The Last Pure
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I ran as fast as I could. As I was running I thought about all that would change tomorrow. Today, I had a family. Tomorrow, I'd probably be an orphan. Today, I had a bed and a house. Tomorrow, I would have whatever I could find. And most importantly, today I wasn't alone. Tomorrow, I would be alone. The last of my kind. The last Catharos Luporum.
Catharos Luporum is Latin for The Pure Wolves which is what we- I am. We were one pack. We didn't fight for territory like the other wolves. The others left us alone because they knew that it was a fight they could never win so we lived happily on our own as a community.
My parents told me stories about the Hunters and Rogues that tried to come up with a weapon to weaken us. They had been trying to discover it for centuries and there were tales of instances where such a substance had been found, but none of these tales were ever thought to be true. We used them to scare each other, like ghost stories. Until now. Though it didn't much matter anymore, I would be the only one around to tell them.
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I could feel the thick, wet mud sink as my boots trudged over the brown blanket that covered the portion of forest I found myself in and the half full moon lit my path to camp. I have to admit it sometimes sucks being born a rouge, we are born to be bereft of purpose and abandon to die a meaningless death. As a rouge I will live purposeless, remain homeless, be mateless, die alone. Fuck that, if I can stop any of that it's my purpose, rouges fight packs, packs lose loved ones and retaliate, rouges die and seek retribution and the cycle continues, but if a rouge kills a rouge it's all good, I slow down this cycle. A rouge who hunts rouges. My life will have meaning, my life is mine, my death will come without sorrow. I am conflict given breath. I am death taken form. I am Mars. Awesome cover made by @xLittleMissFreakShow.
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