Benign -
There was a lot I didn't...a lot I couldn't know.
I understood that now.
I hate, hate, hated it, but I understood.
My mouth was shut in a tight, cold line as I watched dark, heavy clouds make their way over the moon, devouring the last of the light for the night. I looked down at my miniscule feet, scratching the fur between my eyes with my right paw. I made a quiet grumbling noise before settling in more snugly in the too-bright orange locks on Poppa's head.
I was unspeakably glad I was a mouse right now.
Pop always had a way of sensing when I was awake when I was in...in 'human' form, and the look on my face would give me away. I knew it.
I looked over to Dad, whose long, thin arm was draped over his eyes; his hair disorderly and tangled, covering the ground surrounding his head like a thin, poorly-sewn cloth.
Dad's hair was fading in and out between silver and brown--a sure sign he was dreaming, and dreaming of his past.
Neither Dad, nor Pop spoke about their pasts, but sometimes I'd heard Dad talking in his sleep, jabbering off in German--Pop told me once he'd been...Pop always stuttered as he said the word 'imprisoned', so it was a little hard to understand, but I knew. Dad had been sent to Germany for experiments.
Dad sometimes let me listen to some of the music when we would visit town. The music he had smuggled into where he was kept: German rock bands. Oomph! was my favorite, but Dad preferred Rammstein. I never liked the synthetic sound they had, though. Dad would just laugh.
Laugh...The crickets resounded happily into the night as I squeaked, jumping as Pop shifted in his sleep. I paused, waiting for his breathing to even out again before shifting.
I didn't dare look behind myself and into the abyss that used to be a forest. I didn't want to see the silhouettes of trees change to silhouettes of demons. But not monstrous demons, no. Not demons with horns and eight eyes and claws. I didn't mind those. I liked them.
But the...the 'Human' demons, with their evil stares, and their muttered insults under their hypocritical breaths.
I learned about them recently. I learned that...there was more to the world than just 'people'.
The ones with two legs, and two arms, and an oddly long body...People like Pop...they were called 'human'.
Everything else was 'animal'.
I shuddered, looking down at Pop's face. He was sleeping...so peacefully...I felt a surge of annoyance.
Who was he, the polar opposite of Dad, to sleep soundly while Dad was suffering? He, the human, the cause of all our worries, the reason I was orphaned and ended up at the Farm to begin with.
He was the reason there was a Halfer-Farm to begin with.
The reason we all had to be 'owned' and branded.
I looked between my fathers. I knew I was being unfair. I didn't care. Pop's hair grew a lot faster than Dad's and it was nearly to his chin, now--a miniscule amount compared to Dad's Rapunzel-worthy hair. Pop was the short, muscle to Dad's tall, lean physique. Pop was the insane pale to Dad's pleasant mocha color. Pop was the shock of orange in Dad's calm silver. Pop was the joke, and Dad was the conversation.
An owl hooted from somewhere behind me and I jumped again, shaking with instinctual fear of the predator mixed with my newly discovered dislike of the dark.
I immediately felt less angry at Pop, than I felt young, and scared, and angry at Dad and Pop's blatant withholding of information.
I wished Dad was awake. I wished he was up and could hold me and tell me stories about his old best friends and the adventures he and Pop had when they were a member of a strange group.
I couldn't let Pop know, though.
I didn't want him to see me as a little kid that needed to be taken care of. I didn't want him to worry about me; to see me as less than what I'd tried so hard to be in his eyes.
I had to be an angry, head-strong, brat that jumped head-first into
things without considering things like fear.We were all liars, in our own ways.
It was disgusting.
But we were okay.
-
Welllp.
Dassabout it. :P
