First. I do not celebrate Eid but for those that read my stories and DO:
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Second. Please don't spread hate about people you guys don't know from your home, hiding behind a keyboard. Everyone is here to enjoy the words I'm writing. Everyone has an opinion and I understand that but don't judge a person you don't know. All I'll end up doing is just taking my stories down.
Third. I mean to get this out sooner but... I was typing and 5,641 words turned to asterisks and I lost EVERYTHING. Like it saved over and it was just blah. And this wasn't prewritten either. So after being angry for like five minutes I just said, "I'll write something better than I had." So hopefully this is a good chapter to you guys reading :)
Fourth. This story has 1million reads :) So thank you all!!!
History always had a way of repeating itself. For some reason lessons were never truly learned and those who did absorb the truth many times it was because it impacted them in some way. No one really explores the underlying causes though.
There was always this get them before they get us mentality that fear and hate brought to the table. Fear and its brother, hate, they had the ability to decimate families, towns, cities, and even countries. Still, somehow, those two go-to-instincts, when making decisions, are the ones most listened too.
When mom and dad brought Fatima into our home, they asked us. Check with us before making that final decision and not a one of us saw a true problem with her being welcomed in. Granted, with me, I had already made such a show of being an incredibly callous individual that I had to work – not that I minded – to really make Fatima see that I was not a bad person.
There was no excuse for my behavior in my eyes especially when my attack was unprovoked.
Her living with us, in my eyes I saw it as a chance to right my wrongs.
At that family meeting, I remember my little sister asking what we should tell people when they asked about Fatima? Quickly asking then, when or if we were going to tell her about our family being werejaguars? Would dad be telling the other families about Faith?
I think from the beginning my dad knew that something was different about Fatima. Sure she scented close to a Fae, but it wasn't that full scent we had been trained to point out. There was something else, unique about the thin girl with slightly too big for her face eyes and ears.
As more heartbeats fill the classroom, my eyes survey the physical damage of the room. My uncle Trevor barks out orders to the two individuals that he brought with him. Though I somehow tune them out, meeting my mom's worried gaze.
