Only Him

My childhood used to be happy. I was a normal kid. I never wanted to sit still and I always wanted to run around. My father was always nice and my mother was always kind. We were all happy. Everyone respected us. We were the leaders of one of the most successful packs, after all. People looked up to us. They saw us as, for lack of a better word, gods. We ruled their life and told them what to do. They obeyed out of respect and fear of what my father would do to them. I never had much when I was a kid. My parents never focused on me for too long. They were always more interested in their work. Of course, that meant that I was never given any toys and had to get my own food. I also never had many friends. Pretty much everyone was intimidated and terrified of me, but I was okay with that. I liked being alone. I liked taking care of myself. It made me feel like I meant something, like I was on this world for a reason. Everything started going downhill as soon as I turned ten. People weren’t showing us the same respect as they used to. More and more rogues were attacking and trying to destroy the pack. People were rebelling. They grew tired of our laws. At this point, my parents were panicking and constantly wondered why no one was listening to them anymore. They always said that the deal was supposed to last for ten years. Apparently, it had only been seven. I remember waking up one night to screaming. I didn’t know what it was or what to do, so I went to my parents. My mother had been arguing with my father and he had gotten tired of her complaining. He hit her and she screamed. I remember running up to my mom, where she lay on the floor clutching her cheek. I was trying to comfort her. I didn’t know why daddy hit her. I didn’t know what she had said. I just knew that I had to protect her. Mom and Dad sat me down that night and told me everything. Before I was born, things were tough for my parents. We were broke and were treated like garbage. We were hated for being something that we couldn’t even control. We used to be omegas. At the time I had no idea what that term meant, until they told me that it was a title for the weakest wolves of a pack. I was confused. How were we so powerful now, when we used to be omegas? Eventually, I was born and the pack we used to belong to grew to hate us even more. I was a disgrace. I wasn’t supposed to be born. I dampened the pack’s name. My parents grew tired of this after a while and decided to make a change. Our pack was bordered by some of the strongest supernatural species known to man. To the north we had vampires, to the south, witches, to the east, angels, and finally, to the west, demons. Werewolves were never commonly known to associate themselves with the other creatures in the area. In all honesty, we hated each other. We despised the vampires and lived to kill the witches. The Angels and Demons pretty much took care of themselves. It was odd how we were housed so closely to each other, but we had to be so far away from humans. They could not discover our kind or the council would destroy us. Of course there were the few hunters, who were dumb enough to think that they could defeat our species entirely, but we took care of them quickly. Since werewolves were not common enemies of demons, my father deemed it a good decision to make a deal with one. Demons loved to dish out a good deal every now and then in exchange for a price of course. Their soul. My father traveled to the west side of the pack and scheduled a meeting with one of the crossroad demons. He made a deal with him, a deal my father thought was fair: in exchange for my father’s soul, the demon agreed to grant them ten years of fortune. He made them the leaders of one of the most successful werewolf packs in the world and gave them the respect that they craved. The demon made people fear us. It made people intimidated by us. The demon gave them all the things that my parents craved. We were given all of this and in ten years the demon would be back to collect his p*****t. And so the Red Stone Pack was born. Seven years later, the pack was failing and no one could understand why. My father went and met with the same demon he made the deal with. The demon had said that we broke one of its most important rules. We had killed a human. One of our pack mates had gone rogue and killed a human who was living in the town. For a werewolf, their bodies are naturally set up to be in a pack. They live to have companionship with other wolves and some of them even enjoy the comfort of a human. That was very illegal with the council, however, and the wolves that did seek that comfort were immediately taken care of. When a were goes rogue their bodies start to shut down. They will lose their sanity, brain cell by brain cell, and eventually they have no brain left. It is like they are regular wolves, but with an increased hunger for human flesh. The demon had a strict list of rules for the ones he made deals with. Killing a human was number one on that list. As soon as the human died, the demon dropped their contract, but held onto their souls. Our pack began slowly diminishing. Eventually, no one respected us anymore. We were viewed as weak. We were supposed to be the leaders of a pack, but in reality we were nothing. Nothing but Omegas. They despised us, despised me. I wasn’t strong enough for them. I couldn’t take over the pack. I couldn’t lead the pack. I was useless. So by the age of thirteen, when my parents‘ contract was finally up, they killed themselves by driving off a thirty foot bridge. The demon was coming for his p*****t soon and my mother said that she already heard the sounds of the hell hounds coming to get her. The pack was nearly nonexistent after that and everyone had slowly broke off into their own packs. The few that had stayed were set on making me suffer for their downfall. I had fallen back into my original title as Omega. The level of hate that people felt towards me had doubled and many were hell-bent on getting revenge. That was five years ago. For five years, I have lived in fear of someone killing me. Everyone wants revenge. Everyone wants to make me suffer. I am useless. I am worthless. I‘m not anything but an Omega and people finally see that. I can‘t lead a pack, much less one of the most powerful in the world. For five years, people have beat me. People have starved me and called me rude names. They treat me like I am scum. On many occasions, they have told me that they would make me wish that I was never born. And I do wish, but I finally have had enough of this treatment. I want to get away. I want to escape. I have made the decision to leave and run. I will run at midnight. I am getting out of this hell.