Time Can't Stop Me

Chapter 1

I guess this story begins back in the thirteenth century.

November 28, 1286 AD, to be exact.

This was the day I was born.

I remember it as if it had happened roughly eight hundred years ago. Therefore, I can't remember much, as during this day I was pre-occupied bursting through my mothers vaginal walls. I have my doubts to the gracefulness of my arrival, so I thank my longevity that I can't even picture what I looked like when I was four, let alone remember my birthing chamber.

There are a few things one must understand about immortality before they proceed to get unrealistic notions about being immortal. First of all, an entity must be born immortal in order to be immortal. There is no way to achieve this honour unless you are of certain sub-human, non-human or speci-human bloodlines. No drink will allow it, nor will any miracle grant it.

Secondly, immortality comes with a cost: your soul.

Just joking, only demons pull that shit.

But through other factors not including Hell and its counterparts, one can easily see how immortals can get lost. We can't die from disease or old age (obviously), so the only threat to us is ourselves. In fact, the number one cause of death, as stated by the International Paranormal Protection Association, is suicide. Trust me, you don't want to live with your regrets for eternity and not be able to forget them.

You experience too many things when you're immortal. Its a given that you need to travel in order to prevent discovery of your species--staying in one place too long will lead to naturally ignorant humans becoming curious. Subsequently, you're stuck watching history unfold as a primary source. You go to wars knowing you'll come out alive when in the end you can't fathom taking another breath. You see your friends die because, shocker, not everybody is immortal. And if you ever fall in love with a mere human.......

Its no wonder that we're walking, talking life sized poster-childs for PTSD.

I'd like to say I gave immortality a shot. I really did. From the second I plopped out of my mothers womb, I committed myself to being an honest werewolf.

Back in the hump of the millenia, being a werewolf had mostly to do with living in your wolf form. There were no such thing as packs or isolation. You did what you had to do to survive against hunters, the environment and yourself. If that meant making friends or breaking bonds, then so be it. A werewolf was only defined by its wolf status, and if one did not pay homage to their lineage, then it was considered betrayal to the overall species.

You had to be a wolf to be a werewolf or else you were just human.

Nobody wanted that.

Now, I think I owe you a disclaimer. This story is not about love. This story is not about pain. This story is my attempt at salvation. So read on if you wish, but just remember: I won't need to die to go to Hell.

Good luck.