WereCats

A certain 17 year old is struggling to find out the truth about herself. She is not your every day girl and her 'gift' will seperate her from everyone else. But it will also open her up to a whole new world. A world where she will find forbidden love, pain, power, and war. Her name is Katherine, your average girl by day, and an a feline by night.

The morning sun lights the sky, another day arrives. I reluctantly get up and head straight for the bathroom, already feeling the latest aches and pains. I don't even bother to look in the mirror; I already know I am a mess.

My mother isn't up yet. No one in my house is ever up before me. Things just weren't the same ever since that cold night of November 8, three years ago. I had just turned thirteen that fall. I enjoyed going for walks in the woods behind our house.

But that night, I lost my way and the temperature was dropping rapidly and it was getting late. There was no moon to light my path and even if there was, it would not have been enough to see though the thick curtain of falling snow. I just kept walking in the darkness. 

Finally, I crumpled onto the ground from exhaustion. A small girl such as myself  could only walk so far in the bitter cold. My legs began to hurt and I couldn't feel my feet or my hands. I closed my eyes. I just gave in.

The chilly night air and snow quickly numbed me. The low temperature sucking the remaining heat from my body. My weak breath billowing around my face. I felt death creeping up on me as hypothermia set in. At least my death would be painless, I thought to myself. I thought I could feel my heart weaken with every shallow ragged breath.

Oddly enough, memories of my kindergarten days came to mind. The feeling of wet finger paint under my nails. The sound of wind roaring in my ears as I ran on the play ground. And talking with a young boy with sandy blonde hair and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky. Strange. The things that come to mind when you are at the end of your life.

Suddenly, I felt a fierce, painful heat encase me. Pain. A sign that you were still alive. My last thread of consciousness was slipping. My nebulous mind tried to grasp at what was going on but it was hopeless. 

When I came to, I wasn't able to open my eyes but I could hear. I heard the snow still falling around me. My ears flickered toward and honed in on a louder sound. The sound of snow being compressed under foot. I could smell my mother coming toward me. I couldn't comprehend her words but I heard her tone: relief and... something else. Was it disbelief? I let out a small whimper as she scooped me up.

That night what she found was a bundle of coarse black fur shivering and clinging to life in the snow.

Me.

I splash ice cold water on my face to wake myself up, to get rid of those troubling memories that were beginning to make me feel sick. I look at the girl facing me in the mirror and criticize her long lifeless black hair, a shadowy frame for

her exotic tan skin, sharp cheek bones, and overly pointed jaw. She continues to stare as if she could see all the way though my eyes and into me. Hers being such a deep brown that they almost appeared black. I look away. As I put my plain black framed glasses on, I see her distasteful features in even more detail. Who is she? What is she? All I know is I do not want to be her. I sigh, because its all I can do.

After brushing myhair and teeth I return to my room and rummage through my unkempt closet for something warmer than just a t-shirt. It is beginning to become chilly outside and I absolutely hate getting sick but I hate being around other sick people even more so. You can just tell by their smell. It gets into the air and makes me want to gag. But its almost winter, the season of colds and the flu.

I finally settle on my green and gold Oak Meadow hoody and my favorite pair of jeans. I run down the stairs, following the smell of coffeeinto the kitchen, one of my many addictions.

My mom is sitting reading the newspaper, while sipping black coffee from a mug my brother had given her for mother's day this past year.

Her long golden curls hang gracefully and are in perfect sync with her cool green eyes and light freckled face. She always has an almost angelic appearance, even as she sat there in her pajamas.I greet her with a pathetic halfhearted smile as she looks up when I enter. I am never my self in the mornings. Mornings are meant to be spent sleeping, cocooned inmy nice warm comforter.

I went to retrieve my own mug from the cupboard and was half way to the fridge on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Morning, You're up a bit later than usually,” comments my mom in a very mothering tone. I glance at the clock, the hands telling me I have an hour, plenty of time. “I'll be perfectly fine. As always.” There is a pause. She worriers too much.

“Did you sleep good tonight?” I became ridged as I begin to pour the cream into my coffee, making white clouds in the little dark sea that was my coffee. I’m stalling. We both know what she really means. She wants to know if I had any of those dreams again. Dreams that she believescan help figure out what is going on with me.

“It was the best sleep I've had in awhile.” I reply in an overly cheery voice betrayed by a frown with my back to her. There is silence. I lied. If she knows , I haveno idea.

After stirring my drink, I take a long comforting sip. Its heat burning my tongue. But its not enough. The morbid dream from last night begins to replay itself in my mind, something I had been avoiding ever since I stepped out of bed.

The cover of the darkness of the woods. The sound of something crashing desperately through the woods just ahead of me. Trying pitifully to evade me. The thrill of the chase. The overwhelming feeling of power. Then finally ending with the triumphant taste of blood.

I feel close to vomiting. I shakily and hurriedly pour the rest of my coffee down the drain. After taking a few deep breathes I begin to feel better.

But then I begin to wish I still had my coffee, but I digress. I put my mug in the dishwasher.

With another quick glance at the clock, I make my way out of the kitchen.

“I'm going to wake up Alex now.”

She takes me in. “You sure? Do you want me too? You don't look so good.” With a worried expression her last sentence trails off with the hope that I'll I elaborate. I don't because she doesn’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.

I answer with, “I'm okay” and a weak smile. She returns my smile wearily. She is clearly hurt that I don’tshare with her, but she doesn't pressure me so I turn to go upstairs.

Once I reach his door, I knock and walk in because Alex is clearly not up yet. I would be tempted to say my little brother hates mornings just as much as I do but that would be impossible.

I see movement from under the mountains of blankets, a sign of life. His head pops out from under them. He squints as I flip the light on and lets out an exhausted groan. I can’t help but sympathize.

“ I can make you some cereal, ” I offer as I leave the doorway and make my way over to him to sit on the edge of his bed. Though cereal doesn’t seem like much, we both know that if I attempted to make anything more complex it would end in disaster. I was not meant to be a cook.

He groggily shakes his head no. Not wanting to bother him any further I rise and remind him to get ready.

“We’re leaving in 10 minutes,” I call over my shoulder as I leave his room.

The End

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