I'm getting tired. Tired of always being lost, always losing...my way, my fight, my heart.I'll quietly make my way back into Furinkan. I'll walk the lonely streets full of people who don't know who I am. I'll find my way to her house and stand outside. I'll let my heart hope for a liitle while before I clench it back inside my dark, hollow chest, snuffing out the infatuation a little longer.
She's probably asleep, snuggled in her oversized pajamas that any normal person would trip and fall in. But not her, no, she must be graceful. She's a woman, she was born with it. Born to grace and beauty and poise and men.
He's asleep, too. His snores could be heard streets away. He's wearing very little; underwear, tank top. Hair is probably still pulled back in that ridiculous little braid. His blanket is kicked off his warm body, too warm for these summer nights. He could heat an igloo with his inner fire. I've felt it.
I sit in the street, laying my pack at my back and using my umbrella as something to hold on to, to support me. I can take this time to think; everyone normal is asleep at this hour. I've never been normal, and I rarely sleep.
Those mad thoughts enter my walking mind again. Why do I keep coming back here? She wants him. She was promised him. He was promised her. There is no room for anything else. And I am certainly a thing; I have never truly been a man. My fangs are too obvious. Throw in my curse and I am even less human. I'm more animal than the others. He becomes a she, his father a panda, his friends a duck, a cat. I was more animal before becoming a pig. I don't know if there's enough human left in me to scrounge up to even call me 'boy'.
My mind gets as lost as I do. What was I thinking...oh, yes. Why do I return.
He loves her, I think. It's hard to see who he loves, in all honesty. But I do think he loves her. He loves a lot of 'hers'. A lot of 'hers' want him, too. I wonder what he would think if he knew a 'he' wanted him. Still wants him.
I would like to think he was mine first. We've known each other for so long. We went to the same school, before this. Before his hordes of fiancees. Before her. He was mine, and I remember it. I remember the touching, the punching, the hugging, the kicking, the kissing. Boys call it experimenting. Wolves call it finding your mate. He was mine first, but he didn't know, because he thought I was just a boy and boys help each other out.
I remember the feel of him in my hand. In my mouth. In me. I don't know if she can give him what I gave him. The spiteful side of me, the animal side of me, hopes she can't even come close.
My mother once told me everyone has another side. The animal has a tamer. The monster has a heart. She found her other side in my father. Then they lost each other. Then they lost me. But I never once lost that dream. The dream of my other side.
I found my other half in him. I thought he found something in me. He led me to believe he had. We met everyday before school. We trained. We mated. We went to class. We went to lunch. We fought. We got each other off. We finished classes. We kissed under the trees. We went home. Every day. The same routine. Like lovers.
I suppose if I don't have him, then I really don't have anyone. I thought fighting for her would do something to him. Make him see me. But all he sees is her. He sees a lot of 'hers'. I fought for one, his intended her, but I don't think he noticed that. I was just another opponent. That's all I will ever be.
I can smell the morning coming. The thick night air gives way to fresh morning breezes and the world wakes up. I can see the horizon lightening in the distance, over miles of grass and civilization. I stand, using my umbrella to drag myself to my feet. I haul my pack back up onto my shoulders. My umbrella goes through its straps on the top of my bag, no longer needed.
If I could do this all over again, I would tell him how I felt before he'd have left me. He would probably have beaten me bloody and left me for dead. But I don't think I'd feel so lonely now if I had said something then. The hurt wouldn't go away. I'd still be hurting. But I would never have tracked him down just to see him be married off to some girl. I wouldn't be feeling this ache that tells me that if I had said something, he would know, but I kept quiet and he only thinks of me as a distraction now. He's already written in his journal about the days from before and those pages have been forgotten. I've been forgotten.
The wind picks up and blows my hair over my ears. I remember that I'd last sent a postcard from Nepal. Turning east, I head in the direction of the sunrise. I should get lost again.
The End
