The Omega

1 pt.9

I cannot move.

I cannot breathe.

I can't think.

The pain is too fierce. My skin feels as though it's being burned from my bones. The silver. The silver is still touching my skin.

It will stay that way until I take my last breath.

I need something to focus on. Something to distract me from this pain, this agony. My body won't move, my mind is scattered, what can I possibly do to distract myself from my imminent death, from my pain, from my sadness?

A low rasping sob leaves my mouth, and the sudden sound reminds me of voices. It reminds me of the old storytellers that used to visit the pack during celebrations. It reminds me of the songs they used sing instead of speaking.

It reminds me of the omegas, of their voices that would talk quietly after the supervisors had left. Their comforting voices and the songs that would lull me to sleep when my back was aching from lashes and I couldn't see the point in living.

Songs.

All throughout my life, when the days were hard and my life seemed hopeless, song had always lifted my spirits. It wasn't even my own song, it had been the voices of those in the background, the stories of hope and light that they told.

There was nothing that could save me now, but it was okay not to despair. Even if there was no hope, I didn't have to crumble into dust. I could greet death with open arms and stare down my accusers with an iron gaze.

I didn't have to be the pitiful omega they wanted me to be.

But I had to tell a story. I had to tell a story, not with my words, but with my voice, with song. Stories could be passed down from generation to generation.

With aching slowness, I cracked my mouth open and wet my dry, flaking lips. My throat was raw and hoarse from my screaming, and it took several minutes before any sound would come out. But when it did, it was barely a whisper.

That was all I needed.

Words began to flow from my lips, slow like syrup and heavy in my mouth. I can feel the truth of them in every word.

They glide through the air and seem to curl themselves around me. They caress my skin and it's almost like the hands of the forgotten are holding onto a strand of memory. They are not forgotten, I will tell their story.

A story weaves itself before my eyes.

A young girl raised to be slave, her will clashing with those around her. The girl, I realize, is not me. It's someone else, someone else's life threading into place in a great woven pattern in front of me.

She was strong, bold, brave, a born leader. She grew from the lowest of her rank, to the top, slowly gaining leverage over those around her.

When she was eighteen, she was noticed. Notice by the Alpha.

It started with small caresses, gentle words, and kind gestures, but grew to greater heights as time went on. The girl knew she could not refuse an Alpha, but she stalled for as long as she could, doing her best to guard her heart from the man.

But she didn't guard it well enough.

Within six months time she had made her way into his bed and he into her heart.

By the time she turned nineteen, she was pregnant.

As the moons passed leading up to her due date, the girl began to see the man in a different light. Instead of the kind and gentle man she had grown to know, she began to see a cold tyrant that tore down anything in his path. He became an angry man that controlled every aspect of her life.