February 21, 2003
~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~
Sitting alone at the counter of a retro diner, I stare at myself from across the noisy, busy restaurant. My mind wanders, as it so often does, to the burden no one sees me carry. The demon no one else sees or feels but me. It whispers in my ear that I'm different, that I'll never belong.
I'd believe it, too, if it wasn't for my few and precious friends. But as much as they help, telling me it's no big deal, that I'm only a monster one night every month, the relief is lessened because I know their words aren't true.
As much as I hate to admit, they're wrong about me. I'm the monster every day of my life. I'm the wolf when I fall asleep and when I wake up. I'm a werewolf every second. I walk around looking like and acting like everyone else, but it's all a lie, really.
In fact, now that I think on it, my disease affects almost every single thing about myself. I look back at my reflection and mentally start a list in my mind. Being the logical person I am, I go over this rather pointless checklist in an orderly fashion, starting at the top and moving down.
My hair. Hmm. I wouldn't be surprised if I go grey before my rightful time. But for now it simply grows abnormally fast. In fact, I have to get it trimmed every 10 days or so. But I don't mind too much if it slips my mind and it becomes a little unruly. I kind of like the way it falls in my face.
My so-called brilliant mind . yes. I'm almost sure I wouldn't be nearly as learned as I am now if it wasn't for the curse. I was in seclusion because of what I became. I was home - schooled by my mother. It was too risky to go outside and play like a normal kid and so out of sheer boredom I read and studied . and read some more.
And at school, subconsciously, I think I'm so studious and hardworking because I'm insecure in my abilities. All my life I've been trying to prove to the world that I'm not a mindless beast, that I can do something right and good. I have to prove that I'm as good as the rest of my peers. There in the back of my mind again is the wolf, telling me it's not good enough for them. Study longer; read faster.they'll never accept you at the rate you're going. But I've gotten pretty good at ignoring the voice for the most part. My eyes used to be a deep chocolate brown, if I remember correctly. After the bite they lightened up. Now they're an odd shade of honey. I think I've heard people call them amber.
My hearing is well above the norm. In fact, I can hear the lyrics of what that girl sitting three seats down is listening to on her headphones. My ears are also pointed slightly, but I don't know if it's a result of the Lycanthropy or not.
My mouth.well, I can eat a ton more than most people can. (Except maybe Sirius) Oh and my bite is especially strong. If I had a Sickle for every time I accidentally broke a quill, pen, or pencil, I'd be one rich werewolf.
My throat (voice) as well as my height was affected by my burden. I reached maturity abnormally fast. My voice deepened when I was about 11. Now it seems funny, but back then it was extremely embarrassing. So I would not speak unless I had to. And even then I would speak softly. As for my height, just let me say this. I'm 5'9 now, but I've been over 5'6 since I was 14.
Then there's my basic body in general. You'd be hard pressed to find a place on me that is un-scarred. And it'll only get worse with the growing number of transformations I'll have to suffer throughout the coming years. The scars are the reason I wear long sleeves so much as well as pants.
My fingernails, like my hair, grow super fast. I am constantly chewing them because if I don't they get to looking a little too much like claws.
Then of course there's my wonderfully shabby wardrobe. I vaguely remember buying new clothes in my younger days, but now it seems like I've always went to second-hand shops. You might be wondering what this has to do with my illness. Well, you see, my family used to be moderately rich. And by moderately I mean very. But my parents spent all the family fortune on supposed Lycanthropic cures. It's something that to this day I apologize for. They tell me it's okay; it's not my fault.more lies.
~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~
If it were not for the lies, I would be dead a million times.
Ah, here they are now, the famous cheating, stealing, and of course, lying, Marauders. I smile as they nearly double the noise of the diner, laughing and shoving each other as they race to greet me. They greet me as an equal, like I'm just like them. In that moment the line that divides true and false is blurred. I believe them.
That voice again it whispers - "If it were not for the lies, I would be dead a million times."
~~~~~*~~~~~
A/N - PLEASE REVIEW! COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME! NO FLAMES, PLEASE! THANKS FOR YOUR TIME. ~K
~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~
Sitting alone at the counter of a retro diner, I stare at myself from across the noisy, busy restaurant. My mind wanders, as it so often does, to the burden no one sees me carry. The demon no one else sees or feels but me. It whispers in my ear that I'm different, that I'll never belong.
I'd believe it, too, if it wasn't for my few and precious friends. But as much as they help, telling me it's no big deal, that I'm only a monster one night every month, the relief is lessened because I know their words aren't true.
As much as I hate to admit, they're wrong about me. I'm the monster every day of my life. I'm the wolf when I fall asleep and when I wake up. I'm a werewolf every second. I walk around looking like and acting like everyone else, but it's all a lie, really.
In fact, now that I think on it, my disease affects almost every single thing about myself. I look back at my reflection and mentally start a list in my mind. Being the logical person I am, I go over this rather pointless checklist in an orderly fashion, starting at the top and moving down.
My hair. Hmm. I wouldn't be surprised if I go grey before my rightful time. But for now it simply grows abnormally fast. In fact, I have to get it trimmed every 10 days or so. But I don't mind too much if it slips my mind and it becomes a little unruly. I kind of like the way it falls in my face.
My so-called brilliant mind . yes. I'm almost sure I wouldn't be nearly as learned as I am now if it wasn't for the curse. I was in seclusion because of what I became. I was home - schooled by my mother. It was too risky to go outside and play like a normal kid and so out of sheer boredom I read and studied . and read some more.
And at school, subconsciously, I think I'm so studious and hardworking because I'm insecure in my abilities. All my life I've been trying to prove to the world that I'm not a mindless beast, that I can do something right and good. I have to prove that I'm as good as the rest of my peers. There in the back of my mind again is the wolf, telling me it's not good enough for them. Study longer; read faster.they'll never accept you at the rate you're going. But I've gotten pretty good at ignoring the voice for the most part. My eyes used to be a deep chocolate brown, if I remember correctly. After the bite they lightened up. Now they're an odd shade of honey. I think I've heard people call them amber.
My hearing is well above the norm. In fact, I can hear the lyrics of what that girl sitting three seats down is listening to on her headphones. My ears are also pointed slightly, but I don't know if it's a result of the Lycanthropy or not.
My mouth.well, I can eat a ton more than most people can. (Except maybe Sirius) Oh and my bite is especially strong. If I had a Sickle for every time I accidentally broke a quill, pen, or pencil, I'd be one rich werewolf.
My throat (voice) as well as my height was affected by my burden. I reached maturity abnormally fast. My voice deepened when I was about 11. Now it seems funny, but back then it was extremely embarrassing. So I would not speak unless I had to. And even then I would speak softly. As for my height, just let me say this. I'm 5'9 now, but I've been over 5'6 since I was 14.
Then there's my basic body in general. You'd be hard pressed to find a place on me that is un-scarred. And it'll only get worse with the growing number of transformations I'll have to suffer throughout the coming years. The scars are the reason I wear long sleeves so much as well as pants.
My fingernails, like my hair, grow super fast. I am constantly chewing them because if I don't they get to looking a little too much like claws.
Then of course there's my wonderfully shabby wardrobe. I vaguely remember buying new clothes in my younger days, but now it seems like I've always went to second-hand shops. You might be wondering what this has to do with my illness. Well, you see, my family used to be moderately rich. And by moderately I mean very. But my parents spent all the family fortune on supposed Lycanthropic cures. It's something that to this day I apologize for. They tell me it's okay; it's not my fault.more lies.
~~~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~~~
If it were not for the lies, I would be dead a million times.
Ah, here they are now, the famous cheating, stealing, and of course, lying, Marauders. I smile as they nearly double the noise of the diner, laughing and shoving each other as they race to greet me. They greet me as an equal, like I'm just like them. In that moment the line that divides true and false is blurred. I believe them.
That voice again it whispers - "If it were not for the lies, I would be dead a million times."
~~~~~*~~~~~
A/N - PLEASE REVIEW! COMMENTS ARE ALWAYS WELCOME! NO FLAMES, PLEASE! THANKS FOR YOUR TIME. ~K