I am violent. And I am a murderer...

I'll start by bridging the distance from a happy child who's finally found his father, to now, and the troubling details in between. It is a story worthy of that, and I plan to have it heard. If only read by the eyes of a single stranger. Because we are real, and we are violent... and we do kill.

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Seven years passed. Seven years of school packed under my belt, and seven years of experience in learning what no other child I'd ever meet, could. Stalking prey, if only domesticated animals or wild rabbits and deer, was something I excelled in quickly. I've hunted down every local wild life, from rats to a full grown moose. The latter being with a pack; even with all my help was a difficult task to handle. I'd tried to find the best way to kill an alligator, but I couldn't get close enough, nor flank it in a way that he couldn't use his teeth nor tail to attack. And even if it was only for an hour, I decided it impossible.

My first kill, was an unlucky rabbit right out side of house. I'd seen it poking around Wilson's new little vegetable garden (something no werewolf would ever turn too for food), and changed in my room, strafed the roof as best as I could, and took it by surprise. I snapped my left, hind leg like a twig when I landed, but that only took about a month to fully heal. I still said it was worth it.

To my surprise, I found my favorite thing about hunting was the release that I got out of it. Those horrible day dreams I used to have, seemed to lessen as I hunted more and more. I guess the only way to cure violent thoughts, are with wholesome, and violent actions. Either way was fine with me. But nothing in any little speech I'd ever been given about hunting, could prepare me for the most delicious reward for natural action. The taste of blood.

My father says that the humans have adrenaline. Whereas it runs constantly in us, we need something else to give us that extra push to work for what we love. The salty red goo that fills every creature worth hunting, killing, and eating. It's the most beautiful liquid of them all. Whether it's seeping through the gaps between our canine teeth, or bleeding out of a gaping wound caused by our claws... it was beautiful and exquisite.

All this was found out early on, before I was nine. About two months if I remember correctly. And during my time with the other three, I also learned how to adapt to normal human behavior. A lot of werewolves are found out and killed by packs before they can fix whatever trouble they'd found themselves in, all because they couldn't adapt. Heightened senses, instinctive urges, hardened sex drives... all these variables are jacked up about twelve notches after their initial change. Luckily for me, I was too young to experience the last. But the other two... they were definite problems.

Heightened senses. They fluctuate during the day, no matter what is happening. They aren't strung down by circumstances, nor schedule, they are instinctively... random. A perfect example could be when I'm around smokers. Sometimes, I'm not bothered, other times I can't breathe! It is a horrible process to go through, and it all takes place in that first year of transformation. As a newborn, our bodies adapt to our specific needs, much like spandex covers the skin of a gymnast so he/she can perform at their peak. And not to sound anxious, but after that first year, when my body finally adapted to my surroundings... well, it felt like Christmas.

I remember smelling the crisp scent of fresh grass clippings from the highway contractors, about a mile south from where I stood. The sights were gorgeous. Green leaves were bright like glow sticks hanging from twigs. The sun shown brilliantly, and brighter than ever. And the light-blue sky, was an endless landscape, constantly being repainted by the clouds above it.

Taste was another thing. I could say that eating a good, (rare) steak was orgasmic... but that would be uncalled for. That salty, crimson, river of taste, though... that was what started my addiction to hunting. I loved it. I couldn't go more than a week without getting an early morning rabbit for breakfast, or tracking down a local pig. (This was always a strange thing. You see, I love the taste of pig when I'm changed... but aside from bacon, I hate ham!)

And after my little adventures with my new found senses, was the hurdle of my life. Instinct.

People are food. At least, that's what my body says. And I knew that when the time came, and I finally gave in, I knew it would be a truth that everyone would know. My eyes were green. I knew this, and so did my father, my uncle, and whatever Derrick was. Claire knew my eyes were green... The minute that the blood, of a human, or werewolf, sank itself into my system... that cobalt blue, ring of truth would arise around my green irises. It'd be faint like Derrick's, but it'd be there.

I noticed though, that Wilson's brown eyes were totally clean, and so were Claire's (When she came to visit.) My father's though, were totally blue. I was sure that even HE didn't know what his original eye color was. Having eaten its way into the little black dots centered in his cornea, the blood of his enemies stained his sight blue. Forever, and forever more.

This was the price, and were as some saw the rings as the mark of an excellent hunter... more saw it as passage into hell, and a reason to be killed. As I learned about my kind, I found it harsh, that many of our kind were killed when their eyes became totally blue. Even if it was all for the better, the corruption of those kills, were too much to weigh on the human spirit, that each and every one of us possessed.

Another instinct was to stalk. This instinct usually kicked in while I was in a mall, or grocery store (really, anywhere where I'd forget about it, and let my guard down). I could control it in school, and even afterwards when the schools threshold was broken by hundreds of children and teens, flooding the courtyard. But anywhere, where I was distracted, or just not paying attention... became a problem.

I've followed people out to their cars before realizing it. And where as it was embarrassing for me, I was always conscious enough about it, to stay out of their sight.

The final, and most forgiving instinct, was food. I could eat. Hell, I could give Derrick and Wilson a run for their money combined. When I was human, I had a fast metabolism, and repressed ADHD (Attention Deficit, Hyperactive Disorder) to back my stomach up. I was always thin, and ready for more. And now, that was tripled by sheer circumstance. And that's where that problem came in. I couldn't eat like that in public. You see, that would attract too much attention. And no matter how tasty, a hot-dog eating contest sounded, I was forbidden from participating! You'd be damn straight for saying it was unfair! And so to fix this problem, (cause they only give you once serving of meat and some crap vegetables for lunch at school) I stocked my book bag as if it was the Willy Wonka Chocolate factory. I shoved beef jerky, tootsie rolls, left overs from the night before, Doritos that I'd smashed practically into dust for space, sunflower seeds, homemade beef jerky, a couple of snack packs, a few peanut butter sandwiches, and a can of coke to wash it down... daily.

Then there was my lunch box. According to my numerous tests, if lucky, a full roast could fit in there cut up... but it was definitely noticeable during lunch. And I thought it funny how the people around me reacted as they removed their petty sandwiches as they looked over to me with a full coarse meal sitting in front of me. GOD!!! I felt like a king.

But then my dad was called into the school for the bizarre way in which I ate it (mouth fulls). And I suddenly couldn't do that anymore.

I got into a lot of trouble that first year. And a lot of it, was when I was left alone. I'd get bored, and think to myself... 'Why not?' Every other week, I was grounded. Not like I had any friends, so they'd ground me from things like, outside, and TV. My two greatest loves. I once got grounded, and Derrick, wanting to throw salt on the wounds of my defeat, bought a brand new Nintendo. And I couldn't even watch him play.

All I could do was sit on the stairs, and listen to the 8-bit sound effects of the revolutionary system. It was the first video game system I'd ever seen, and I knew it wouldn't be the last... mainly because when I finally got... un-grounded (?), I was on that thing like white on rice. Whereas I didn't play it enough to alter my schedule or anything, I did play it enough to learn how to beat Contra, without the thirty lives cheat! For about a month after my first victory, I'd beat it in about twenty minutes, every day before school. I guess, at the time, I was an easy addict.

But I think the greatest thing about my childhood, were the people who came to visit!