"So Michael tells me you have a gift." She said in her lovely voice. My brother said she was like a mother, and in her eyes was a caring curiosity that told me the same.

"Yeah." I replied, my gaze turned down and away from hers. She laughed at my blushing cheeks and timid expression. The warmth of the blood in my cheeks was swelling around and it made me all the more self-conscious of my shy exterior. "I can alter plants." I said looking back up to her.

"Can you show me?" She asked, that same voice held a little more curiosity than was once there. She adored me, I could feel it as we sat alone on the porch.

I nodded, grabbing the wicker armrests to stand. Do I really want to expose myself?

The thought had hindered me slightly, but when she reassured me that it was alright, I decided it wasn't going to hurt.

As I walked down the stairs, I could feel the invisible liquid strands of life that beckoned me in the yard beyond the wooden stairs. Every step I could feel them drawing me nearer and nearer. Their calls were the songs of a million sirens, and once my feet touched the cool grass, I could finally breathe.

Under my feet I could feel their discomfort, but I could feel the premature seeds of grass that had yet to sprout even more so. The dead seeds could also be felt. I couldn't really call them dead though; just… unconscious.

Breath. I heard them say. And as I did, I could feel the strands enter into my feet. To some this image would probably be of stepping on a tack, but to me, it was like stepping into a cool pond. The sloshing water seeped into the rough pores that lined the bottom of my feet, and their lucid embraces were complete.

I took in a deep breath, asking myself if I wanted to go through with this in the presence of my audience, and exhaled.

Around me, the grass grew long and tall. Weeds sprouted around my feet and I could feel their wanting grasps, but I wouldn't let them cling to me just yet.

"That's amazing!" She said, clapping her hands together. Her perfect white teeth shone brilliantly on her round face. That light red hair of hers glinted back into the porch light, magnifying her radiance.

"That's nothing." I said. "Just give me a second."

I took a few steps, circling around my new patch of life. And once I'd rounded back to my previous point, I bent my knees and rolled in it. The weeds grabbed at my skin and held onto me like a child would his parent. And when I came up, I was completely covered, protected from the outside world by my new friends.

Claire giggled in her chair, still high on her excitement, as I looked beyond my green exterior with a goofy grin made by the intertwining weeds. She laughed harder and harder.

"Where'd you learn that?" She said, catching her breath.

"I can hear the grass." I said, shaking them gently back into the dirt. "They're just as alive as you and I."

She was silent as she watched me, still smiling, still loving. She watched as I shook the weeds off and then giggled slightly as they inched back into the dirt to take their places amongst the grass.

"So do they hurt when people mow the lawn?" She asked. It was a completely innocent question. One that I remember my mom asking when I'd first told her I was talking to the lawn.

"No. What is mulch but food for future generations of plants?" I said. "They see things very simplistic." I added, noting that I was sounding more and more crazy as the conversation grew.

But she didn't seem to mind. She was too caught up by my little stunt.

"Can you make a tree?" She asked. Her questioning was something that made me feel as if I mattered. It was a weird feeling, but back at the mansion, I'd never really had anyone interested in me. I was just another child waiting to serve the great Marcus.

"I tried once." I stated simply. "But in order to grow anything, I have to be standing over the seed that can grow it. Which after everything was said and done, I was lifted forty feet into the air. My mom was furious." I said smiling.

She laughed. And she meant it. There was nothing fake about her. Her intentions were always worn on her shoulders from as far as I can tell. She spoke her mind, and she wasn't afraid of people knowing it. I liked this woman.

"Now who's in my room!?" Came a voice from inside. I could only guess by the easily angered tone in his voice, that it was Derrick. He was much like Diego, Marcus's right hand man, or wolf… however that works. There was a strict level of patience for him and if I had to measure it in yards, it would have to end two feet behind him.

I looked to Claire for some sort of reassurance that he wasn't going to yell at me. And suddenly, I remembered what my older brother had told me when he'd moved me into that room.

"You can stay in my old room. It used to belong to a man named Derrick. He was quite the prick when he wanted to be, but I'm sure he won't be coming around any time soon."

Yeah, right. That held up in theory, just not in practice.

"That's Alan's room, now!" Claire yelled, turning into the open doorway.

"Dammit!"

We both laughed.

There's lonely, and then there's alone. Lonely, is a feeling. A small word that meant you felt like no one was around. That there was no one to turn to. That's all it was.

Alone is a truth. When you're alone, there is no one around. There's no one there to tell you everything will be okay. There's no one there too hold you until you were asleep. And there was no one there to tell me that I'd be fine.

I did a good job at hiding myself behind timid smiles, and innocent antics with the other people in the house, but it always felt, at the end of the day, like I'd lost somehow. As if everything I'd ever done was for nothing. No matter how much beauty I brought to the world around me, nothing would end the pain. Nothing would bring my mom back.

I found myself crying in my new bed. My new sheets, with my new beige blanket. And with all of these new possessions, I still cried the same old tears. I miss her so much…

Coiled with my knees pulled close, I tried to shut out the memories of her. They weren't going to bring her back, and they weren't going to make me forget. They weren't going to help me through my anguish, nor my rage.

As the wind howled against the thin glass windows near my bed, I could hear the sounds of pack members hunting. I remembered the howls, the barking, and the growling. I remember my mother, holding me until I fell asleep, telling me I'd never be like them. Ants fighting blindly for their leader…

I won't mom. I promise.