Jonathan didn't know where he came from. The only memories he's ever had of someone loving him were vague and unclear, as if permanently erased from his psyche. His parents were just ghosts of his past that never seemed to help or want him. Thus his life now; a homeless, dirty raccoon with the blue eyes of a broken man that knew no love.
He tried to get help from strangers and orphanages, he really did, but it appeared that no one wanted a disgusting hybrid in their establishment. Jonathan wasn't sure why people hated him that much until a small grey haired woman shooed him out with a broom as soon as she caught sight of him sneaking into her orphanage. She yelled barbed words of hatred to him, calling him a "monster" and a "good for nothing hybrid child". With that sentence, she had opened up a world of understanding to the young pup.
He was a hybrid; a rare and utterly hated race of people that had the ability to turn into various animals. He still wasn't sure why there was such animosity between normal people and hybrids, and he was positive he'd never figure it out either.
His survival was a miracle unto itself, even Jonathan didn't know how he managed to survive the frequent years of hell. Each night was cold, hungry and alone, and each day was filled with scornful looks, the occasional beating, and digging through restaurant garbage bins while longingly staring at the delicious food within.
He never managed to teach himself how to fight, as he never seemed to have enough time to do so-but he did manage to learn other skills. Skills like thievery, lock picking, hiding, and running. Over the long years of his life to his current age of twenty-one, they helped him immensely in living to the next day and keeping him from starving to death.
His home, even today, was a small abandoned building that no one bothered to tear down. Only Jonathan in his raccoon form could get in, ensuring no one else could enter. That was the only place he felt safe and secure, where no one could look at him as if he should've dropped dead ages ago. That was the sole place that a tiny bit of happiness entered his soul, the only place that he could call his own.
Until the night he woke up to a loud roar and a rumble shook the building. They were going to break his home apart and leave him in the dust. That brings us to today, where the twenty-one year old, blue-eyed raccoon stared in disbelief as his only haven shook around him, threatening to fall in on itself.
In a quick movement, Jonathan switched to his smaller, much more flexible form and swiftly ran out of the collapsing building. His collapsing building.
Jonathan could only stare and wonder who he was in a past life to deserve this. He had nothing before now, and that building that was collapsing in front of him was the only thing he could call him own. Why did God hate him so?
Jonathan almost considered not moving when the bulldozer became dangerously close to his body, but couldn't do it. Had he been in his human form he would've laughed bitterly. Even in death he was a coward. The small raccoon made a noise faintly resembling a snort, and ran off deeper into the overcrowded city.
Now Jonathan didn't like people- never had - and he supposed the fact that he lived in a city was the greatest of ironies, but he couldn't leave the familiar place. The city's constant bustle and honking is annoying, but he honestly didn't know what could happen if he was left in complete silence to fend for himself. It was almost like a pseudo- loneliness. As if to fool himself that someone cared that he was alive, and that he did matter to others.
Alas, it was only a stupid dream that was never meant to be. Everyone and their grandma knew how Jonathan's story was going to end. One day, perhaps not soon, he was going to get jumped. Maybe not even that, maybe he'd starve to death. He didn't exactly know how, but he'd kick the bucket in these streets. One day.
Jonathan ran into another familiar looking alley and searched for a garbage bag to get warm under. That was his routine before discovering his haven, he'd just have to get used to it again. Jonathan eventually found one and tore his tiny but sharp claws through the black bag and crawled inside. The garbage clung to his already dirty fur, and smelled like last night's dinner.
He couldn't even grimace anymore. Any hint of disgust he'd ever had for this lifestyle was numbed out after a few years. It was his life. His only one.
Many would pity the poor, underfed raccoon. Well, they would if he wasn't a raccoon. Had he been normal, he could've been happy and surrounded with love. But no, he had to be a mistake. A stain upon the earth that not even he had the strength to wipe up. Jonathan was unloved and even hated himself. Truly, a pitiable sight indeed.
It was a hard life, for such a soft raccoon.