People generally laugh at me. They call me names, trying to make out that I'm weird, different. But I know better. They're afraid. And they have good reason to be. My name is Ginger. And I'm a werecat.
It was a stupendous Monday morning in late October, the first day I had truly noticed that summer was fading into the harsh chill of winter. That thought didn't upset me- no freezing temperature could make me stay inside. I walked into the waterfall of spiralling colours, noting happily that autumn had come again. Falling leaves of orange and gold danced around me, swirling happily in the crisp breeze.
Stopping for a moment on the uneven pavement, I looked up into the archway of chestnut trees that lined the road, my eyes squinting as a strand of watery sunlight glanced through the waving branches onto my face, highlighting my red-blond hair. Autumn always was my favourite time of year, bringing with it not just the prospect of fireworks and pumpkins, but a clean canvas, ready to celebrate the falling of the leaves by painting over the lush green of summer with a palette of spicy colours, a spectrum to bring smiles to even the most somber of faces when they look upon the delights of the harvest time.
A shrill ringing sound echoed above the tranquil trees, its message clear and insistant. "Ah, hell." I muttered as I began to run to school, cursing myself as I went, knowing there would be yet another detention lying in wait behind the grey stone walls.