Luna Queen

3 - Prison Escape

Looking to my left, and then my right, I carry on. The sound of twigs, and dead leaves crunching beneath my foot keeps me company in the otherwise silent forest. On days like this, a Thursday, it's rare to meet any animals. I don't know why, the wolf, is one that I've seen countless of times.

Not the Lycanthropes. No, an actual wolf. One that cannot shift. I'd only ever seen one twice. The first time, I was twelve. And, I was out camping with my dad. It was something we did every Saturday of the of the last week of every month. It was twice as special that week because it was my birthday, and he had promised me the best week ever. At the middle of the night, in the middle of the forest, I saw it. It wasn't big, yet not small. Just perfect, its fur was lightish yellow, and its eyes a soft, beady black. It had growled numerous times as I tried to near it, but after a while, I had finally gained its trust.

The second time, I was out in a shooting range - again, with my father - and, we had seen a quite large one. Unfortunately, it was shot dead by one of the Rangers.

Walking up to the familiar oak tree, I sit cross-legged in front of it, leaning my head on the bark. I stay like that for a few minutes, breathing in the endless supply of oxygen, letting the oxymoron of the season warm me, as my thoughts slowly gathered themselves.

After a while, I unload the bags from my shoulders and arrange them in a circle before me. I glance down at my watch, 'four fifteen'. I had only about forty-five minutes left to do this. I reach out and unzip the black one, reaching in, I smile as my fingers come in contact with my whiskey. It wasn't uncommon for me to drink once in a while when my parents died, then once a week when they blamed the death on me. Now, almost everyday since the day my he had rejected me. As for the smoking, it was an absolute accidental coincidence for it - I barely had an explanation for it.

I was hooked; addicted, whatever you want to call it.

But, the 'addiction' began way before my life came crashing down. I'm not going into detail, for I cannot remember. But, I know that I brought it upon myself. The day the bullying started, something to do with depression. I was young, stupid and immature, I had heard that nicotine helped it - I only meant to take one. But, I was addicted; hooked, whatever you wanted to call it. I doubt anyone knows what I do, and if they were to find out anything even minute about it, I would be greatly penalized.

I flick the lighter as I hold the cigarette to my lips, smiling cynically as a puff of smoke exited the cigarette. For a while, I alternate between the whiskey and the cigarette. I don't feel a burn as I swallow the liquid, probably because I was used to it, or I was drunk. I blearily glance at my watch, four-forty. I had an twenty minutes to get to work. I screw the cap back unto my half-finished whiskey, as I discard my fourth cigarette unto the forest floor, very careful to remember to stamp it out.

I am drunk - but, sightly. I blink as I try to gather my mind. A sharp prick makes me wince as I reach down and run my hand over the affected area. It hurt, but my mind was to bleary to understand just exactly what had hit me. It wasn't as if I didn't care, but I could barely feel it anymore, so the best thing to do was to easily, and openly ignore it.

After a few seconds, it began to itch, so I blamed it on a blood-sucker, mosquito.

I shove the bottle back into my bag and sling it over my neck. I get up, ever so slowly, and with a conscious effort, I pick myself up despite the pounding in my head. For a minute, I lean on the tree. Desperately dizzy and disoriented, I can't help but collapse back unto the floor. I lean over my hands and vomit near the tree, my stomach and head churning with each action or move that try to act upon.

I had done this many times, and I have never thrown up.

I proceed to stand again, and with an effort, I do. I begin walking very slowly, carefully following the trail that I had set for myself. The itching from the affected area got worse and I briefly wondered if malaria could kill that fast.

Each step is agonizing, and for a while, I stand there. It is not of the alcohol, for I have consumed it many times before. I am so confused, that I slowly, momentarily open up the mind-link between my wolf and I. Normally, I hated the talkative thing, so I demarcate the voice. You need to be alert to do that, something which I am not as of this fucking moment.

"Wolfsbane." She whispers.

"What are you talking about?" I question, as her cold voice fills my head.

"That itch, it was a shitting injection full of Wolfsbane." She snapped.

Muttering, I clutch my head and fall to the floor in pain.

The pain was past unbearable. I curl up in a ball waiting to die, wondering what I had done to deserve a shot of Wolfsbane. It wasn't lethal, but it damaged the mental state of the Lycanthrope. I had been shot somewhere on my foot, and I am not candidly sure what of I did.

I was faintly aware of voices that filled my ears. The footsteps, and poundings got louder and louder as I tried to get up. Lights began to flash on and off, a common signal in the Lycanthrope Community to indicate an intruder had been found. I wasn't an intruder though, they knew that I lived here.

"You must have trespassed without knowing," my wolf whispered, her voice fading.

"How?" I ask, deeply confused. I knew that I was careful not to do so. It was very easy, the school was situated a mile away from the Nevada - California border. It was simple to cross it without knowing it.

Especially, through the forest.

I struggle to keep my eyes open as the substance runs its was through my veins. I couldn't try to even stay awake until the figure bent down, raised a hand above its head, and punched me straight in the nose. I heard a sickening crack as I cried out in pain, the only word I could be heard uttered from my lips shot out harshly, "Fuck," I blink for another second before closing my eyes and succumbing to the sleep that was due to come a long, long while ago.

-

Loupe Fiasco, California
USA - North America
The Zurich Pack Cells

Sativa
My father had always said, our weakest moments make way for our strongest ones.

I pray, that somewhere up in heaven, God is seeing me and futuristically blessing me for the sufferings that I have been enduring for the past hour. And, it was a certain nagging in my head that reminded me just how long that I that to live for.

"Whiskey, a pack of cigarettes, a cellphone and a pack of chewing gum," the man grunted, his greasy black hair, and deep auburn eyes stared at me in suspicion. "Normal. It seems suspiciously normal to us."

"I told you," I sigh, tugging at my blonde locks. "I only came out into the woods for a smoke, and a little bit of whiskey - I come in peace."

"Cut the crap, kid." He snaps, raising up my bag and throwing to me. "I want to know what you were doing on our lands, you don't seem like a normal teenager - I sense something very off about you, tell me."

"Tell you what?" I snap, pulling my knees up to my chest and clutching my two bags tighter to my chest, the second one a little bit tighter.

"You let us see the first bag," he cocks a brow, frowning. "Tell me, why you won't let us see the second bag, kid."

"I never said that I wouldn't let you see it," I mutter, their enhance Lycanthrope hearing picking up the sound. "I said, I wouldn't let you see what was inside."

"Funny." He bit out, inching closer. "Funny little thing you are, but I'm not fucking laughing at your jokes, kid."

"Neither am I," I can't help the smirk that litters its way to my lips. "Actually, another thing. Could you refrain from calling me 'kid', I am not a kid, I'm an adult."

"That you are," he agrees. "I think, as an adult, you should let me see the bag."

"That had nothing to do with the point I just made," I point out, frowning slightly.

"If you insist on being difficult," he sighs, scratching his forehead. "I would have to get our Leader out here, I am sure you would concert to him."

Yeah, right.

-

© V.L Khan