To Be Living

I was only one or two years when I got kicked from the world, my home, all because of the small difference in my blood. At the time they needed to check my blood for any sort of disease, causing rapid growth of hair on my body, but instead what they found made them see me as a monster. There is a legend in that town that mentions supernatural creatures like vampires and werewolves living among us. Although it sounds normal so far there was a twist in the story. It had explained how there was a different creature that could bend its shape to different forms of creatures that represent more power than the originals that we live with today. They called those creatures swiftbloods. Swiftbloods supposedly had a very different genetic pattern that made their blood unreadable to blood tests.

When the machine couldn't read what my blood type was the first time they thought that the machine had broken, and told my mother and me to be patient while they attempted to find the problem. When they found out the machine was fine, they decided to try once more. Nothing. The machine couldn't read my blood type no matter how hard they tried, that's when they noticed that the hair growing from my body wasn't hair, it was fur. My body had begun shifting forms to prepare my body for when I'm able to control my form. The legend was right about that part. After we found out, my mother told me to run as fast as my legs could take me, and I did. I didn't know what was going on or where to go, I just ran. All I remember after that was that when I could fully see again I was somewhere in the forest.

It turned out my mother was a swiftblood herself, and had died that night trying to save me. I was an adoptive child, so she didn't think that I was a swiftblood, but when we found out that I was she considered me pack. As the alpha of her small pack she knew she had to protect me with her life because I was also her child. While I was alone in the forest after I had felt the pack bond break I knew I needed to find food and shelter quickly. I walked for at least two hours before I found a clearing with berries and leftover sticks and branches. Putting together a quick shelter wasn't easy, luckily my instincts kicked in and I made a den. Of course, I felt the need to make it nicer than just the dirt, so I made the floor, walls and roof by putting the twigs and branches on them.

"Home," I thought. This survival continued as a pattern for many years until one day, I picked up a scent similar to mine. Now I was old enough to know how to control my form, however, I still feared being caught.