3 - Prison Escape

Gravity Falls, Nevada
USA - North America
Western High School

Sativa
My mother had always said, that there couldn't ever be a war without a confirmation. And, for a time, I had believed her. Until, perhaps today. War isn't only two sides opposing each other, war is about the people and lives that you impact because of the circumstance.

As I sit here, tapping my feet against the chair opposite me, scribbling endless doodles the History teacher drones on about war, I find it very hard to concentrate while being pelted in the back with scrunched up pieces of paper, with numerous pity notes, psychiatrist recommendations and the lesser insults from my class.

I wanted nothing more than to tear them apart with my bare hands - but, there were humans here, the ignorant species would surely scream in either fear or the pain of having me tear their limbs.

I glance up to the clock and sigh. It would be another thirty minutes before this class ended. I bring my hand up to my hair and run my fingers through it. A little preliminary act that I carried out whenever the frustration surpassed my self-control. It had been a week, four days, and twelve hours since the strange man's rejection played out.

I could pretend that it didn't bother me, but the kilos of alcohol that I fill myself with everyday can be a reminder of the little happiness that still exists in the world. It was no secret that I was addicted, and that if I didn't stop, or if someone was I find out, I could get kicked out of the pack for sure - and I didn't even have to pay the compensations.

The heel of my combats tapped noisily against the boy's chair. I was pretty sure that I was annoying him due to the way he gripped his pencil. But, I didn't care.

The minute hand the led the clock as it slowly ticked by the minutes. I wouldn't lie, I wanted to get out of this place. Not necessarily because of their countless jabs about the murder of my parents. Or, the fact that the smell of the History classroom did enough to make my stomach turn. I longed for the forest - its forever, welcoming scents.

I sit there, not doing anything in particular, just staring at the clock and praying for the godforsaken bell to ring, signaling the end of class, and the beginning of my freedom. If, you could call it that. I had work after school - school which I wouldn't even have been going to if not for my mother making me promise that I would take my education seriously.

The shrill ring of the bell didn't surprise me, I had actually counted down the seconds. Picking up my sketchbook, I get up from my chair and sling my black, duffel bag over my shoulder. I pretend not to notice the dirty stares the population of the class gives me, as I walk out of the door, ignoring the teacher's calls at my name. I didn't give a word if he wanted to talk to me or not - besides, it would be the same question asked, and same unclear and vague answer replied to the overly-excited teacher.

Nothing.

Glancing at my schedule, I realize that the last subject was Physical Education. It was a subject that I particularly disowned. Except when we were playing rugby - the fact that I could run around and knock people down kept my interest level for the sport high; it was immensely fun.

Punching in the code, I swing my locker open and grab my other bag. It was time to call it a day. I wouldn't like to think that the abandonment from my mate caused my behavior to change drastically, but I am a hundred percent sure that something in me snapped.

Slinging the back over my neck, I wink at the CCTV and push open the large doors at the entrance of the school. Western High, it was a melting pot of different species of paranormal being, and although they didn't always get along, they always agree on one specific thing to all carry in.

That is, to hate and absolutely belittle Sativa.

Which, has caused my feral retaliation to prove the root of all my expulsions as my anger shows things to them.

Painful things - so, needless to say, I cannot try to count the number of people that have restraining orders against me due to one misunderstand or fight.

I shuffle my feet down the stairway, pushing my hair away from my face as the breeze blew it in all directs.

I didn't have a car amongst the expensive ones lined almost perfectly in the neat parking lot. I easily recognized Milly's car. It was a pink Gallardo, and as I got closer, I realized that the windows were fogged, the car was vibrating and strange noises were emerging from the backseat. I didn't even dare to investigate, as I proceeded nearer to the forest. It was part of the Pack, at least half of it. The other half belonged to another pack. Rumors had been circulating, the other Pack want our land. And I had no doubt in my mind that they were going to get the rest of the land with ease - this Pack is weak.

When I had still been Beta, they were last formulating a plan to attack the neighboring, Pack's lands.

Though, I don't know what made them think that they could take out one of main territories that belonged to the Alpha King. It was physically impossible for the majority of this Pack to try and take me out, not to hear of an Alpha King's territory.

Training only occurred once a week and it was optional.

We - them, actually, seeing as I am a pending ex-pack member - don't even have fighters. One or two patrol guards, and no third-in-command. Unless you count the almost existent Beta.

This Pack, however, is able to do well because of just one slight reason. They are a Democratic Pack. It means that they are controlled by the Elders, and the Pack members carry out a vote to ensure their Alpha, Beta, Gamma and Omegas. Before the murder had taken place, I was elected as the Beta. But, I was demoted to Omega after I was found mourning my dead parents, partly covered in their blood. In a pack like this, you don't hand down the position to a son - it is not by heritage or lineage, you are simply voted for every eight to nine months. And, our current Alpha, Morgan, has succeed to reign for a year.

The Elders sponsor everything - the food, the supplies, the weapons. And, all we had to do was behave accurately and simply good.

Something I had failed at.

Now, a Fascist pack is exactly the opposite. Only the Alpha says what goes, although, the Alpha is allowed a Beta and a Gamma, but it is optional. In a Fascist Pack, Elders have absolutely no control over what says or goes. I don't know an awful lot about them, but I know that they aren't particularly underneath any laws that abide with the Democratic pack - they live in free will.

There is no Pack except the one that borders ours, that operates in a Fascist way. I know that to run a Pack without the help of the Elders is almost impossible, but for at least a decade now, they have never been less the perfect - from what I hear during the meetings of the Elders that I never fail to attend, even if, I am invited, even if, I am not.

Plus, nobody is allowed on their land without a special permit from the Alpha himself. If you so happen to fail to abide these rules, death is your next best choice. The Alpha himself, no one has ever seen. Nor, will anyone truly want to.

I don't bother to quicken my steps as little, almost unnoticeable drops of rainwater parade down my arm. The weather was a cold, and the sky was grey. A perfect day to me, wouldn't be perfect for any other. A strange sense of peace washes over me as I step a foot into the forest. But, the normal settlement that pairs with the peace isn't there. I don't let it trouble me as I walk further into the dense, green forest.

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