My hand closes around the thin plastic, and my stomach growls. Under my breath, I growl back at it.

   I walk the bread over to the cashier. A girl, probably about sixteen. All at once I take in the piercing, the makeup, the perfect manicure, and the dull look in her eyes. At sixteen, she has nothing to worry about. Her future is the farthest thought from her mind, the biggest problem in her life being her father forcing her to get a job. I wish that was true for me.

   She scans the price tag on the bread, then looks at me, waiting for me to fork over the cash. I lay a crumpled twenty dollar bill in her hand. I have no patience for change, nor for her attitude. I want to get home as soon as possible. They need me.

   After a moment, she hands me my change and the bread, and then goes back to the magazine she'd been paging through before I forced her to do her job.

   Frowning, I leave the store. The bread held tight in my clenched fist, my other hand buried deep in the pocket of my hoodie. I walk through the parking lot to the street, check that's it's clear (like there'd be traffic for some magical reason) and then dart across.

   The woods welcome me like the old friend I am, and the calming effect they have on me is remarkable. I'm at home in the woods. The woods is my home.

   I stand for a minute, there at the mouth of the woods, breathing in it's ancient scent, before I start my walk home. My family and I, we live about a forty minute walk from town. In the winter, when the temperatures are dangerously cold, we reside in a little cabin in the woods. It's my second home.

   As I walk, a tune I remember from my childhood comes to my mind. Over the river and through the woods, to grandmother's house we go... I smile, the song reminding me of my carefree younger self. Even then I loved music, and I must have loved that song, for it to have stuck in my brain for all these years.

   I make the long journey through the woods, without encountering any problems. Except for the ones that are constantly swimming figure eights through my brain.

   I stomp my muddy boots off on the front porch, then I open the front door to the house and yell, "I'm home!"

   A flurry of excitement greets my words. The triplets have come racing down the hall, their chubby little legs and arms flying all over in their rush to tackle me. They hit me all at once, and I can't help but fall on my butt.

   "Stop it, you little devils!" I squeal as they climb all over me. "You'll squash the bread!"

   One by one they hop off, and their attention averts to the loaf that is at my side. Their eyes widen, fixated on the bread. I stand, brush myself off, and then head into the kitchen where I know my mother must be anxiously waiting.

   There she is, her pale face at the window, a hand placed on the side of her face like it always is when she's worried. To call my mother pretty is an understatement, in my opinion. With her long, curly red hair, smooth pale skin, and green eyes, I can't see her as anything but beautiful. Even though she's almost thirty five years old with nine kids, I still think she looks like a twenty year old. I hope I can be as beautiful as her someday.

   "Hi mom, I'm back from town." I tell her, placing a kiss on her cheek. She smiles at me, and I smile back, and I know we're both relieved. She hates sending me to town on my own, but she just can't leave the house while dad's gone.

   "How was it, dear?" She asks casually, taking the loaf of bread over to the counter.

   "Oh, same as it always is. Busy people worrying about their busy lives and not giving little me a second thought."

   She gives me a wry smile. "That's how they always are. " She pauses, looking up from her dishes and out the window, again. "When I was young, I was fascinated by the humans. Their lives were so simple and easy at a glance, and yet so complex at the same time. They were a puzzle to me, a puzzle I spent years trying to solve. That is until, one day, I realized there is no answer."

   My eyes follow her, captivated. My mom has always been a very quiet person, but when she speaks it was with such a wisdom I wonder if she is really centuries old instead of middle aged.

   "What was your life like, growing up?"

   "Very much like yours, I suppose. I was from a big family, twelve children total. Except I was the baby of the family. My sister and I, we were always treated like children. It was wonderful, until I turned sixteen. Then, suddenly, I was in the real world. No one was cutting me any slack anymore."

   I nod, shifting uncomfortably. This conversation was leading down a road I wasn't prepared for, yet. Thankfully, a scratching at the back door pulled me out of the suddenly confining kitchen.

   I walk down the hall and open the thick wooden door. There, on the front mat, stands a huge dark gray wolf. Mouth covered in blood, panting slightly, a wild look in it's eye.

   "Catch anything good?"

   The wolf gives a slight nod, then makes a move like it was going inside.

   "No way, Jay! Mom will kill you if you walk into the house like that." Jay is caked in mud and leaves, and he gives a huff of annoyance as I scold him.

   "Go and rinse yourself off in the pond, and then you can come in."I tell him sternly. "And tell dad the same."

  He nods, still radiating annoyance, and heads around the corner to the backside of the house.

   I suppose they might need help getting the kill in, I think to myself as I watch him go. Can't hurt to help.

   "Mom, I'm going to help with dinner!" I call to her.

   "Okay!" She yells back from the kitchen. "Just make sure you don't track any dirt into the house when you come back in!"

   I give a smug smile, and then head outside, shutting the door behind me. Pulling my hood up against the autumn chill, I follow Jay's path around the house and there, lying in the dirt, is a freshly killed white tailed deer. Old, by the looks of it. The creature's fur is matted in some places, and falling out in others. There are also a few scars on its flanks, and where one antler should be there's only a nub.

   The crunching of leaves alerts me to the approach of one of my family members, and when I turn around I see that it's Jay, dripping wet from his swim in the pond.

   "You look like a drowned rat," I tell him jokingly. At this he frowns, as much as wolf can anyway, and then shakes so that all the water lands on me.

   "Gross!" I exclaim. "Now I smell like a wet dog!"

   Jay gives short bark of laughter, then walks around to the other side of the carcass. He begins nosing at it, and I'm getting ready to tell him to leave it be when a growl sounds from behind me. I turn around and see my father.

   "Hi, dad," I say to him warmly. His jet black fur is hanging limply from his enormous frame, and I see that he too must have rinsed off. "I came to help with dinner."

   Dad gives me a nod, and then motions towards the front legs of the deer. I obey and grab them, pulling them up over my shoulder. Dad and Jay grab the rear of the deer gently, and the three of us haul the thing to the garage.

   "Phew!" I say, letting the deer flop into the cold cement floor. I stretch myself, and give a satisfied sigh as my back cracks. Jay walls over to the door, and begins scratching at it with impatience. "Yes, I'm coming."

   I open the door and watch as Jay and Dad walk inside, then I follow, closing the door behind them. I then walk through the living room, careful to avoid the braided rug, and head back to the kitchen. I help mom with dinner almost every night. As I enter the kitchen, however, it becomes apparent that tonight would not be one of those nights. Ash and Cadence are already in the kitchen, Ash peeling potatoes, Cadence mixing up what looked suspiciously like a salad with M&Ms.

   Not wanting to get in their way, or be forced to try some of Cadence's M&M salad, I backtrack out of the kitchen, through the living room, down the hall, and to my room.

   Now, my room is most certainly not anything to brag about. It's about the same size as our bathroom. I only have enough space for one single mattress. That's it. There isn't even a window. All of my belonging are stashed either under the bed, or on shelves that I nailed to the wall myself when I was ten.

   I maneuver myself inside, close the door behind me, and then climb onto my soft, sky blue comforter and bed. I sigh, and look up at my gray-blue ceiling. Most fourteen year old girls would most likely have a fit if they had to live in a room this size. But not me. I'm just extremely thankful I have a room of my own. If this room was used for a closet like it should have been, I'd be sleeping in the same room as Ash and Cadence. And the way those two fight, I'd probably go mental after a few weeks.

   A few more minutes rest, and then I crawl down to the end of the bed. Leaning over the side so that I can see under, I grab the best thing in my life right now. The epic book known as The Hunger Games. I smile at the beatify worn cover, and trace my fingers across the ridged folds left by careless people who have owned it before me. Nothing I got is ever brand new. Brand new means expensive; old and used means cheap. That is something I have understood from the time I was old enough to buy my own clothes. But instead of old and used, I like to think of my second hand items as things that have seen a lot of love. It's more cheerful, somehow.

   I pull myself upright, crawl back to the headboard, and settle myself for a good half hour of reading. Sadly, I'm interrupted after only about five minutes. The door opens, without a knock first, and in walks Jay. He has changed, and changed into a pair of jeans and a hoodie.

   "What's up, sis?" He says, smirking at me. He knows how much I hate it when he doesn't knock.

   "Well, I was reading before I was rudely interrupted."

   He walks over to my bed, which is really only a step, leans forward, and grabs my book. "Ah, yes. The bookworm is at it again. I see you're still reading The Hungry Games." he pages through, which only irritates me more, because he's now lost my place. He's so ignorant sometimes, it's a wonder we even came from the same gene pool.

   "It's called The Hunger Games, idiot. Maybe if you could read at a first grade level you'd see that." I lunge forward for the book, but he pulls it away so that it's just out of my reach.

   "Touchy today, aren't we? Must be the full moon." I give him a murderous glare, and finally he drops the book. "Dinner'll be ready in a few." He says, and then walks out.

   I glare at his wavy dark brown hair the whole way down the hall, because he didn't shut the door. Sighing, I slide off the bed and do it myself. I wish Jay would stop making fun of me. The cocky jerk is only a eleven months older than me. And I was only ten when- Well, let me explain this better.

    When I was ten years old, I started reading the Harry Potter books. And, well, I became obsessed. Harry Potter was, and still is, my favorite book series. And in that series, there is a character named Professor Lupin. If you're not familiar with him, Professor Lupin is an amazing Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and a werewolf. Now, when I first read this,I was ten. I saw this character who would turn into a wolf, and suddenly that's what I was. A werewolf. It didn't matter that my transformations didn't follow that of the moon's, nor that my family and I had never used the term before. Suddenly, I was a werewolf, plain and simple.

    Except it wasn't simple. One night at the dinner table, I used the term. I don't remember what the conversation head been about at all, or where it came from. But suddenly, that word was a hanging in the air, the last syllable still on my lip;werewolves.

    I remember my father, who had been sitting across from me that night, slowly put down his knife and fork.

    "Where did you hear that word?" He had asked, his hands folded in front of him with his elbows resting on the table.

    I shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "A book, I think."

    He nodded, and said nothing, which unnerved me even more. Certainly, he would congratulate me for learning such important information he had not yet told me. Or, he would want to correct me if I was wrong. So why was he not saying anything? Not a sound?

    "That's right, isn't?" I asked him after a minute or so, having finally working up the courage.

   He shook his head in a slow, almost sad sort of way. "No, my dear, it's not. Werewolves are creatures of myth and legend. Created long ago by some storyteller who needed something knew to grab the attention of their audience."

   For one innocent second ,a thought flashed through my mind; Are we a myth, then? But I daren't ask it. My father always has been strict man, and while his punishment were fair, they were harsh. Getting on his bad side was like crossing blades with a king.

   "So, then," I whispered timidly, "what are we?"

   "That, is something for another time."

   Four, nearly five, years later, I'm still waiting for an explanation. I have theories, of course. We're a species of humanoids that have existed as long as humans. Or, perhaps we are some sort of mutation caused by radiation or something. Maybe, maybe we're the offspring of lab experiments that somehow escaped from that mad scientists who had created them. For now, I'll continue to guess, until my father decides to give me the truth.

   "Brook!" I hear Ash's voice through my door. "It's time for dinner!"

   I heave a disappointed sigh, place my book under my bed, and then head out my door to the kitchen. M&M salad and deer meat, sounds great, I think with a wry smile.

Author's Note

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, you've read my first chapter! You're officially one of my favorite beings on this planet. Seriously, every read, vote, and comment I receive on this story is priceless. So please, feel free to comment. Suggestions, corrections, and questions are all very much appreciated and loved. Thanks you all, my beautiful little cherubs!

~ Ella