As They See It
Chapter One
My name is Luka. I’m an 18 year old werewolf. Why would an 18 year old be writing in a journal you may ask? Because I’m being forced to. Long story short, I’ve never been one to follow rules, I got in trouble with the law and now I have to be part of some reform program or go to jail. I think the choice was obvious.
So, here I am. This reform program sounds stupid, and I doubt it’ll help. I’ve got to see a therapist daily. Along with that, I actually have to start attending school and getting decent grades. Of course they don’t expect a dumbass like me to be smart, so I have a tutor. I haven’t met them yet, but I’m sure I’ll hate the kid.
Along with all of that, I have to write in this journal, to “get my emotions out.” Yeah right. Sounds like a bunch of shit to me. They also expect me to stop smoking, as “kids my age shouldn’t be hurting themselves in that way.” Screw that, if I wanna fuck up my body I’ll do it, and I should be allowed to.
I’ve gotta go meet my stupid new tutor kid in a few. Hopefully they’ll ditch this journal idea and I can burn this thing.
This shrink says I should write about who I am, what my childhood was like.
To put it nicely, it was shitty.
My parents were hardly around, and I ran away from “home” when I was 14; not like they really noticed. Of course, by parents I mean my father and step-mother, or the fifth one. My mother died a few months after I was born, as is expected when a human gives birth to a supernatural. My father wasted no time getting more women, the ladies man he was. Inbetween women he was a pretty alright dad, I guess. I don’t really remember.
After I left home, I went down south. I was homeless for a while, jobless too. Who would hire a scrawny little wolf boy, right? Especially in the South. Those were my golden years though. I actually felt free. No one expected anything of me, if they even knew I existed. No pack responsibilities.
But as all good things, it ended. Some humans found me, told them I was an orphan, and they put me in a boys home. I hated that place, but I fit right in. Problematic, trouble-making, dirty kids everywhere. I stayed there for about a year, before the law placed me in the care of some snooty rich family. They had a daughter that was a few years older than me. She wasn’t the most behaved child, and I clung to her. We were instant friends, I guess, I looked up to her, admired her even.
She gave me my first sip of booze, my first puff of a cigarette when I was only fifteen. Somehow she convinced me she was in love with me, and I believed her. Crazy bitch only wanted to fuck.
A few days later I caught her with another guy, so I ran away again. My little heart crushed and my tail between my legs.
I found myself homeless again, but shortly after some old man found me going through his garbage can in the alleyway. He took me under his wing, clothed me and fed me. He enrolled me into school and was generally a pretty alright guy.
A year passed and I was sixteen. I was on my feet again. I weighed more than 100 pounds, and I had a pretty good job, I even had pretty okay grades in school. But of course, as we all know, good things end, abruptly. The old man died, and I was on the streets again. I still had my job, and I managed to scrounge up enough money to get myself a shitty little apartment in the bad part of town. I met some people there, started doing some bad things.
It’s been a couple years of that now, and this is where we I am now. I was pretty happy, but that’s over now. I gotta go be friends with some little goody-two-shoes and get my shit together.
I have to go meet this kid now, so I guess this is goodbye. Hopefully forever.
So, here I am. This reform program sounds stupid, and I doubt it’ll help. I’ve got to see a therapist daily. Along with that, I actually have to start attending school and getting decent grades. Of course they don’t expect a dumbass like me to be smart, so I have a tutor. I haven’t met them yet, but I’m sure I’ll hate the kid.
Along with all of that, I have to write in this journal, to “get my emotions out.” Yeah right. Sounds like a bunch of shit to me. They also expect me to stop smoking, as “kids my age shouldn’t be hurting themselves in that way.” Screw that, if I wanna fuck up my body I’ll do it, and I should be allowed to.
I’ve gotta go meet my stupid new tutor kid in a few. Hopefully they’ll ditch this journal idea and I can burn this thing.
This shrink says I should write about who I am, what my childhood was like.
To put it nicely, it was shitty.
My parents were hardly around, and I ran away from “home” when I was 14; not like they really noticed. Of course, by parents I mean my father and step-mother, or the fifth one. My mother died a few months after I was born, as is expected when a human gives birth to a supernatural. My father wasted no time getting more women, the ladies man he was. Inbetween women he was a pretty alright dad, I guess. I don’t really remember.
After I left home, I went down south. I was homeless for a while, jobless too. Who would hire a scrawny little wolf boy, right? Especially in the South. Those were my golden years though. I actually felt free. No one expected anything of me, if they even knew I existed. No pack responsibilities.
But as all good things, it ended. Some humans found me, told them I was an orphan, and they put me in a boys home. I hated that place, but I fit right in. Problematic, trouble-making, dirty kids everywhere. I stayed there for about a year, before the law placed me in the care of some snooty rich family. They had a daughter that was a few years older than me. She wasn’t the most behaved child, and I clung to her. We were instant friends, I guess, I looked up to her, admired her even.
She gave me my first sip of booze, my first puff of a cigarette when I was only fifteen. Somehow she convinced me she was in love with me, and I believed her. Crazy bitch only wanted to fuck.
A few days later I caught her with another guy, so I ran away again. My little heart crushed and my tail between my legs.
I found myself homeless again, but shortly after some old man found me going through his garbage can in the alleyway. He took me under his wing, clothed me and fed me. He enrolled me into school and was generally a pretty alright guy.
A year passed and I was sixteen. I was on my feet again. I weighed more than 100 pounds, and I had a pretty good job, I even had pretty okay grades in school. But of course, as we all know, good things end, abruptly. The old man died, and I was on the streets again. I still had my job, and I managed to scrounge up enough money to get myself a shitty little apartment in the bad part of town. I met some people there, started doing some bad things.
It’s been a couple years of that now, and this is where we I am now. I was pretty happy, but that’s over now. I gotta go be friends with some little goody-two-shoes and get my shit together.
I have to go meet this kid now, so I guess this is goodbye. Hopefully forever.