The Other Side

A Series of Docks and Boats

A.N  I just want to say that I used the word "hybrid" in my story. I know it might be offensive to some people and I'm sorry, I don't mean mean it to be. It is used as a slur in my book as well but you don't hear it a lot. 

I walked down the docks, feeling free. Almost. Almost free. It was at least 11 at night. I had been planning this for days. I just had to make it out of here, across the bay, and to The Other Side. To the Cratics. To his new home. This was my last chance to turn back, to forgive. To forget. But that was the whole reason I was leaving. To live freely as myself. I stepped on one of the biggest boats, which I assumed was carrying freight. I got situated. To what I had seen, it was going to go at around midnight, which gave me an hour to figure out how to look normal. I couldn't be looking like royalty. I was going to leave my old life behind. I was finally going to do it.

I looked down to my clothes. Black jeans and a purple button up shirt. This was not going to work, as it was too fancy. I took out my excess clothes out of the backpack that I carried and slipped them on. I kept the black jeans, just changed into a blue sweatshirt. It got cold at night.

I shifted my gaze to my watch, which was hard in two ways: One, It was so dark outside, and two, I was distracted. I looked down, unfortunately. My arms were laid with scars of my doing. It reminded me of bad memories.

I winced and looked away.

"C'mon Arling,'' I said through gritted teeth. "Pull yourself together." I looked up at the wood above me; how did I get here again? Shoot. I sat down and tried to fall asleep. Thank the gods I did.

I dreamed I was at The Great Fall, for lack of a better name. I was watching it, looking at it as if I was an angel. It was something we all learned in school.

It was the day when the country fell apart.

They had fifty states.

And they used to call it America.

From what I've heard as a kid, it was a beautiful place. It was everything anybody wanted.

It was the best country in the world.

And then World War 3 started, and everything fell apart.

Okay. Let me explain: They had two groups; the Democrats and the Republicans. Each group-

"Wake up! C'mon! You shouldn't even be here!"

Somebody was shaking me awake. I opened my eyes. It was still dark outside, I could tell that by the lack of light. I could make out a figure in the darkness: a tall, boyish figure.

"Nobody is usually here. I'm about to transform! Run!"

After hearing the word run, I was scrambling to get up. You'd think I would.

But I didn't. I found a crate that I could hide in. I could see everything. That was the problem. I saw the transformation.

The boy's skin turned gray, he was getting taller, taller, until he was almost as tall as the roof, back hunched, ears pointed. It had already begun. His ears grew almost catlike, eyes glowing. He turned, facing me. His pupils were slits . I sat in silence, shocked. What was this thing?

I just sat there not saying anything, scared half to death that it would kill me.

I sat there for hours. I heard glass smashing and boxes falling down. I had know idea what was going on; was this a hybrid, animal or human? I did not know.

Then finally, it stopped. I relaxed. I looked. And saw the boy.

The boy that told me to run.

The boy that had turned into the monster. 

Okay, looking back at it, it was sort of obvious. The boy who tells me to run is the person who transformed, blah blah blah. But at the time, I was shocked. Why would this person be here? Who was he? Was he a hybrid?

Now that the sun was rising, I got to look at him for real. He looked about 17, and from what I could see he was about six feet tall. He was very pale, skin a few shades lighter than mine, and he had jet black hair, which I had never seen before; where I'm from, most people's hair was either brown or blond.

The boy started to regain consciousness. I backed away; it would seem weird if a person you hadn't met was just staring you in the face. But then I saw his eyes.

His eyes were amazing. Not in a deep or sensual way, but in a literal way. His eyes were a pale yellow, with gold flecks surrounding the pupil; but the pupil was a slit. I blocked the sun with my hand and the slit got bigger. Cat eyes. He reminded me of a cat in the form of a human.

Wait.

He was something I had only learned in school. We had only learned of it negatively, but seeing one in person was different. I could tell that this person was kind and compassionate and friendly, even if he wasn't right now. He was just a person, trying to make their way through life.

And yet, he was a hybrid.

"What are you doing?" He asked me, getting up. I lowered my hand.

"Sorry. I've just never seen anybody like you before."

"Like what?"

"Hybrid." I whispered.

You aren't from around here, are you? Here we use the term normal: n. def: conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected. What you said, my friend, is a slur around here."

"I know what normal means." I grumbled. His cat eyes stared back at me.

He just muttered a reply and walked out of the boat.