Hungry.

He knew she was different. He knew she was different the day she first made eye contact with him, her brown beady eyes staring at him restlessly.

He knew she would behave differently, growing without a mother to give her a love only a mother can give. When she would ask about her mother at a young age, he knew she was definitely different.

How she had two pieces of black locks that would stick out, no matter how much was done to lay them down. At the age of 3, she wrapped the two girls into little side bows that now accommodated her already rapidly growing, black hair, by laying on the sides as if it was meant to be.

He feared her difference.

He feared when he gave her food other than meat, how she would retch for hours on end. He knew this was more than a difference.

He didn't know that the haunting sounds in the night wasn't his deceased wife, rather his 5 year old child growling into the baby monitor she bit her father to prevent him from taking from her.

She wasn't different.

She wasn't human.

A child that would awaken as some sort of monster whenever she felt pain. A child that was bullied by another boy that accidentally hit her. A boy she mauled and ate within seconds, before running away on all fours to home.

To tell her father, "I feel different." As her knees buckled, pushing against each other, chubby fingers running against the blood soaked cloth that was once her favorite cat dress. "I feel full."