt a soft burst as his spine elongated, with flesh and fur quickly growing on it. He watched as his feet developed the same paws and claws as his hands.

Finally, his head grew fur and his ears migrated to the top of his skull. The transformation completed as his muzzle formed, and with a POP! His new form was finished, a river otter just like her.

“What in the holy hell...” the newly minted otter gasped.

“Consider it a temporary reassignment,” the otter said. “You can return to your old form when you want. But this is a taste of things to come, sonny.”

“What does that mean?” the new creation asked.

“How about I show you?” the otter said with a mischievous eye. Within seconds, she turned and dashed to the ocean.

Discarding his tattered and broken clothing, the otter ran after his quarry. He loved the feel of the ocean mist and spray on his fur as he chased her.

He saw the other otter dive into the ocean and start to paddle out with her tail. When he reached the surf's edge, he dove and paddled after her for all he was worth, a wide grin upon his new muzzle.

----

The girl had separated herself from Jason, saying she would get another ride home. She walked up and down the beach, searching for the boy.

She was about to give up and call someone when her foot kicked something in the sand.