change in the shadows

To truly know the start of a story, the reader must understand this: things have to change. The end and the beginning cannot look anything like each other.

My beginning was a little strange for those around me, but I got used to it. In the beginning, getting too caught up in a train of thought during biology class leading to my feet and legs beginning to crack, shift, and rearrange into the limbs of various bugs was hard to deal with. Impossible, even. But it got easier with time.

In time, I learned to control myself. I learned to focus on the image in my head, learned to pick and choose my battles. Sometimes, it was worth it to be the bull someone needed to stop a car, the horse someone needed to get away, the lion someone needed to scare the thief.

The ‘sometimes’ got harder to choose. I wondered if I was in control of my own powers, if they led my train of thoughts instead. One time, in my bedroom, I made my choice. I made my choice with fur and fangs and ears and paws, and my choice made me with guts and sinew in my teeth. I made my choice; Jason made his too, when he got in that argument with me.

Every end must be different from its beginning. In the beginning, I was a hero. Maybe even a superhero.

In the end, it’s not shapeshifting if I’m the monster, is it?