Liminal Crossroads
An irritatingly high-pitched sound blared out to the tune of a cheesy melody.
"Heh... Gill, you ever gonna get tired of being such an annoying little spic?" a similar-looking child answered to the noise.
September's gentle overcast weather was yet to deny its pale light on a nearby scrapyard after schooltime. One amongst countless quaint towns littering the landscape of America, their neighborhood was modest but far from an uncomfortable place to live for a pair of kids their age. The usual boring grassy expanses rustled from the gray autumn winds, heralding the end of a summer that had finished all-too-soon.
"Last I checked we had the same mom, moron. Ni que te atrevieras a joderla así también en casa, o no?" the longer-haired boy replied cheekily after taking the silver kazoo off his mouth. The speed at which the youth uttered those last words would've rendered the already-slurred sentence completely unintelligible to the average English speaker.
Perhaps not all was well for the fraternal twins. Though fair-skinned, rural America was harsh on kids who could barely keep their hispanic accent from resurfacing in a mostly-white public school. It wasn't a huge issue, though—Bill made sure of it after getting in trouble for being a tad too rowdy with another boy at lunchtime. No one but him had the privilege of getting away with disrespecting his younger sibling, after all. Gill would likely protest to being called 'the younger one', but he couldn't find it in his heart to care in the slightest.
"You're asking for it, you know that?" Bill answered. "I can't cover for you if you keep acting like a spic—"
The loud silver instrument proceeded to interrupt the sibling with its tooting, having no proper retort. As Gill played it, he sprinted towards the improvised playground at a brisk pace.
"Stop with your meme song already!" the other boy complained as he chased after him.
Life couldn't be easier for the siblings who wasted their days away on sports and pirated videogames. Not even the looming expectations of middle school got in the way of it, that's for sure.
The "scrapyard" near the school was as humble as could be: an old carcass, several parts of an abandoned chassis strewn about and many tires were among the things the local crowd of kids used to play around with, usually the younger ones. Most children tended to outgrow the place quite quickly, however, and the small playground was deserted most of the time. That day was no different: only the faint rumbling of cars in the distance was the one thing keeping the siblings company. Why Gill decided to bring him here was still a mystery, Bill wondered.
"Aight! Now that we're here..." Gill announces, turning around and reaching for something in his pocket. Once he found what he was looking for, he made sure to make a show of it in his hand.
Good thing their mother was nowhere to be seen. Or any adult, for that matter.
"Firecrackers! Where'd he get those?!" Bill thought as he observed the multiple strings bearing an array of small red explosives. "You didn't..."
"I did! 'Borrowed' them from Dylan, he saw that one coming for messing with us," the boy explained with a smug smirk. "We can use some of these for New Year's..."
Bill let out a chuckle, closing in with intrigue. "Lemme see, lemme see! You also got his lighter, didn't you? I'll set one of them off-"
"Nuh-uh!" The younger sibling clasped his hand and leaned in forward mockingly:
"You're always the one trying to have all the fun. You've lit those kinda fireworks by yourself before, I wanna have some fun too!"
"You don't know how to tie your shoes without Mom doing it for you, I'm not gonna let you lit stuff up," Bill argued. At any second, he'd be ready to wrestle the explosives out of his brother's grasp.
"That was until last month! And besides, why do you always have to act all cocky just because you're five seconds older than me?"
The conversation was punctuated by a brief pause. Genuine concern adorned Bill's face.
"I'm gonna tell Mom."
"And I'm gonna tell Mom about the other things you've lit on fire, too!"
...
In a rare act of mutual empathy, Gill's mocking expression faded slightly as he noticed his brother's concern. Bill then felt a pat on his shoulder.
"Tow-doe. Esturruh. Bee-en, Bill," the younger sibling assured in a carefree manner, mimicking the American accent of his older, hapless classmates in Spanish 101. "You're not the only one who knows how to use a lighter."
Bill looked aside to the ground for a second before speaking again.
"Okay, fine... I'm just worried about you."
"Awww... aren't you a cutie, Billy," the twin replied, changing back to his annoying demeanor on a whim.
"Shut it, homo."
"That's another word that'll get Mom on your ass once we get home~.."
As they talked, Gill was laying down the set of firecrackers on top of a random tire. With both of them constantly scanning the place all around, the playground seemed deserted enough so as to not attract any unwanted attention. That is unless Dylan recognized the racket from afar...
It was too late to ponder on it, however. Sparks began to fly out of the fuse—
"W-WOAH!", the younger twin cried out.
"What...?!"
Bill quickly stepped forward towards his brother...
...who was too busy performing a cartoonish pantomime of someone falling over instead of running away to safety. Luckily, he ended up doing so anyway.
"Hahaha! Fell for it!" Gill snickered as he moved out of the way.
BANG! BANG-BANG-BANG! BANG!
...
With the ear-ringing noise and short-lived sparks came the familiar smell of burnt gunpowder that the brothers had become accustomed to in many a holiday. There was nothing left on the tire but several empty red casings, their wispy smoke trailing away on the wind.
"You fricking douchebag, don't scare me like that!" the elder twin exclaimed.
"At least I know my big brother truly loves me~"
Gill was already on his way to place a different kind of explosive—this time, he had set down what looked like a big red canister on the same place as before.
"You're on your own if Mr. Miller's homework is too much for you!"
"Like I needed your help with that anyway", Gill snapped back. Dylan's lighter made yet another fuse spark—
"W-WOAH!"
"STOP MESSING AROUND, GILL!" the older brother yelled furiously.
"Hahaha! I was just—"
...
...
The short scene that had played out in front of Bill at that time... it had all sickeningly occurred as though the world had come to a stop.
Gill tripped.
The boy's body clumsily fell down on the dirt floor.
The lit canister crackled inches away. Far too close to his left side.
Far too close to his face.
Desperately, Gill scrambled on the ground.
Bill rushed toward him.
Nothing could be done.
...
BANG!
...
The usual boring grassy expanses rustled from the gray autumn winds, heralding the end of a summer that had finished all-too-soon.
...
A ten-year-old memory resonates deep within the heart of a slumbering Bill. And as to why, he can't possibly fathom it at the moment. It had been... quite a while since he last recalled the event. Whatever the reason, the fact that he was alert and cognizant meant that he would soon need to wake up and face the next college day on his own as always.
Ever since Bill's departure from their home state, he rarely bothered to check up on what had become of his brother’s life. Hopefully his phone number still worked and he hadn't been mugged a second time. If so, they could find time to schedule yet another one of those one-sided, meandering video calls that Gill somehow seemed to enjoy having.
"Maybe I'll stop being such a dickhead to him for once," Bill thinks silently.
Not that he didn't try to open up to him whenever the situation called for it. But time had clearly been none too kind for both—in a tale as old as time, even a bond between siblings suffered from paths in life diverging and shared interests waning. Or at least that's what Bill told himself whenever an awkward silence reared its head during their conversations.
All at once, more old memories dredge up and whirl about in Bill's head as he slowly comes to his senses. And as he notices a powerful scent of salt in the air, an unwelcome draft of wind brushes his being, making his heavy wet limbs recede close to his body and his bushy tail flicker in protest.
...
"...wait, what?!"
Realization hits him.
Whatever his sideways body is laying on is most definitely not his bed.
His eyes open wide. The usual lack of awareness and cloudy vision that come from awakening are fading fast, in due part thanks to the harsh sunlight that his non-existent roof wasn't protecting him from.
Something sinks in Bill's throat once he looks at it from his sideways view. The heartbeats in his chest drum in a mad tempo. A surge of sheer, utter distress overtakes him like nothing else in his life ever had once he realizes what lies upon him.
...
A pair of lumbering, tiger-like paws had met his gaze.
He can clench the stout digits into their respective padded palms.
They are unequivocally his.
Just like the cream yellow muzzle and black nose beneath his eyes.
"WHAT THE HELL?!"
In a twitchy series of impulsive motions, all too reminiscent for comfort of his late dog's, he manages to lift himself off the sand he's resting on.
Bill's racing mind barely pays any attention to the extensive gulf beach he's in.
A staggering, overwhelming amount of different sensations come into Bill's awareness as he nervously shuffles on his four limbs. His body's posture, saggy thick skin, lighter weight, shortened joints, fur, his... feet...
This nightmare he finds himself in is as lucid as reality. No dream of his could ever replicate the newfound feeling of his... numb hands and toes sinking slightly on the wet shifting sand. No dream could grant him the feeling of possessing several new muscles at the end of his spine. No dream had given him anything close to having hair all over his body. No dream could—
"Gah...?!"
Bill jumps as his face cocks towards the sound and scent with inhuman speed. His head and arms lower slightly to the ground in a stance he didn’t consciously plan.
A fidgety, striped red beast stares right back at him. Their eyes lock.
…
From what little he can immediately gather in these precious moments, the quadrupedal animal looks like nothing he’s ever seen in person. Its overall appearance is like that of a canine, yet its brawny front legs are more akin to that of a large feline. Interrupting the black stripes on its vermillion fur coat is an unkempt grayish mane that starts from the short horn on his head down to a luscious chest. The color matches its large, bushy tail.
The likelihood of facing a wild beast in this transformed body is bizarrely not what's at the forefront of Bill’s mind in this moment.
It couldn’t have taken a vet or a zoologist to spot what exactly was so wrong with its face.
Anyone who spends enough time living with pets will soon be made aware of their manifestation of feelings, social cues and how they differ from humans. What may look like unabashed happiness on a dog is more often than not a sign of distress or exhaustion. And what may look like a specially disarming, friendly face almost always ends up being an obvious scheme for food-begging that they’ll rarely use in other contexts.
Even though the shy beast’s eyes are partially obscured by its long mane, its face is showcasing emotion unlike any dog Bill had met. Or any animal for that matter.
Its light-colored, taut muzzle left ajar is not expressing canine distress.
The animal is expressing distress. Full stop.
Not unlike that of a human.
...
“...carajo...”
…
It appears to have… said something?
"...w-what?" a trembling Bill mutters for the first time, getting a better feel of his new tongue and fangs.
"...mierda."
The red creature utters in a lower pitch as its obscured eyes wander aside in sheer confusion. As if to correct its mistake, it immediately goes back to staring at Bill cautiously.
Only now does Bill realize that his involuntary stance may look too threatening to the creature, relaxing his posture as he does so.
The animal can speak. And despite Bill not having spoken it in several years, he can tell the foreign words apart. It has a language.
"...and it's fucking Spanish of all things?"
"...tú... hablas...?" the English speaker slowly relays in an accent that would've shamed his Hispanic mother.
"U-Uh... don't worry about me... I-I know my English just fine..."
Indeed, there's barely a hint of an accent in its speech, even while stuttering. It continues: "You're a... person too, right? As in... you know..."
Bill chastises himself inwardly for not coming to the obvious conclusion about the creature first.
"Yes... I-I think so..." Bill informs as he raises one of his... hands and inspects it. He inspects it as though looking at it any harder would make his fingers feel any less alien.
The former humans leave each other to their own devices to realize their bizarre fate. For what feels like an eternity, no one utters a single word.
A long, heavy silence falls upon them. The ocean's calm roar echoes in the distance and the endless grasslands surround the long but modest gulf shore. Beyond them, a distant mountain range completes the daylight scenery. If it was any other time, Bill would have marveled at it—any life-long, land-locked resident would appreciate the humbling grandiosity of the sea even inside this gulf.
"Heh..."
The transformed stranger quietly chuckles. Bill can hardly blame him—he himself is on the verge of breaking down at any second due to the sheer absurdity of the situation. However... the chuckles don't sound like laughter born from anxiety or even fear. Not completely, at least. There is a resignated, even sorrowful quality beneath it all.
Though Bill chooses not to comment on it, the empathy is palpable in his words: "...what's your name?"
The long-haired quadruped's covered gaze is yet to resume eye-contact. He directs a wistful smile to no one in particular.
"Guillermo. Most sensible English speakers call me Gill, though."
...
"...B-Bill. I'm Bill."
After hearing this, the stranger uncovers more of his face with his large paw. His more visible, peering brown eyes are slightly uneven and crooked—one of them surrounded by what looks like scarring under his fur.
"...Billy...?"
There was a hunch. But it couldn't have been. It can't be.
"Gill?!", the other former human exclaims as he resists an unbidden urge to smell him more thoroughly. "How... what's going on?!"
Gill's expression changes to one of deep concern as his hair falls down again. "Bill! You can't be..."
A strange pause punctuates his sentence.
Gill's eyes dart below all over as he gives out another chuckle, trying to shift his expression. "...you're a growlithe too..."
"The fuck are you on about?!"
No sane human could ever countenance the thought. But to someone actually experiencing this, the reality was sinking in faster every second. Owing to some sort of cosmic joke, this is actually happening.
"Y-You know what... ", the orange growlithe resumes, shifting his paws nervously on the sand. "For my sake, I'm going to assume that this is all bullshit somehow. You hear me, Gill? This is all bullshit."
"Heheh... yeah! Yeah... I can buy that, in a way", Gill replies, chuckling a bit more comfortably.
"Heh... sure, sure..."
The twins start laughing more openly.
Slowly but surely, they can't help themselves.
Seeing a dog laugh out loud somehow sounded as weird as it was refreshing.
(...)
"Heheh!"
"Hahaha! Hahh...", the scarred creature's laughter begins to die down. His twin mirrors his actions.
"I missed you, Billy", the younger twin mutters.
...
"I-I missed you too, I guess."
The elder brother quickly puzzles out the (admittedly easy-to-figure) way to walk on four legs as he sits down beside his sibling. Having no clue how to make the situation any less awkward than it already is, he clumsily surrounds his brother's back with his paw. There is a strange comfort in the way he smelled, different as though he may be now.
"We'll figure this out... we have to", Bill declares, trying to further calm their nerves. Well, his, in any case.
With another chuckle coming from Gill, they stay silent yet again.
...
The long-haired growlithe breaks the silence with his previous wistful tone:
"So Bill...
...how did you go out?"