Everything around her moved like quicksilver. But Cosima never kept up anymore.

She lagged behind the world, watching it bolt past her at the speed of light. Then she’d be left in space—left in the dark.

That’s all she could see.

Darkness.

She was grounded; the asphalt below her was warm. Her whole body burned with indescribable pain, as if she were allergic to the ground. This world she failed to become attuned to bound her to the earth, making flight a pipe dream.

Despite how much her head split at the harrowing racket from all blindsides, she never blindsided herself.

Pigs could fly. It wasn’t impossible.

So why couldn’t she?

What was holding her back?

A weight. It crushed her bony body. It sapped her life away. It suffocated her.

She couldn’t see it, but it was there. So she had to stop being blind and open her absent eyes.

So, with the fire in her empty sockets struggling to relight, she began seeing.

Foggy. It wasn’t any different from the darkness.

She winced at her weak attempts to comprehend the noises around her. Even with no eyeballs, the simple act of recovering her bearings sent crippling shocks through her body.

However, a single noise brought her slowly to life.

“Cosima!”

She awakened further, the blurriness of a bulky image blinking in and out.

“Cosima!”

She tried to take in more air in what felt like a chokehold. But it was putrid with smoke and grit.

“Cos—”

Sinjin coughed.

Cosima coughed after, jolting at the feeling of liquid gushing down her grimy purple cheek.

“Sin…”

He was there, hovering and looking at her warmly despite his throaty voice.

The world listened to her silent plea to see the man, and her vision cleared.

Nevertheless, she remembered that the world did her no favors. For this one favor of letting her see, she almost wished to go blind.

Once again, she fell into deception; the sirens around her closed in.

Sinjin’s hairless face came into view. It had warmth, but on the outside, his skin was strewn with bloody stains and flowing tears.

His voice trembled in sync with his grovelling body, delicate and on the verge of collapse. He held her to the ground, his legs almost giving way.

He looked shattered before the attack. Now, he was beyond broken.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, breaking into more glassy sobs. More liquid dribbled onto her face. He pleaded, “Are you alright?”

His gruff groans haunted her. But she still attempted to come to life despite the lack of oxygen.

“Yeah… I’m fine.” She coughed up something. More liquid poured onto the ground next to her. “Sin, what’s…”

Her vision expanded. It was Sinjin’s presence that breathed life into her.

But her breath hitched, the life draining from her drained face.

“I can’t… put away…”

The sirens buried his sobs.

Bloody discharge spattered Cosima and the ground below, discharging from the ballooned lump clawing out of Sinjin’s back. The tearing of skin and clothing ripped the air, a dark tortoise shell surfacing from his rear. The carapace quaked, fighting against its host’s reluctance and autonomy.

It weighed on him. He cried out.

He weighed on her. She cried out.

She weighed on the earth. It didn’t cry out.

It accepted her, keeping itself close to her heart. It was like a friend, throwing its hands over her and spoonfeeding her with illusive comfort. However, it wasn’t a friend in need, a bosom buddy, or some saving grace.

It was just there, existing. A friend who was only present when her life came apart at the seams, enjoying her misfortune like a fiend.

The fires around her raged. Shouts on all sides of her echoed. The sirens closed in further.

The warning signs were there. But Cosima still couldn’t fly. She was bound to be grounded.

As her vision faded once more—the weight of everything pressing harder on her—she came to terms with her situation. She accepted that she’d have to make friends in low places.

Accepting things was something that had never changed for her.

So she’d accept unconsciousness.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

She could vaguely hear the rapping of boots, ambulance alarms, and the pulling of stretchers. She even heard Sinjin’s sobs wane as he joined her in oblivion, helped off of her by people making incoherent demands at one another.

It didn’t remove the weight; her lover’s anguished face and shell persisted in her sleeping mind. Cursory reminders of the new ground she was walking on—fleeting images of an elaborate shift in their lives.

Then, the world faded to black, preventing her from processing the enormity of it all.

Everything continued moving like quicksilver, leaving her in the dust.

----------------------------------------

The dust never settles; it’s a quicksilver whirlwind from start to finish.

Red and blue lights filled Tawny’s world, but she still processed everything around her.

“Crap,” Tawny said under her breath, scowling at the masked officers pooling out of their police cars with pistols equipped. “Right.”

The clicks of metalware forced her feline legs into a crouch. She eyed the attacker she had blinded temporarily, watching him writhe at the cops’ feet, covering his nose from the rank air.

He has some good destructive power. They’re definitely taking him away.

“Tawny Tonner, stand down!” The woman swivelled on her paw, meeting the direction of the bold voice. A tan man stood there with his gun’s muzzle glaring at her. “Once again, you have the right to remain silent—”

It was the same song playing for the billionth time. So she studied her next challenger, focusing her cat eye on his attire.

Lieutenant Hilario Gallardo? SDD badge. Explains why his uniform is tailored to be sleeveless. He needs to fit those long arms and sharp nails on his right hand. He’s holding the gun in his left hand, which—

“How many times are we going to have to play your games?” Hilario questioned, a weary lilt in his voice. His pistol danced in his fingers, reeling towards Tawny’s downed opponent. “I’m assuming he caused the damages? Your track record shows that you aren’t capable of killing. You’re more of a property damage person, so…”

They always talked to her like chums—casual and straightforward. It was as if she had friends in high places. But this meant that they were also on their high horses. They neared her without the intention of hugging; her keen hearing knew handcuffs and tasers were at the ready. No matter how straightforward they acted towards her, she believed she wasn’t thick enough in the head to ignore the gap between her and this collective, despite them slowly moving closer to her.

Everyone there knew the drill. Tawny did, too. Her track record had been drilled into her head, leaving an imprint.

It was an instinct. From pure experience in a field where one’s words fell on deaf ears and stony ground, most were blind to the power behind speech. All because they’re being conflicted against.

But she remained genuine and straightforward, even to the cops.

So she followed her honest instinct, with the police and ambulance sirens resonating in her head.

She ran.

Before Hilario could open his mouth again, she leapt over her circle of challengers, earning an immediate response from them as she hurried down the motorway.

Bullets flew, nipping at her tails, clothes, and skin. They never got under her skin, resulting in minor bruises and cuts.

They’re not going for any killing blows. They really want to take me in.

The bullets stopped. But Tawny didn’t, despite how weighty her body was. She could feel all her tails dangling behind her with each step. But no one was on them yet.

Crap, I think one of them is bleeding—

A sharp pang shocked the back of her head, sending her into a mad scramble. She released a pained screech, her skull ringing and wringing from the impact.

Clutching the back of her head, she glimpsed behind her to witness a pistol clattering on the floor.

He threw an effin’ gun?

Luckily, it didn’t leave a mark on her. The head stopped ringing.

Before she could question the absurdity further, Hilario led the charge with a small group of his companions, his ravenous right claw itching to strike at her. Police cars following the chase were part of the script as well.

In a quick step, Hilario raked at Tawny’s shoulders, shredding the material as the catwoman dodged.

The officer followed through with a downward slash and fluidity in his movement as he missed her. He began parrying away one of her tails without fail.

Hilario clawed at her rapidly, urging her onto her favored defensive. However, she wasn’t in her element; continuous movement strained her legs.

At least I’m getting further from the loud noises. I’m away from the broken shrapnel, so all-fours—

Hilario’s left palm forced itself forward and—in a heartbeat—pushed Tawny down the street without any contact.

“Crap!” Tawny cursed, rolling across the roadside before recovering in a hunched slide. Her tailbones cried out from the friction, urging her to massage them briefly.

However, sharp nails were quickly massaging her bare shoulder, attempting to puncture the mutated brown region of her pale skin.

She frowned. The tickling was annoying. But she wouldn’t let it get under her skin; she’d just take care of it.

Unfazed, she palmed the nails away, the white stalks retracting into a calm Hilario’s hand. A trickle of blood left from the attacked area. Minor.

Run.

In the middle of turning, an electric sizzle sounded, a pair of sharp darts zipping towards where Tawny’s recently tickled shoulder used to be.

A taser. Why did they think that would work?

Even if her tailbone resisted, she got on all fours, darting down the road with little to no challenge.

“Don’t shoot,” Hilario commanded from behind as she distanced herself further from the platoon.

Why does he sound so calm? Aren’t they gonna chase me?

She winced at her weak attempts to shrug off the pain in her lower back. Even with her tolerance, recovering from rare rear pains sent crippling shocks through her body.

What’s up with me and electricity today?

Like hell and high lightning, a uniformed figure stood in the middle of the isolated road, stopping Tawny in her tracks. She remained quadrupedal, her wrinkled scowl making her look like a wildcat.

Oh. Perfect.

She didn’t need to read the badge to know who this man was. His one empty sleeve blew in the humid wind as he patiently waited for something.

Her.

Him.

“Hey! Miss Tawny!” She could hear the juvenile smugness yet calm professionalism on his face. “My name’s Captain Hugi. Gideon Hugi of the San Diego Discipliners. What have you been up to?”

She knew him. He knew her.

It was strange how the tail pain pulsed during the encounter. No matter how far this officer stood from her, he always found a way to be on her tail whenever she tried to change others’ thoughts on the world. Without fail, he’d always be her most ambitious challenger.

He was always at arm’s length, a risky play from a one-armed captain.

She didn’t bother to entertain his question. But he didn’t let the silence bug him.

“I’m heading the Skid Row Berserker case,” Gideon announced, rubbing his hairy mouse-like snout. “It’s one of our largest cases yet. We’re dealing with a maniac with many strong traits and a cure inside him. So, I’d like to be in top shape for the next investigations.”

She remained silent.

“I mean—well, if you are kind enough to stop resisting consequence, as you’ve done many times already.” The sly confidence he always gave her in his gradually friendlier lectures boiled her blood. “I mean… when you protest with the intent for your opponents to face the consequences they… presumably deserve, isn’t it fair for you to also face the consequences of your actions?”

She glared without response; she wouldn’t let him get into her head. She looked around for a means of escape.

“You’re about… 14-something years older than I am?” The captain began his stroll towards her. “Exactly what kind of god are you trying to play here?”

She wouldn’t let him get into her head.

I’ll get to the other side of the freeway and into the traffic. But he’s fast.

She felt his childish smile as he added, “My name comes from a pretty godly figure, to be honest! But you don’t see me trying to avoid consequences. You can’t even put your tails away, so trying to hide from authority is futile.” He yawned. “Please, just make this easy.”

She wouldn’t let him get into her head.

So she poised her hands and legs for the run she had to do.

“Good on you for not killing, though. Your jail time will practically be—”

A thunderclap.

Gideon strode towards Tawny, manifesting in front of her face before she could blink. Her eyes flickered at the speed, watching the man’s bare heel rise above her.

“Miranda Rights!” His right heel came down on her, and without even touching her, she felt her body crash into the ground, a sudden weight glueing her to the asphalt. She gasped, spit flying at the impact as she lay face-down.

It didn’t hurt much. Gideon didn’t get into her head. But as soon as the incoming sirens came into the picture, the pain and gravity of her situation weighed on her.

She swallowed her bile, kickstarting a series of groans in her stomach. But she didn’t swallow down her pride; she needed that to keep exacting her messages.

The shutting of car doors brought back the bile in her throat.

“Is she resisting, Captain?” Hilario’s voice. “By the way, sir, fix your fly—”

“I raised my leg up a bit too much.” A zip sounded. Handcuffs rung. Her stomach wrung; it wanted to lash out.

Footsteps.

“She may belch again. Keep your masks up, guys. You too, Captain—”

“I forgot mine.” A cough. Gideon placed a foot on her head, urging her to balloon her cheeks. He fought off her whirling tails with some trouble, evident from the grunts she could hear. “Lieutenant, I said ‘Miranda Rights!’ when I… uh… repelled her to the ground.”

The footsteps neared. Tawny’s stomach gurgled more.

“Really?”

“Really. Like I’m some… superhero or something—”

“I think this woman’s delusionality is rubbing on you, sir.”

They had a brief chuckle. Her stomach churned.

Handcuffs dangled over her. Her stomach churned.

“I mean, at least I’m doing something worthwhile with my life. I’m still grounded in reality.”

Her stomach churned.

Pigs could fly. It wasn’t impossible, to her misfortune.

So why couldn’t she?

What was holding her back?

A weight. But it didn’t crush her body. It didn’t sap her life away. It didn’t suffocate her.

She could feel the weight. It was there.

So she had to stop being silent and open her mouth.

So, as she felt the metal of the handcuffs touch her hand, she writhed and vomited a green substance onto the ground, forcing Gideon to reel away from her in shock.

“What the f—”

Then, like a wild animal, she flipped onto her burning tailbones and released all her pent-up caution and bile in an ear-splitting blast of quicksilver wind.

She couldn’t bite the dust just yet.