FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Imagine it: a slow motion wide shot of a space ship crash landing into the surface of the earth.

The carnage and devastation all plays out at such sluggish speed and in such great detail that you can follow every piece of rubble and every fleeing person as they run for their lives, inevitably doomed to decimation by the ensuing shockwaves and explosions.

The scene smash cuts to a smoky jazz bar, two fat cats in suits are laughing, smoking cigars. They clink their whiskey glasses together in agreement. Their female mouse waiter has her cleavage exposed as she offers them her false smile and pre-written kindnesses.

Then we see her at home. She is literally counting her dollars, writing a list of upcoming expenses. Planning everything out to the cent. She's crying.

Something new. A body dropping from a bridge, shrouded in black, shot in such a way that you can't make out any details other than that they are a person and that they are living. That soon they won't be.

No context. No character. No conclusions. All we show is that one moment between living and death where the transition is inevitable. That one moment of complete and utter certainty.

Next we see a wedding. The bride and groom are smiling. A fox and a vixen. He picks up a pair of cuffs. She's tearing up in pure joy. He snaps the cuffs shut around her wrists. She picks up a metal collar and struggles to seal it around her neck with her paws bound up as they are. The soon-to-be-husband has to help her lock it shut. He takes the chain dangling from it and tugs.

To complete the ceremony she is made to drop to her knees and stare at the floor. She's so happy. To consummate the marriage he has to take her home, or abroad, and fuck her until she cries again. Out of happiness, of course.

The audience is confused. Maybe they're even a little offended.

Well, good.

Imagine it: there's a ten minute scene of rain making ripples on the surface of a puddle.

A lioness cub splashes though at the eight minute mark, she's yelling for joy, beside herself. Her parents watch on, content and proud.

The camera pulls out so far that we're in outer space. A meteor is on course to strike the earth, but when all seems lost a texture that wraps around the planet shimmers, becoming visible.

The meteor collides with it and dissolves on contact.

Then we have a close up of a wrist watch emblazoned with gold-enamel designs of cartoon characters.

Then a close up of pink folded jeans, the last in their size. Two sheep are telling each other that the other one should buy it, no, really.

Now a close up of a juvenile fennec smoking a blunt. The camera pulls out and we see her perched on the windowsill of her room.

Inside, her girlfriend approaches, puts a paw on her shoulder. The fennec turns and they kiss. It's brief but knowing, loving.

A married straight couple of lions hold paws in the movie theater. For the whole ninety minute duration of the film they're watching, our camera focuses on their faces and their paws. They steal loving glances at one another and squeeze their paws together at tense moments.

We hear a lovey-dovey line in the film. The two we're watching are middle-aged but they look at one another and giggle like school children. They lean in and kiss. The rest of the movie passes by without further interesting incident.

The audience are waiting for me to get to the point.

Well, good.

Imagine it: a raccoon woman wakes up in the middle of the desert, she can't remember anything. All she has is a backpack full of food and water and a piece of paper with the instructions: follow the sun.

So she follows the sun, but it moves. She walks in circles for days until she runs out of food and water. She eventually passes away from dehydration.

She wakes up again with no memory other than that of the desert. She's in a gleaming space ship. She gets up and there are people. Nobody seems to think anything out of the ordinary has happened.

She explains her predicament, somebody tells her she was using a recreational virtual reality program and something must have gone wrong. It got inside her head and deleted all memories apart from those of the program.

Everyone is in agreement, but she doesn't buy it. What kind of virtual reality involves walking around for days until dying of thirst?

It doesn't make sense. She doesn't trust anybody. She starts to panic. She forms a plan.

She does her best to be who they want her to be, to attend memory therapy, until one day she flips. She gets hold of a gun and demands to speak to the captain.

She threatens the captain at gunpoint, demanding to know what's really going on. He pleads that they are telling the truth, that she is confused, that she doesn't understand. She is convinced he is lying and she takes his life.

She realizes she has no other option and turns the weapon on herself. She starts talking, repeating to herself over and over the words: When I die I will wake up as I did before. When I die I will wake up as I did before. She is convinced she will find her true reality after the trigger is pulled.

She takes the plunge, there's flash and a cracking sound as she fires the gun and then we smash cut to credits so the audience never knows the truth. A bit like the ending of Inception really. Spoilers.

The audience is frustrated with me. They would walk out but they have a bone to pick.

What is this M? Failed ideas? Miscellaneous writing prompts? Some indecipherable metaphor? Pure and unabashed ranting?

Why can't it be all of those things and more?

Imagine it: the credits slow to a crawl, stutter, then stop. There is no sound until a deep rumbling begins and raises in volume. People are scared, their minds are blown. Are we about to get the conclusion we hoped for? Is she going to wake up in a new reality after all?

No.

We cut to an orgy of foxes of every shape, size and gender yiffing the ever-living fuck out of each other.

The audience seems to like this one. Maybe too much, but who's to say? I'm not the arbiter of taste.

Then how about some super fetishy, kinky scenes? Bondage, S&M, watersports, petplay, humiliation, size difference, public sex, whatever the fuck else you dirty fuckers are into.

After that... huh... hm...

I think I messed this section up, it doesn't follow the same rules as the previous ones.

An obvious mistake.

Remember what they say: play only music in 4/4 and make sure it's radio ready.

Who's they? And who even listens to the radio anymore?

The audience have been watching this film for hours at this point. They are wondering who let M direct a film. M's clearly high out of that foxy little mind of his.

Actually, bitches, I'm high on life, and maybe a little drunk but that's neither here nor there.

They ask what I'm going for. Is this meant to be happy or sad? Profound or absurd? Connected or eclectic?

Imagine it: we cut to a new story and it begins with a slow motion wide shot of a space ship crash landing into the surface of the earth.

It goes on to hop seemingly randomly through a variety of disparate vignettes.

Eventually it addresses the audience directly, telling them how they're feeling.

Things distort to the point that any semblance of normality is lost.

Nobody is quite sure what's going on anymore.

Sound familiar yet?

What's that? I can't just reuse the current story inside the current story.

You know what? If you're gonna be like that I might just do it again!

Okay. Fine.

I'll be good.

But only if you pull on my leash and call me a good fox.

(What the fuck am I saying?)

The audience is sick of it. They're yelling at me. M you've lost the plot!

You poor innocent fools.

How can I lose something that was never there to begin with?

Check. Fucking. Mate.

Hmm.

How about a new story?

Imagine it: the screen is filled with text shown in consecutive slides. It reads:

Imagine it:

Long lasting happiness.

A stable income.

Personal fulfillment.

Good health.

People that love you and care for you and want to spend time with you.

All of the above for each and every person on the planet.

A world that isn't so deeply in conflict with itself that you can imagine a future that's not ashes.

The audience are waiting for the ending, the punchline, the connecting thread.

Well, good.

Imagine it.