~Burdon~

We-the werewolves of Anjustlia-can be under water for half hour, or so, without needing to breathe. We, Werewolves of Anjustlia, are strongest thing in Anjustlia. We are even stronger than other werewolves-not saying that to be offensive or anything.

∞

I was swimming up to the surface when all of the sudden one of my visions-sometimes when I am... in possible danger, I guess-came upon me.

SPLASH!
I bolted up a second later from my dreams, soaking wet. From head to toe. Not inch of me was dry.
Someone was laughing their head off, and I noticed that my twin brother is standing over me with a pail in his hand, a smug look on his face, showing his white teeth beneath his smirk. I put the two together, and I glared at him.
"Why did you do that?!" I snapped, demandingly; still glaring daggers at him.
"So you'll wake up, of course," said my brother, mockingly. "A future king has got to learn to wake up without someone telling him." I could that he paused on purpose, and with a smirk like that, no good could come from that. "Like a little pup."
Staring at him in the eye, I growled at him, showing my teeth. "I would watch what you say if I were you."
I noticed that my twin opened his mouth to say something, when someone from behind said, "But he's not you."
I swung my head up just as my brother swirled around, and we had both came face-to-face with our Father.
Ugh, I thought, worried. We're both in trouble then. I glanced to the side to see that my twin brother had the same worried expression. He's covering his face with his hair, like he always does.
I noticed that my Father glanced at me, then my brother, before returning his glaze to me, and saying, "You may be twins, but you both have different purposes. Never doubt that."
"Yes, Father," my similar-looking brother and I said in union.
"Good. Now, Evlât, come with me."
"Yes, Father," I said in monotone, standing up from my wet bed, and I followed after him like a lamb.

∞∞∞

"So...? What do you think?" asked my Father as we passed the enormous, loud, hissing machines. He asked it in such a way that I would've thought that he cared, had I not knew him.
"About what?" I inquired. All I see is a bunch of wires, and what seems like a waste of machinery.
I heard him sigh, as if he was disappointed. Of course he is disappointed! When isn't he?!
Without any warning of some sort, he stopped all of the sudden, and I almost tripped over the wire in front of me. But, I balanced on my left leg in such a way that I looked like a crane, and I straighten out so I was standing on both feet.
"About," and he gestured towards the equipment that's surrounding us, "All of this."
I was about to speak when there was a loud 'HISS' and suddenly I had a strange steam in my face. Immediately afterwards I had a coughing fit-where I couldn't seem to stop.
Around halfway through it, I felt someone holding my shoulders and smacking my back repeatedly, causing me to cough even harder.
My Father? I wondered. Nah, not possible.
It seems like five minutes that it seemed like I have had a whooping cough, when I heard him say, "It's okay. You're alright; you'll be fine. It happens all the time, you'll get used to it."
What if I don't want to? I thought, in a slightly snappish way, before I drew in a breath and another fit started almost instantly after I finally sucked in some air. I gain air, only to lose it in a second.
I still felt the hands on my shoulders and the whacking on my back, as I listened to him say, "Just let it out. The more you get out, the better. It will be dangerous if you let any of that stay inside of you."
Where was this man when I was sick or in pain?! I silently demanded as I seemed to be coughing up everything in my system, including blood.
"I can't have you dying on me yet," I heard my Father finish. "Not until I'm finished."
I stand corrected; he's still the same person.
After a few minutes later, I, blessedly, managed to take a breath and not having another relapse. With that, the hands were off of my back, and no one was smacking my back anymore.
I'm on my knees, while resting my head on my arms and hands, when I mumbled, "Is that all I am to you?"
"What's that?"
"I said," raising my head to look him in the eye, "Is that all I am to you?" I demanded. I saw my Father scrunched his eyebrows together, resulting in him looking more angry than he already is.
"I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, reaching out from where he was crouching in front of me, and placing his hand on my shoulder.
"Don't touch me!" I growled, shoving off his hand, which, of course, he had to extend his claws in to my shoulder. I grunted as the pain flared up in my shoulder.
"Don't talk to me like, Evât." Deathly calm.
"Or what? You'll punish me? Beat me? Whip me? Torch me?" I barely got the last word out when my head was snapped back hard, the result of him slapping me. I felt something wet on my lip, and, from previous experience, I had a good idea of what it was.
Swiping across my lip with my finger, I saw blood covering my finger. From a simple slap came a cut, which then came blood. And I sick and tired of seeing this happen. Why does this have to be this way? Why won't I ever put a stop to it, so I don't ever have to see my blood again?
Before I could say anything 'smart mouthy,' my so-called Father said, in his calm, but angrily tone, "Those things that I've done to you would seem like child's play if you don't start behaving!"
"You'll beat me anyways, so what's the point?!" I hissed as my Father dig his claws deeper in to my shoulder. He just looked at me with such anger that I almost looked away-almost.
"I can do things that you can't even imagine."
"Good for you! Who cares?!"
"You. You will, trust me." And he leans forward to whisper in my ear, "Because I know there's a monster side of you." With that, he removes his claws from my shoulder, stands up, and steps back.
I opened my mouth to object when I felt something in my throat that was trying to claw its way out. I gasped, holding my throat with my hands, trying so desperately to breathe. It's like a animal that is climbing for its release.
"I'm sorry that it had to come to this, but you leave me no choice!"
My body jerked, similar to what would happen with a seizure. My body shook with such uncontrollability that I was worried that I would be stuck with twitching like this for forever.
"Now... What shall I have you do?" asked my Father, rhetorically, before crouching down in front of me.
As he was talking, my bones started to crack and bend. I clenched my fist, to help take my mind off the fact that my bones were literally being snapped in half, before I realized that, that action cause my hands to become claws. I growled in pain and annoyance as my teeth began to sharpen into canines. I glanced up at the man who I called 'Father' and I gave him a death glare before I collapsed.

∞∞∞

I opened my eyes to see my Father standing above me with the biggest, wicked grin I have ever since in my entire life. It sorta reminded me of the time when he found out I could actually do what he wanted me to do. And I hated it. But there was nothing I could do; not with him in control of my body and all. I can hardly even tell myself to blink, twitch my fingers, to think even-never mind, to regain control over my body.
"Now... Who should I show your monster side?" spoke my not-worthy-of-his-title Father as he circled around me.
I would've said something along the line of, "I'll never do anything of the such for you, you stupid, blubbering dog!" But I, sadly, wasn't in command of my body anymore, so... I heard myself say, "To whoever you would like, Father."
He looked at me with such a devious, wicked gleam in his eye, that I was more worried than I pretty much was than ever before.
I so hope that no one will die from this, but, knowing my biological Father, many people will unfortunately die. I wish I could stop him, but I can't even move; I hardly hardly even think with him in command.
"Good. Now, let's go and bring terror down to them. Let's show them why they should fear us!" My biological Father said that with such excitement that you would think he was a psychopath. Or wait... he is one. I would know, I spend quite a bit of time with him.
And, quite unfortunately, I heard myself say, "Oh, yes! They shall learn to fear our name!"
That was all that my birth Father allowed me to see, or rather, remember. Everything else is a complete, and utter blank. But I think, when I woke up the next morning, that I saw a bit of dried blood underneath my fingernails, so I knew someone had died. I can't remember who though, which is the sad thing, I don't even know who I have killed, so I can't offer my consoles. My so-called Father seemed extra cheery this morning, so I knew it was someone that he didn't like-I get the feeling that the man, or woman, or a multitude of people most likely didn't like him either-and he was trying to get rid of them.
Speaking of which, he just had the courage to walk up to me, put his arms around my shoulder, and say, "What a beautiful day it is! Don't you agree?"
I growled at him, making him raise one eyebrow, but I didn't care anymore... not anymore. "What did you make me forget?!"
"All in due time, my son, all in due time." With that, he pat me on the back and walk away like nothing had just occurred.
It might've been either my animal side talking, or the side effect of my monster side coming out, but I was really tempted to stick a knife in his back, and watch him die. Before I actually did it, I saw my 'Father' turn around and, smirking all the way, he asked me, "By the way, how's that elf girl of yours doing?"

I was jerked away from the vision as hands grabbed me around the waist, pulling me upwards towards the surface. Luckily they have promised never to speak of my visions after they have occurred, and that they would act as normal as they could when they do.

∞

When we reach the surface of the water, just on the edge of our island-in the water; the sea now-Malhaw, "That was fun!"
"Yeah, that was fun!"
"Malhaw?" I asked, trying not to laugh.
"Yeah?" asked Malhaw, smiling from ear to ear.
"You got ash all over your face," said our Father, trying not to laugh.
"Don't you think I know that? After all, I'm half day-vampire, and they get ash on their face when in water," said Malhaw, expect not in a mean way.
"You look so weird with ash on your face, and so funny," I teased.
"Like you don't ever look weird," snapped Malhaw, suddenly becoming mean.
"I don't think I have," I said, smirking.
"Well at least I knew my moth-"
"That's enough!" yelled Father. "Malhaw you know you look weird and funny when you are underwater, or just come out of the water. So why get upset about it?"
"Because everyone tease me about it, especially Burdon!" yelled Malhaw.
"Brothers and sisters usually teased other about stuff-even half-brothers and half-sisters do it. Now what do you say to Burdon?"
Facing me, Malhaw said, "I'm sorry for what I said about me knowing my mother and you not knowing your mother."
"It's ok. I just got something to say," I said, with a smirk on my face.
"What?" asked Malhaw.
"At least my mother isn't a day-vampire,"
I teased. He had it coming for him; and kinda of deserves it, for saying that I never knew my mother, and he did. Or, at least, that was what he was going to say.
"Hey!" yelled Malhaw.
"You know there is a human saying, 'Hay is for horses,'" I mocked. Father and I, both, laugh. And Malhaw looks quite embarrassed; pink appearing on his cheeks. He did get himself into that one; he moved right into that one.
"Come on, we got a long way to go," said my Father, as soon as we finished laughing.
"Why don't we take Leahna instead of swimming all the way there?" asked Malhaw.
"Because she's carry all our stuff," said our Father; tense.
"Or you're just upset that Seana is dead and Leahna reminds you of Seana," said Malhaw, trending on dangerous grounds.
Father's eyes flash dangerously. "I told you never to mention her name! Never to mention her ever again! You got that?!"
"Yes, father," said Malhaw, with his head down.
"Good."

∞

One time a vision came across me as I was swimming towards shore.

I woke to pain flaring across my cheek. The familiar feeling of being slapped.
"Get up, you poor excuse of a son!" boomed the sad of excuse of a father I have. And he sounded pretty angry and annoyed-a bad combination.
I'm the poor excuse?! I seriously couldn't help but think. Saids the who doesn't even deserve the title of 'Father!' And why does it feel like I'm swaying?
"Get up!" yelled the psycho.
And suddenly my face was against the wooden boards of the floor rather than the comfortable pillows on my bed.
I groaned. Hello, floor. How lovely to see you again. My name is Ecoè. But, of course, it didn't respond. At least it doesn't hurt me-besides the splinters it gives me here and there, but that's usually because of the nut case above me.
"Oh, get up!"
A kick to the ribs a second later.
I moaned. Lovely, I thought sarcastically, as I pulled myself to where I am on my knees and my head on my forearms. "I'm up! I'm up!" I exclaimed before he could kick me again. So to prove that I was up, I raised my head.
What I saw was the beds that are normally on boats. The small-basically-on-top-of-each other bunk beds, that my legs would stick out like two feet off the edge of the beds. Also, the roof-or floor, depending on which level you're on-was rather low, or at least for me, and there was portholes in the walls. And everything was low and tight.
Then there was the person who actually calls himself my father. He's scowling down at me. A expression mix of anger, annoyance, and disgust.
He looks so happy. So overfilled with joy!
"What do you want?" I asked, a bit snappish. I do not enjoy being woken up.
Surprisingly he didn't slap me for that.
"It took you forever to wake up."
"Sorry if me sleeping interrupts you trying to rule the world," I replied with, bitterness in my voice.
The tyrant took a single threatening step forward, "Ecoè," threatened the crazed so-called king. "I would watch that mouth of yours."
"Have fun! I'm sure it's very entertaining to watch my mouth!" I mocked.
The madman struck out with his hand towards me, and before I could defend myself, he lashed onto my throat. I let out a gasp as he squeezed down my windpipe-efficiently cutting off my air supply, but not enough to make me black out-and rose me off the ground.
He glowered at me; glaring fiercely-eyes filled with madness, fury, hate, and something else that I can't seem to identify.
"You are so lucky that I promise your mother that I would make sure that you are safe," hissed out the crazy psycho.
How is torturing me keeping me 'safe' exactly? I wondered, as I tried to fight his hold around my neck. But he didn't seem to notice it.
"Else I probably would have had you killed a long time ago... had you no purpose," admitted my sociopath of a father.
But that was right before he loosened his hold around my throat slightly, and throwing me through the air; causing me to slam into a bed frame a few feet away. I screamed out in pain as the back of my neck crashed into the wooden posts of the bed.
And as I laid there, silently wishing that this never had happened, a hand appeared in front of my face. I raised my head to see the lunatic in front of me with his hand outstretched with... kindness in his eyes-tenderness too. Something I haven't seen in him since I was six years old.
'Is he bipolar? Have a multiple personality disorder? Because I want to know why he seems so... nice right now.'
I noticed how he gestured for me to take his hand, saying reassuringly, "It's okay. Let me help you."
"Help me? Like how you 'helped' me all these years?" I growled. "What do you think my mother would say if she saw you right now? With whipping, beating, and torturing me?"
Surprisingly, instead of the usual smacking across the face, he jerked back like he was stung. Or slapped himself.
Why does he look so stunned, so offended? He knows what he has done. Did he really expected me to take his hand?
The mad, crazed man was about to say something when someone-a soldier or a sailor-stomped down the stairway to interrupt him by informing him that we were going to dock soon.
A flash of frustration was on and off the cuckoo man's almost quick enough to be missed, but I noticed it. Too bad the sailor didn't that as the person he called 'Your Majesty' turned to face him.
"Thank you for telling me, you may go now," ordered the tyrant, harshly, to the tall, blonde soldier.
"Yes, sir!" saluted the blue-eyed, blonde-haired man, before stepping out of the room and up the narrow staircase.
As as the man walked out, the looney tunes of a king shifted his weight so he faced me. No expression on his face, like normal-not including the madness, anger, frustration, cruelty, annoyance, et cetera, et cetera. He's back to his old self, sadly.
"So?" The maniac asked, his hand out again. "Are you coming or not?"
"Do I have a choice?" I snapped from my spot on the ground.
The psychopath in front of me laughed like the madman he is. And as soon as he stopped, he simply said, "No."
"Thought not. But I was hoping that you would give me a choice for once," I replied bitterly.
For the second time that day, the sociopath ignored my comments and didn't slap me. Which is odd because he's usually slap happy.
"Get up, and come with me," commanded the mad tyrant, his hand still outstretched.
I stood up from the awkward position I was in, but I ignored his hand-shoving it away-and walked passed him.
Without missing a beat, the looney tunes of a king walked up behind me and patted me on my back, saying, "Good choice." Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Remember what I had said."
I meant what he had meant, and I hated him for it.

Why
Can't
He
Just
Leave
Them
Alone?

A/N: #1 of what I owe you guys

Question(s) of the chapter:
What's your favorite animal? Write/ type it down in the comment section. I love wolves(some say that I'm addicted)! Do we have any other wolf lovers out there?

SC ©

End of A/N