There once was a time when I was but a normal girl. A girl with a home, a family and friends, a life. It seems like a lifetime ago, but it was in fact just a few weeks ago.
It's surprising what can happen in such a short time, although while you are experiencing it, it feels like it is lasting forever. In a few short weeks, everything I thought I knew became unfamiliar. In a few short weeks, everyone I loved was either dead, mutated, or absolutely terrified of what I had become. Not that I can blame them.
It's a terrible burden to know that you have been forever changed. To know that even though you are the victim, you are also the enemy. I cannot help how I view things anymore, and it drives me absolutely mad. It's a horrible feeling to know that you have become a monster, and there's not a damned thing you can do about it.
That's exactly what I am now. A monster. Or so they say. I suppose it depends on ones' definition. After all, it's only at first glance that you see a monster. Unfortunately, a first glance is all you get now before some "hero" decides it's best to spill your blood and splatter your brains on the walls.
Sure, I have claws, and my eyes are a frightening red. But aren't you not supposed to judge a book by it's cover? People don't tolerate hatred towards different skin colours, or different figures, so what makes this so different?
Yet deep down I know the truth, no matter how much I try to deny it. In the end, it's not my looks people fear; it's my instincts. My instincts to protect myself, to kill the people I once knew and loved in order to feed. As much as I want to go back to the way things were, I know that it is no longer possible. I am a monster, even if I don't want to be.
Knowing this makes it hard to go. It's frightening to see how some adjusted so easily to their changes. Maybe this infection changes their perceptions. I don't know. But outside those tense moments of fight or flight, my human perceptions flood my psyche, making adaptation of this new form impossible, filling me with despair.
So, in order to channel this despair, I cry. I cry and cry and cry, and the tears never stop, unless someone stops me. I allow the grief to overwhelm me, to drown out my vicious instincts because I'd rather feel nothing but grief instead of nothing but rage. I do my best to hide, to avoid those who have a chance to escape this madness because I'd rather not create anymore pain or destruction.
But Fate has a nasty habit of playing the cruellest tricks imaginable. For though I had grown to accept this catastrophe and had resigned myself to my eternal sorrow, my past would come back to haunt me. Again, when the smoke cleared, and the dust had settled, I would be forever changed.