First Snow

Our first snow started falling right before dawn. I know because I awoke shivering. They gave out wool blankets, but mine has holes. I won’t tell Captain. It’s dumb, really. The boys forget I can transfer to a coat of fur if I want. I’m probably the warmest here. Last night I was too tired to think of transforming. I shivered awake, hearing the breeze run like blades through the air, cutting through any crevice in the wall. It whistled through the pines, announcing the storm’s presence.

I crept to the window. When I wiped the fog from the glass, I could see the white snow sticking, glowing white against the black night. I found myself giggle. It never fails. No matter how old I get, I still feel like when I was four. We had a really hard storm that year. But, when everything settled and fluff carpeted the land, my dad took me out back. I whined the entire hike into the valley. But then, he took me to a large hill. I remember it towering high above me, although I don’t think it was very tall. At the top, he laid down a wooden board with a metal handle at the front. I remember staring at him, sure he had finally lost his senses. Other kids talked about their parents losing their minds in the winter.

But then he sat down, ordered me on his lap, and pushed off. The ice nipped at my cheeks as the air rushed past us. My hair flew in his face, but he just laughed as we slid down the hill. My stomach dipped inside my chest, sending a rush through my veins. I forgot about the cold. I forgot about how wet the hike made my boots. I just lived in the movement. We came to an easy stop and, for a second, I could still feel the air against my cheeks, the excitement in my veins. When it subsided, I turned to him and asked if we could go again. And again. It was such fun.

This snowfall didn’t turn into fun. Captain insisted we keep to the schedule. I was fine with the routine, except the wind was not festive. It was brutal, cutting at me, chilling my bones. I was sure my nose or fingers would snap off if hit. And, of course, snow balls would fly from nowhere and smack me in the neck. I wasn’t the only victim of the assault. When the captain saw the culprit, he would send them on laps around the practice filed, but he didn’t see everyone. Then, Clieto showed mercy and sent a blizzard. Captain finally gave up and let us back inside.

I curled under the blanket, my body radiating heat against my fur. I sat and remembered the sleigh ride.  If I closed my eyes hard enough, I could see myself there. I could feel the wind against my cheeks and remember the freedom of the ride.

No one, Nowhere

I spent the day in a cage. Captain seemed to differ in opinion, calling it a punishment zone, but it had bars and a lock at the gate. When he asked what I was thinking, I just stared at the brown straps of his sandals and shrugged. I don’t know what happened. I guess it started two nights ago. I was sitting behind the cafeteria with Xeno. He had saved a piece of bread the kitchen staff had made that morning. It was so sweet, melting on the tongue. I smeared butter and blackberry jelly on the top and savored the riches. He brought the subject of how stupid the boys’ macho behavior was. All I did was agree with him. I mentioned how they thought they were the best soldiers ever and how I could beat them all. He said I was just like them. Me! Just like them? I told him no way. We argued, then he grabbed the bread and ground it into the dirt. The jelly muddied, oozing all over the ground, so I called him a son of Cerberus and shoved him into the mess.

The next day I fell on the obstacle courses’ wall. I’d climbed it countless times, but this time my foot slipped, slamming my shoulder against the wood. I lost my grip, skid down the face, and landed on my back, the ground shoving all air out of my chest. The boys laughed and snickered at me for the rest of the day. I just wanted to escape for only a few minutes. But I just kept walking. Helios traveled close to the horizon when the trees parted. There, in front of me stood the ocean. The white capped waves crashed onto rock and sand, misting the air. The water stretched into the horizon, like it never ended. I wanted to jump in, to swim as far as I could.

Instead, I transformed. I let the sand brush in-between my nails, caressing the pads of my paws. I let the breeze brush over the sea, caressing my muzzle as it traveled inland. I sat, watching Helios set the ocean surface on fire in its descent, listening to the birds soaring above me. It was like another world. I closed my eyes and no longer felt Atlantis. I no longer felt a curse, whether that be some part of me, whose actions I pay for every day. I felt detached from the world. I felt alive.

I swear I would have returned. Really, I would have. I didn’t have the chance to leave. Apparently they have a guard who patrols the coastline. He strapped a rope around my neck. I can still feel the twine digging into my neck, pulling my hair, as he dragged me into the wagon. I returned to the camp in a wagon, just the way I had entered. But, for a brief moment, I was no one nowhere. The cage is worth remembering that feeling.

Camping to Survive

We went on a camping trip. Well, Captain called it a survival expedition, which is dramatic. Maybe if he had waited until it snowed. I can smell the flakes in the breeze. He would only have to wait a week at most, I think. Anyway, he said we had to learn what it meant to survive outside in the elements, with limited rations. He said that would best prepare us for war when rations run low. We grouped into teams of five. I think my team had planned all along to ditch me. They’re stupid. I’m part wolf. When they maneuvered too quick, got me distracted, and I lost sight of them, I’d just stand tall, nose in the air. I closed my eyes and sifted through the breeze. Chipmunks dominate the air with their nutty dust stink. The pines add crisp sweetness. But I do prefer the chipmunks to some of the bigger game that roamed the mountains back at home. I remember there was one day I couldn’t distinguish the scent, just that it was an animal. It had an iron scent, blood, to the dust and sweat. But there was also a fishy mix to it all; like it rolled on top of fish bodies and then went swimming. When I found the black bear, face to face, I froze. Anyway, he must have just eaten because he just looked at me, snorted, and then sauntered over the hill.

Even though the scent is stronger in wolf form, all I really need is two seconds with someone to pick up their distinct smell. Humans have a signature behind their glands more than any other. Some are sweater, one smelled almost like cinnamon apples behind their sweat. These boys were no different. One boy kind of smells like bark. I would swear his father was an oak tree if I still believed in fairy tales. I found them within seconds, even without having to transform. After about four times of this, they stopped trying to ditch me.

 

After twelve hours they found a use for me. I made the mistake of bringing a chipmunk to them. They asked me if there was anything bigger. So I found a rabbit. Hunting is always weird. The wolf voice speaks to me, narrows my view until all I see is the prey. Even the chase pumps through my veins, thrilling me. But my human voice never goes away. It rationalizes with me. It tells me this is weird behavior for a ten year old girl. But they boys really enjoyed it. So, for the four days we were out, I had hunting duty while they split the other chores. When we arrived back at camp, we looked refreshed and satisfied compared to the others. They headed straight for the cafeteria, looking like they had lost five pounds. 

 

I liked camping. I know tomorrow they boys will go back to ignoring me. But at least for a few days I felt wanted.

The Harvest Supper

We had grand feasts back home. I lose track of the days here, but the weather feels about right. About this time every year the farmers would make their harvest in Amphitrite. Bundles upon bundles of food were collected. The city would save food for the winter. And then there was the ration sent across the prairies to Government Island. But after all was divided, there was always extra for a feast.

Atlas was good at nothing else, no special trade or reason to boast. But they knew how to celebrate. I remember that. The Harvest Supper was the one event my father would take me to. I would walk in between them, one hand clasped with my dad and one with my mom. There was a bounce to their steps. I remember the laughter. People wouldn’t look at me funny. They wouldn’t whisper. One year, a young man gave me a cloth bunny he had won at some armature archery competition. It was stuffed with feathers, buttons for eyes. I held it tight, grinning the entire night.

Torches lined the sidewalks, lighting the streets. The townspeople gathered so many tables, lining them down the street. One big table, multicolored with tablecloths pulled from storage, saved for this gathering. The women scattered fall leaves across the surface and the best plates were dug out of boxes. The men had spent the previous weekend hunting game. Then, all day, the women gathered and cooked. My mom would always help them make the side dishes and bread. I knead some dough, too. They said I was a good kitchen helper. The men swapped stories from the year. The children played hide-and-go-seek. On the windy years, they flew kites.

Then, as Helios began to set, the food sat steaming on the tabletops. Everyone stood around, hand in hand, thanking Clieto for her good graces on that year’s harvest. Then we ate and ate and ate. I used to think I had to eat the most on that night, like it would help hold me in the dead of winter when rations were small. I have since learned the stupidity of such a thought. I loved those days, when rivalries were forgotten and the people gathered.

We didn’t go last year. My father said something about the town requesting our absence. I think he meant my absence. He tried to recreate the gathering at our house, making a small meal for us. But it wasn’t the same. He tried, but it just didn’t feel right. They died four months later…in a fire. The town didn’t set it, but they might as well have. We should have gone to the dinner. We shouldn’t have let them exclude us, made us exiles. We should have remained a part of the city. Things might have been different then.

Captain served a game turkey for dinner tonight. I remembered the harvest. I remembered when my family was alive. And then I left for my room and cried.

Fall Soups and Fireplaces

I can feel fall in the air. It’s different here. Back home, fall came with a crisp shift in the wind. It wound down the cliffs, bringing with it thoughts of the arctic. I still remember the cold needles that pricked my skin when it came. On many levels, it felt like jumping into ice water. Breaks in the breeze brought the warmth of Helios’ rays, reminding me that winter had not yet arrived. Then the wind returned, bringing a thinner air. With it, came the sound of rustling leaves. We mainly had pines, but somehow the trees spoke more in the winter. Fireplaces were lit, burning wood perfuming the valley. It was death before the brightness of snow.

It’s different here. I can hear the waves crashing more, promising to bring winter storms shortly. I can still hear the rustling of leaves. I hear that more on this island. The wind brings with it a spritzing of water. It settles on my pores, chilling me in a new way. I still smell the burning of wood in fireplaces, but it’s not sweet like pines. It’s deeper, darker, reminding me that this is not where I belong.

My winter coat has begun to grow. With my clothes as ratty as they are, I find myself welcoming the opportunity to transform. It protects me from the wind, blocking any gust from reaching my skin. Layers upon layers sheltering me. I love the feel, like a fuzzy blanket covering my body, but allowing me still to move freely. I love my coat. Pure white. It’s harder at camp to keep it clean. Many nights, I return with a greyish coat instead. But it is still mine. Do I stand out? Probably. But it doesn’t matter. They see me for only a second before I attack. It’s a challenge, but I would not give it up. White is pure. I have a coat that reflects purity. I like that.

One thing I enjoy about the change of seasons here…Cook has begun making more soups. The boys complain it’s not as filling, that the only reason they make soups is to save costs. I find the soups and stews comforting. They warm me from the core outside, providing a furnace inside against the chill. It is the one comfort that doesn’t remind me of home. Not to mention I’ve made friends with the kitchen hand. He’s a boy about my age; charcoal black hair with striking blue eyes. Xenophanes is his name, but I call him Xeno. He thinks my wolf form is neat. So, if I’m careful, I can sneak to the kitchen just before curfew and he’ll give me an extra ration. He’ll tell me about the drama in the kitchen and I find myself laughing. Hopefully the change in the weather has brought a new change to my existence here. If so, I can see myself liking camp…well, maybe I shouldn’t go that far. But I can tolerate it, at least.

The Dream...or Memory?

I had a dream last night. It was so vivid, so real. It has me afraid to fall asleep tonight. I don’t want to revisit it. I don’t want to think about it. But it haunts me. I’m going to tell you, okay. I’m going to write it down and hope it goes away.

I was in a field. It looked like the ones back home. Pine trees towered above me, blocking the sky. Through patches, I could see the blue, but clouds were starting to cover. I could feel the chill against my skin. A storm was coming. I could smell it, the fresh smell of water that hovered in the air, threatening to drop the temperature. I had been walking a long time. I had been daydreaming. I was miles from home. I had to get back.

I don’t remember what happened after that. The next thing, I was standing, soaked. The rain trickled down on me, kissing my face, dripping from my chin. The woods surrounded me. I normally felt safe in them, not today. They confined me. I was overcome by bark and pine. It threatened to tell. It threatened to fall away and reveal me. But not just me. My hands shook as I looked at the body lying before me. Dead. I have seen dead bodies before. My dad never knew that. He thought I was a kid. He thought I was sheltered from such things in the world. But I wasn’t. My first time seeing a body, I snuck up to the doctor’s office with a friend, but I still can’t picture who. We peered inside. The man was naked on the operating table, chest spread open for the autopsy. I remember the eyes, vacant, clouded. These eyes were not the same. Vacant, yes, but still held the fear.

The rain had dampened the boy’s hair, glistened his button nose. I counted myself lucky. The rain had cleaned what must have been a mess. The scratches and tears in his skin were washed clean, leaving behind raw wounds. I looked down at my trembling hands. I trembled from the cold…it had to be from the cold. I had done nothing wrong. I had just found him. But there was something in my stomach. I could still feel it. The summersaults, the twists. I knew something about this scene. Somehow. I searched all day, but couldn’t remember the gap in my dream. I didn’t do that to him. It looked like teeth marks, but they weren’t mine. It couldn’t be mine. But maybe. The boy was my age. So young.

Why did I dream this? Maybe because I know I’ll have to kill on the battlefield. But it felt so real…like it was real. Like it was a memory. But I’ve never killed anyone. I don’t remember killing anyone. But his eyes stay in my vision. Their terror, their stare. I don’t think I can forget them. What did it all mean?

I am Immortal

It’s been two weeks. I’m still at camp. There were days when I had convinced myself they were just organizing my release. That was until today. I watched Zeno leave camp today. The general called him to the battlefield. He would have graduated in six months, but they needed soldiers, some mission. I don’t get it. The general barely paid attention to him.

I guess he is good. I try to remember that he is human. It’s funny to think that way. I’ve been labeled. I’m Immortal. Therefore I am not human? I feel human. I think human. Sometimes I wonder if they label us so they can justify treating us different. After all, if I were “human” I would not be here at such a young age. If I were “human,” they would never try to label me as the curse of the country. Then again, if I were “human” I would not hold an ability that justifies such a claim. If I were human, I couldn’t run under a four minute mile. If I were human, I couldn’t knock a grown man off his feet. If I were human, I couldn’t transform into a wolf. I like not being human. I like showing off at camp. I can propel myself up the exercise walls without increasing my heart rate. I can laugh at the boys I pass as they struggle not to vomit during our ten mile run once a week. I like feeling stronger than them.

Zeno really was the only one who was any match for me. He’s seven years older than I am, but our strength was becoming almost evenly matched. I hate him. But he challenged me. He was my drive to improve. My stupid war with him kept my mind off the obvious. I am here, training to enter into a war. I am here, training to be a killing machine. I feel sick every time I think of it. I hate him, but what am I without him? He was the only one who could see me for what I am. He didn’t see the wolf. He didn’t see the little girl whose family was murdered. He saw me for who I am and he hated me. But I hated him, too.

I can’t say I was too sad to see him go. Who knows? Maybe camp will be better with him gone. He was grinning as he rode toward the port. But I don’t think he will be grinning on the battlefield. Maybe he will be. He seems more of a natural killer than I will ever be. Maybe he should be their killing machine. I’ll stay here. It’ll be different. I can prove my worth here. But I won’t stay forever. If the general can’t get me out, then I can just get myself out. I am Immortal after all. I am above the human race. I can do it. It’s just going to take some time…and no more distractions.

The General

Today was such a good day! In the twilight of the morning, we prepped the camp; sidewalks were swept, windows were washed, barracks were cleaned, crisp flags were raised. The camp looked almost new by the time we had finished. After breakfast, the captain ordered distribution of our new uniforms. Blue wool. They had been ironed, edges sharp. It felt different, wearing clothes that fit, not feeling the cool breeze drift through worn holes. They felt heavier on my shoulders. But I was warm for the first time since fall had crept into the pines. I did notice my lack of buttons compared to the others. It’s the first time I cared. But I’m different. They don’t have a four paws button. Zeno had six. By far the most. But who cares? I’ll be gone soon, anyway.

We stood in rows. I tried to stand straight, my shoulder back and head held high, listening to the whipping of the flag high above. The grinding of carriage wheels quickened my pulse. I was moments from earning my freedom. Following the black carriage were twenty black horses, marching in unison. The carriage continued, a black hawk flying low under the pines. I could barely keep from bouncing with joy as they stopped. We waited forever, while the soldiers set up the perimeter. I could see their training as they moved. They had graduated from this camp, no doubt. And now they were out. Just like me.

He stood tall, a giant even compared to Captain. His shoulders were so broad; I bet he could pick up a house without much trouble. But his eyes, dark brown, they cut through us. He saw us in our best uniforms, standing without a sway…unimpressed. In fact, the same frown cut his face for the entire time…with one exception. Captain first had me run an obstacle course. I jumped over walls and weaved through debris at record breaking speed, all while the boys threw things at me. They volunteered happily, but no one hit me. I was too quick. I looked at him, wanting to impress, but he remained stone.

Then, came the battlefield. We divided into two colors, except for me. Everyone knew I was on team red. Their swords were wood sticks with sponges dipped in their team’s color. I had to forget about him for a time, focusing on “killing” as many as I could. I stalked the outskirts, watching them. I knew these boys. I knew their movements. When the opportunity presented itself, I attacked. I threw them to the ground, pushing a painted paw against their necks. I wasn’t with a victim for more a few seconds. I cut threw them, driven to take them out, to prove my worth. It was thrilling. When the whistle blew and I turned around I saw it. It was ever so slight, but when we met gazes the corners of his lips turned. He left, but I know I’m getting out of here. Soon.

A Break in Routine

Six months have passed. The days blur into one long routine. I still think my father will walk through the bunkhouse door, his broad shoulders filling the space. He was my protector, my defender. I knew, when I wrapped my fingers around his hand, that nothing could hurt me. Last I saw him, I stood just past his waist. I wonder how tall I’ve gotten here. I wonder, if I stood next to him, if I would stand closer to his shoulders. I want to see him at my door, proclaiming with his big grin that today we will throw out our plans.

I remember one day he announced we were going to a farmer’s market. A wagon train had come in from Amphitrite to sell goods. I remember the wagons. They were taller than my father. I had to strain my neck to see. Makeshift tables lined the streets, the colors of their produce bright against the wood buildings. I only remember bits and pieces, but I remember the colors the most; green apples and orange vegetables, red tomatoes bigger than my fist and corn practically sparkled against the sun. The entire town was out. At some point, someone decided to play their fiddle. I clapped my hands amongst the crowd building.

I remember being disappointed when we left early. My father was mad at something. I don’t remember, but maybe I had wandered off for a time? Anyway, I wish he would come through the door. His smile would take away the gloom, I know. I hope on many nights that he survived, that he’ll come to save me. Then I remember the heat of the flames. He couldn’t save me that night. He was big and tough but couldn’t stop them.

There are no farmer’s markets here. There are no reasons to break from the routine. Rise at dawn, run the camp’s perimeter, eat breakfast, conduct daily chores, attend education class, eat lunch, run the obstacle course, attend weaponry class, combat training, eat dinner, participate in competitions, honorary buttons awarded, go to bed, start again. Tomorrow it changes. General Scopas is visiting. I can feel the vibration from the officers. They are planning big showcases.

I know I will be part of the festivities. The general will want to see my progress. Zeno has spent the day sharpening his swords and polishing his shoes. He cares more about the visit than I. General Scopas is not the farmer’s market. I don’t think he is exciting at all. But, something inside makes me want to please him. Maybe I should polish my shoes and patch the holes in my uniform. Maybe he is the key to leaving. I don’t care if he takes me to the battlefield. I can easily go home from there. Yes. I will show him how great of a solider I am. I will show him that I deserve to leave. Goodnight for now, my friend. There is a lot to prepare.

Who is Pandora?

I remember a meadow a few miles south of our house that occupied most of my afternoons. When my father was done with his morning teachings, I would always migrate there. The pine trees parted, revealing a clear blue sky…most days. Small yellow flowers danced with the green grass. I spent most of the time lost in thought. Looking back, it was silly. I thought about drama with the other children in the city…like who cast me a dirty glare on the street. I would daydream what it’d be like to live normal. Other times, I pretended I was a princess in some faraway land. 

Such time wasted on little thoughts. I have much bigger things to think about now. The biggest? Who am I? Others have their own opinion. King Menelaus, well, he thinks I am a monster. But he is more than willing to use this monster for his own advantage. To him, I am as Cerberus is to Hades, serving and yet untamed. Zeno also sees me as a monster, but maybe not as horrible. Yet, his opinion is shaped by the fact I am his competition. I can beat him in our kilometer sprints. I may not be stronger in hand-to-hand practices, but I am quicker. I stand in the way of him dominating daily tests. Therefore I hinder his pursuit of becoming general. He has never said it, but I know he sees an obstacle when he looks at me. And, worse, a girl. 

His view is annoying. I tire of the competition, especially as I nurse a sprained ankle from an “accident” he undoubtedly caused. That’s okay because he’s nursing a sprained wrist from the same “accident.” Like I said, he’s stronger, but I’m quicker. I still tire of the pursuit. It is not in me. Yet, even with the pain and torment, I would take that over the Captain. He sees an innocent child, which makes things worse. He treats me like a baby with his special privileges. There’s guilt in his eyes. He wants me to be a good warrior and I make him proud when I excel, but he hates training a girl so young. He thinks he is corrupting me. He thinks the boys torment is damaging to me, that I am a weakling he needs to protect. Doesn’t he see his “help” makes things worse? How am I supposed to fit in when he treats me different? 

I find it odd. They all have determined their opinions of me, but I haven’t figured it out. Am I a monster or a victim? A soldier or a child? Do I even like who I am? Do I want something different? Why can they make up their minds when they can’t read my thoughts? How do they know without a doubt who I am when it is a mystery to me? Who am I? Do you know? Can you tell me? Because I don’t think anyone has it right.

Friendship

I lost a friend today. Maybe I never had one in the first place. Her name is Solona, transferred in a few weeks ago. Finally, another girl at the training camp. The Atlantis army doesn’t discriminate, but they certainly like their soldiers male and strong. I’ve come to discover many people doubt a girl’s ability to keep up with the boys. I not only keep up with them, but I am one of the top performers. I break the stereotype and I guess they boys don’t like that. At least that’s what Captain always says. 

Anyway, she came into camp and I immediately introduced myself to her and showed her around. It was so nice to have another person in the bunkhouse. We stayed up late swapping stories about our family back at home. She came from Amphitrite. When her youngest brother was killed by a Zeus scouting party, she felt compelled to fight. I had a running partner and a friend. I should have known it wouldn’t last. The boys wouldn’t allow it to. About four days in, someone soaked our beds in urine. I think it was from the horses. I told her it was nothing, that if she told Captain he would punish the entire group which was counterproductive. I told her I figured Zeno was involved and that I’d figure out a way to get back at him. She cried. I guess Zeno talked the boys into not shunning her. But I got back at Zeno good. I loosened his rope before he repelled down a wooden exercise wall. The perfect scenario because his buddy was blamed for not spotting him correctly. I would feel bad, but the boy had spit in my food a few days before, so it was twice the retribution.

She still stopped talking to me. I tried sitting with her for meal time, but she would inhale her food and leave without a word. I could already see the result, but I think I denied it. Who would want to admit solitude? I guess I thought she would eventually come around. I mean, we had shared stories, we liked the same things, we both wanted to serve our country. I had done nothing bad to her, in fact I often pulled double time to make her look good. I tried to continue this, but it resulted in her yelling at me. Then, during a drill in which we had to cross the river on a rope, she sabotaged me. She went in front of me, showing off her balance to cross without much effort. I was right behind, about halfway across, when she exited the rope. She claimed to have slipped, but every time it replays in my mind, I can see it clear as day. She bounced. The robe shifted and I found myself greeted by the current. The water rushed my lungs, grainy and tasting of fish. I barely swam to the shore before vomiting up what I had swallowed. The boys laughter serenated me.

When I looked up at her, she spat a sorry and left. I heard Captain mention District Two when referencing her to the lieutenant. I guess she would have left me eventually. I just wish she had never come, had never shown me what it was like to have a friend here, had never shown me what it is I am really lacking. Then again, maybe I am meant to be alone, just like the wolf. I thrive by myself. I don't need any of them.

Destiny

I often wonder about destiny. They tell me I am destined for greatness. I can end the war. I am special. I am Clieto’s gift. I am confused by their hype because the men in the carriage called me a curse. They say people died because of me, that I should have died in that fire. It would make everyone safer. I tell myself they said that to justify their actions. They did it because they knew dropping me off here was wrong. But, there is so much about before the fire that I can’t remember. How can I argue with them? But, what am I? Am I a special weapon meant to save the country? Or am I a curse that should be disposed of? They talk of destiny a lot here. We are soldiers. We are destined to serve and fight for our country. They never mention the other destiny. We are destined to die for our country as well. The soldiers accept Captain’s rants of destiny and fight. They whoop and holler at him. They talk at dinner of wanting to be on the battlefield. But there is a big difference between us. They chose to be here. I did not.

Can we choose our destiny? If so, what if I just want to be a girl? What if I want to live in a small town? Maybe not Atlas. I don’t think I can ever go back there. Not after they let Menelaus kill my parents. But I can move to another small town. Live alone and never bother anyone. I find myself straying after evening weaponry lessons, looking at Captain…wanting to beg him. I promise not to hurt anyone. I promise I will be a good girl. If they would just let me go, I promise I will never be a problem again. I don’t know if I killed all those people like the carriage men said. I can’t remember. But I won’t do it again if I did. I promise to never kill, to never transform. If they will just let me go.

But I don’t think we can choose our destiny. I think it is chosen for us. And mine is this. I don’t know why. I don’t think I am worthy. But, Captain tells me I can save the country. Captain says I can save lives. Maybe if I do, they’ll let me go. Maybe they will let me live alone and choose my destiny. But, I’m scared of war. I’m scared to die.

I have to go. Zeno dusted my clothes with some sort of powder and now I have a rash down my back. Doctor told me to come see him before curfew. I am still trying to figure out my retaliation. Maybe the universe is right. Maybe this is my destiny. Maybe I was born for this.

The Smell of Fear

How does someone live as a wolf without becoming an animal? I have often wondered this in the dead of night, when sleep fails and the night is silent. I love the life of a wolf. Back at home, I knew the woods better than my own house. I knew the pattern of the bark against the sky. I knew the folds of the land and the curves of the rivers. One glance at my surrounding and I could give my exact location from town, down to the last measured millimeter. Better than sight, I love the smells of home. I could be half a day away, and still pick up the wholesome brewing of mom’s stew. I long for the feel of fall air sifting through my fur, like Clieto’s soft hands running down my back.

The smells and sights are different here. This little island is practically void of trees, although there are a few still surrounding the beaches. I can hear the tide at night. It took one time mentioning how the stormy waters kept me up at night—one subsequent eye roll—to realize no one else heard the sound…and believed I hadn’t either. This island reeks with the smell of fear. Fear cast an interesting smell. Almost like wild dandelions soaked in vinegar. That contrast of sweet and bitter is unforgettable. I smell it a lot on the boys. They are scared. It seeps in their sweat as they practice combat skills. It saturates the room when we learn battle strategies and discuss the army’s current movements in the war. It permeates the most when Captain makes me hunt them. They are easy marks in these exercises. It’s another excuse for them to hate me, which would be worth it if I was challenged. But, I wonder if the cost of this practice is too high.

My wolf form is no longer relaxing. It is a means to an end. It is a weapon for their battle. I can never transform unless there is a mission behind it. Sometimes I think Captain worries about my transformation. He is training a killer animal. He is training a weapon of death. He should be worried about harnessing such a trait. It all makes me question....can I be a wolf and still be human? When I roam as a wolf, I sometimes feel it inside me. I feel different. I feel instincts I never feel when on two legs. Should I be worried like Captain? Should I not like being in wolf form? Will it ultimately change me into an animal…into a curse?

Zeno does not smell like fear. He does not look away from me when he sees my fur. That is when I can smell my own fear start to seep.

Liars and Wars

“When we get to Neptune Island, it’ll all be okay.” That’s what the men said, the guards who brought me here. I wonder if Clieto really does strike liars down with lightening like my mother always said. I suspect she lied about this…there’s a term for that, I bet. The thought of them being hit from the heavens makes me smile. If they are not sorry for bringing me here, then I am not sorry for smiling. Although, maybe they are in fact still breathing, transporting some new precious cargo somewhere else. I must say today was the first day I began to believe them.

 It started with cold water dumped on me early this morning. I think I had only slept for half the night, but that icy liquid stole my breath and woke every nerve in my body. I knew what it was. Captain was conducting another late night training exercise. He likes to say we won’t sleep on the battlefield, so shouldn’t become too used to such a luxury. I think he is dumb sometimes. They didn’t even let me change, rushing me out to formation. It was dark, but Selene was full and the white light bright enough to confirm the rest did have wet hair, but dry clothes. Guess it’s my curse for being the last on the list to wake. We began our run through the island perimeter. About a quarter in, Zeno stepped on my shoe. I still don’t know how he did it without breaking formation, but I should have known not to let him run behind me. I felt the strap break before the tug. The scratches from my fall still sting. Worse, as I watched the group move away, I knew I would have to run barefoot. But, I promised myself long ago not to let them see me cry. So I took off the other shoe and powered on. I felt every rock and pebble on the ground jab into my feet, but I pushed on. I am the true soldier. All their efforts to break me only prove it.

Besides, Captain chewed Zeno out in front of the entire group when he didn’t clean out the bunk house. He claimed his name wasn’t on the schedule, which it wasn’t until it somehow appeared there. I couldn’t help but wink at him as I passed by on the way to combat training. I know I started a war, but really it already existed. I will worry about that tomorrow. For now, as I can feel every pore as I soak my foot in the salt solution the doctor assigned for my cuts, I know witnessing that look on his face makes all the pain worth it. So, Clieto, maybe you shouldn’t strike the carriage drivers down with lightning just yet.

New Beginnings

I think of my father a lot. I think of his green eyes watching me as I play in the field behind our house. If I close my eyes hard enough, I can almost smell the sweet pine. I think that smell will always linger with me...telling me I'm home. But, without fail, the musky smell of a mattress slept on for too many nights breaks through and I am reminded. He's gone. The house is gone in a fire. And I am not home.

The training camp is okay. At least King Menelaus is at least a week away. He can't come for me in the dead of night. He can't snatch me away from this bed. I want to blame him for my lack of friends here. I want to say it is because I fear watching them burn as I did my family. But that would be a lie. I have tried to make friends. I have tried to fit in amongst these soldiers in training. The bruise aching on my back reminds me of their hate. Maybe I am not meant to fit in anywhere. Maybe I am destined to be alone. Maybe I should just accept this training camp as the start of a new life.

I hear the night guard coming to check the barracks. If they find the journal, they will take it. Goodbye for now, my only trusted friend.