Twenty-three: Rejection
Characters: Antasma

He scanned the shadowy meadow carefully. He didn't sense anyone nearby, but…

His claws clicked together nervously. He hardly dared to go out into the open, but oh… There were all sorts of flowers, so beautiful in the moonlight… He'd like nothing better than to go and lie down among them…

So what was stopping him? Well, there was the fact that he was constantly being hunted down, for instance. His only crime was existing. All he wanted to do was watch and learn, but every time someone saw him hiding in the shadows, he was chased away. He'd only been around for two moon cycles, but he was already quite sick of fearing for his life all the time.

He cautiously went forward up to the edge of the moonlight, ears perked and listening intently for any intruding noises. Sensing no one, he went out into the midst of the flowers. He took a few deep breaths and finally managed to relax.

After many moments of remaining undisturbed, he lay down on the grass and looked up at the stars, his long legless body coiled under him while he rested his head on his arms. The sounds of night creatures gradually returned around him. For once, he felt relatively at peace.

His life was terrible. He felt doomed. He didn't know what he could do to change it for the better. Everything he tried was met only by fear and hate, and he didn't understand why. He hated hearing screams whenever someone caught sight of him. What was he doing wrong?

He heaved a deep sigh, trying to push his negativity away. He hoped that perhaps someday he wouldn't have to be afraid at all. The world could be a wonderful place for him, if only its people would let it.

There were so many things out there to learn, and he couldn't reach any of it. He wanted to know what this thing was that was calling to him. It was powerful, and he could pinpoint exactly where on the island it was. Instinct told him to stay far away from it, but it was tempting, made of the same energy he needed to live…

Resistance grew harder the more frustrated he became. Moments like this made him feel as if he didn't need it, but when people were actively trying to kill him… It was difficult, finding beauty in the world.

His hackles stood up in a threatening line whenever he thought about the force. It was obviously dangerous, in all its allure. He had to keep holding out hope. Nature changed, and he was part of it. Things couldn't always be like this.

Antasma…

There it was again, that voice, that word. He didn't know what it meant. He whimpered, covering his ears though it was no use.

…Antasma…

No! Go avay! Leaf me alone!

You will come…in time…

There had to be someone or something out there that would help him. There just had to be.