Ellie
My grandparents were wise and generous people; they instilled in me the importance of working hard and staying determined. Grandmother was always urging me to strive for higher grades, since she could not attend school herself. She came from a family of wolves and in their pack, women were nothing but homemakers. They deemed it unnecessary for a woman to have anything more than the basic education on how to read and write.
When my grandmother met her mate. He was human, but she didn't love him any less. My grandmother devoted herself and was in love with him in every sense. Grandfather had happily accepted her for who she was. It was just a shame that the pack didn't welcome him. Pack members tormented mercilessly my grandparents because Grandmother stemmed from a family of Beta's, who were inferior to the Alpha, the primary figure of the group. My grandparents were outcastes in her pack. Even her parents did not spare them.
The male that was infatuated with my grandmother attacked my grandfather, and it was the last straw. They survived, but it cemented my grandmother's troubled mind and she packed their bags, deciding to live a life amongst the humans. They lived a simple life, but happiness radiated from them both, and the sounds of their children's laughter filled the home. Some of them were human, others were werewolves.
My father was unfortunately human. He was envious of his older brother, who inherited the wolf gene. He grew up to be bitter and cold. It wasn't until he met my mother that he loosened up. When I was born, my parents loved me at first. I remember my younger years being filled with love and affection. It wasn't until I hit my thirteenth birthday that things had changed.
On my thirteenth birthday, I felt my nerves heighten as I felt my body vibrate. A chill ran through my body as I convulsed in a cold sweat. I can still feel the hot sting of my father's icy glare and hear my mother's gasp as I writhed in pain. I pushed my legs into the back garden, surrounded by the sweet smell of flowers. I inhaled deeply their sickly sweet smell. Before I could register what was happening, I blacked out. Apart from the faint arguments between my parents, I couldn't recall much else.
"... what do you mean you come from a family of werewolves?!" my mother shouted.
"My grandmother and brother are both wolves. I was human. I never expected my daughter to turn into one of those monsters." My father spat out.
"...no no no. This can't be true. You do not know what you have done?" I could faintly hear my mother respond as I was dipping in and out of consciousness.
I heard my mother's voice echoing in my head as she uttered the last sentence. When I woke up, I saw my mother lying on the grass, the morning dew still on her clothes. I looked down upon her; the skin on her body that was once warm, glowing, was now pale, deathly cast. I whimpered when I saw her eyes shut. It was then that I realised the change. The whimper that escaped my mouth was nothing but a whine.
My father's face twisted with revulsion, and he stared down at me in shame as he stood hovering over my mother. I felt a deep, inner ache slowly build within me. "You killed your mother because you're a monster." He spat, his mouth contorted with hatred.
It wasn't before long that my grandmother turned up and I realised my hands were now pores, my skin covered in a thick layer of fur, my face resembled a wolf. Terror surged through my body and my chest tightened as I gazed upon my mother, motionless on the cold floor. My grandmother rushed towards me with a determined stride, her face unwavering and unafraid. I saw that there was the furrow of her brow, a clear sign of his concern. Her bony fingers stretched out to touch me, and I felt my paws move back in retreat. I didn't have control, and it was then that I fell.
Grandmother's look of concern was unmistakable, but my father's face was hard and unyielding. My grandmother started whispering comforting words. She said nothing discouraging. Her words were like a whisper, barely audible above the gentle gusts of wind.
"Sweetheart, imagine your human body. You need to change back. I promise you everything will be alright." She hushed out.
I shut my eyes tightly, entranced by her words, and pictured myself in my mind's eye. Remembering my mother's tanned skin, and the way my skin had taken on the same hue, along with my red hair. I pictured my petite frame, which had yet to sprout the curves of a woman. Unbearable pain suddenly raced through my body like an electric shock. I let out a long, piercing howl that echoed through the gentle evening wind.
In no time, I was on the ground, feeling the dirt and pebbles beneath me. Naked as the day I was born, I laid in the foetal position, tightly hugging my knees to my chest. My body was shaking, my heart ached as I stared at my mother that was carelessly laid on the floor. Even dead, she looked beautiful. Every feature, every freckle across my cheek, reflected my mother.
My father stood silently by, his lips pressed together. All I could hear was the sound of my own quiet crying as the tears rolled down my face. I couldn't believe what had happened to me, and I felt my fists clenching in frustration. I had committed the ultimate sin of taking my mother's life. There was an affirmation in his words; it was, I was a beast. My eyes filled with terror and my heart filled with rage. I heard the gentle rustle of the chequered blanket as my grandmother wrapped it around me. With a single motion, she picked me up and settled me onto her lap while her warm hands ran through my hair and soothed me with her words. She started singing softly, her voice a gentle lullaby that echoed through the air.
The next day when I woke up, everything seemed the same, but everything was different. My grandmother was present as she sat at the kitchen table sipping her tea with a saddened look on her face. It was then that she told me about her heritage, that our family came from a bloodline of wolves. She explained my father was not a werewolf, but he knew that she and his brother had both inherited the gene.
Since that day, my father's treatment of me was nothing short of cruel. He whipped me and beat me, left me black and blue. His repeated words were that his daughter was nothing but a murderer who had killed her mother and his wife. The acrid smell of my drugged up father's rage would fill the room when he punished me for not meeting his needs. I hid the discolorations from the school and my grandmother, who wanted to teach me to subdue the untamed spirit that was part of me.
One day, my grandmother came to my father's house when I was fourteen to find him beating me with his belt. She looked at her son with nothing but disgust. His pupils were so large that they almost filled the entire iris of his eyes, a telltale sign of his intoxication. I had never met my uncle before, but then he was suddenly there, his footsteps echoing through the house as he swept me up in his arms and away.
I never saw my father again after that day, but I can still hear his callous laughter in my mind. My grandparents welcomed me into their home with unconditional love and kindness. They gave me a haven, with four walls and a warm bed. An apology had never once escaped my father's lips. He never told me he loved me after that unfortunate incident. He felt like a ghost, his voice unheard and his presence unnoticed. When I was sixteen, a police officer appeared on my grandparents' doorstep with news of an identified body that matched my father's description. My grandfather recognised the body, and, with a sinking feeling, he knew it was my father's. The last report I heard about my father was that he was associated with an infamous criminal group and died.
As I learnt the lessons of a wolf from my grandmother and uncle, I was also interacting with the humans. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't escape the feeling of loathing that came with being a wolf. My heart twisted with rejection when I looked at her, because it was what had caused my mother's demise. I kept my innermost worries and struggles deeply buried, never letting my family know. My biggest fear was that I wouldn't be able to bear the way they looked at me - the same way my father had. My hands would shake with terror that they would see me as a murderer.
When I turned eighteen, my grandmother had prepared me for the rules of being a werewolf. Grandmother emphasised I had the power to choose which path I wanted to take. My family explained the laws and policies of the werewolf community. Alpha's governed packs across the land, explaining that I had the choice to join one if I wanted. She interjected that if I didn't want to join, and I wanted to live amongst the humans, then I would have to complete quarterly check-ins with the local Alpha.
I didn't need my grandmother to give me the choice. She had told me what her old pack was like. There was no interest in being a part of something that was so sexist and restricting. I was determined to have a career, and I cherished my freedom. After years of living in fear at the hands of my father, I was determined to become a social worker to help others in similar situations. I wanted to shield children from the same pain and suffering I had to endure as a child.
With my decision made, my uncle and I ventured to his pack that was in Florida, the humidity clinging to us. It was a couple of hours away from my grandparents' home. My uncle, a Beta, attempted to sway me to stay in his pack, yet he eventually conceded and accepted my decision. Uncle had registered me with his Alpha, who was a kindly, wizened old man. He was kind and understanding, and his eyes glittered with delight when I explained I was heading to New York for college. He gave me a kind, reassuring smile and said he'd get in touch with the proper Alpha for my regular follow-up.
When I asked my uncle what the check-ins were for, he explained it was to ensure that my wolf stayed obedient and well-behaved, enabling me to explore the land without fear of being attacked by rival packs. I remembered grandmother's passionate stories about the rogue wolves. She expressed nothing but pity for them because they could not tame their wolves
As I turned eighteen late in the summer, I had my grandparents and uncle present for my graduation. I was valedictorian and gave a speech that I was speaking to myself. I spoke about second chances and how we had a new opportunity that we had to grasp and make the best of. My grandparents both had tears in their eyes, their faces filled with nothing but pride.
It was then that I accepted my scholarship at Columbia University in New York City. I knew I wanted to be a social worker; I knew I wanted to help change people's lives. Haunted by the memories of mother, the school allowed me to start afresh. I knew I would miss my family, but it was for the best.
Edited on 19/03/2023