Looking back on the early years of my childhood, I realize I should have died before my third birthday. A human infant would have, but I have always been far more than human. Or less, some would say. I beg to differ. Since birth, or so I assume, I could take a second form. The agony of the Change was quite familiar even during my earliest memory.
The bungalow where my guardian, David, and I lived outlined the limits of my world. Each room was a different country where I ruled. All but one. The bathroom was my watering hole. My bedroom was my den. The kitchen, my hunting grounds. Only David's bedroom was off limits.
I had just reached the two year mark when I was first left home alone for two days. David had never been the most vigilant caretaker but, up until that point, he'd never been absent for more than a few hours at a time. There had been days when he forgot to feed me, but it was easy enough to remind him. Now, I was alone and there was no one to remind.
My stomach growled. I wanted to cry and throw a fit, but there was no point. David was missing and had been since the morning before last night's sleep. I stood in the kitchen on wobbly legs, staring at the fridge. Big, white, and loudly humming, it loomed over me. Another rumble of sound came from my midsection.
Though small for my age, my metabolism was twice as fast as other children's. I ate a lot. I had no basis for comparison, but David had said so. What he didn't say was that I was smart for my age, too. I could talk in full sentences though I rarely chose to, and I could operate the television. The latter had helped teach me the former, but most things I learned by watching David. Things like the proper use of a toilet, how to dress, and how to get water from the tap. I like to think I'd have been just as smart if I were human, a naturally gifted mind, but I don't truly believe it.
Against the linoleum tiles, my chubby little feet were cold, but I didn't move. I couldn't. Though it would be easy to walk up to the fridge or the cupboards, open them, and take something, David had forbidden it. My brain rebelled against disobedience. The first time I'd gotten into the fridge, I'd made a mess. “Goddamn it, Sasha," David had said to me upon arriving home. "You're not allowed to get your own food. Now I'm going to have to clean this shit up! Fucking kid...” I hadn't been able to understand every word, but the gist was clear; I was not to get my own food.
My reluctance could be laid at the feet of my instincts, the urge to obey David, my leader. Currently however, this instinct was at war with another: survival. Survival won. It always does. I wobbled forward and groped the door handle. That was when it happened.
I fell back, pain rippling though me in a wave. I started to cry because I knew it was only going to get worse. When the Change finished, I wiggled my head out of a too small t-shirt. I stood on four legs and stretched. My long, ivory talons clicked on the floor. As painful as the Change was, the aftereffects were equally as glorious. As a child, I was very vain when it came to my second form. I loved the way my mane fell over my long, flexible neck; the way my dark red scales were decorated with silver half moons at the tips. I flapped my translucent wings, feeling them catch the air on the down stroke. I couldn't fly yet, but I wanted to. My ears, shaped like jagged sails, rotated forward like a dog on point to better hear the sounds of the fridge. I made a very pretty dragon.
No longer a clumsy human child, I moved forward, lazily letting the ends of my wings drag on the floor. I sat back on my hind legs, using my tail for balance like a kangaroo, and pawed at the fridge door handle. My nails left white scratches. I hoped David wouldn't notice. Finally, I got it open, the sound of the seal breaking making me giggle. The sound emerged as high pitched squeaks that would deepen to throaty rumbles with time. Cold, dead air billowed out. I reached for the box of left-over pizza, but paused over some sausages. I sniffed and flicked my forked tongue. They looked much more appetizing than cold pizza. So what if they were still pink? I bit the package, my razor-sharp baby teeth popping through the plastic and Styrofoam, and dragged it onto the floor. I raked my talons over the plastic covering, tearing it the rest of the way off.
