A Howl in the Night

~One's Dream, Another's Nightmare

~ One’s Dream, Another’s Nightmare

I have honestly tried to change myself.

It has been difficult, of course. I have been struggling to prevent myself from snapping at my teachers, but the way they chastise me about my lack of progress over the last few days has really gotten on my nerves.

It isn’t like I haven’t been in the garden for countless hours, forcing my restless mind to meditate just like the rude Spier master suggested. It isn’t like I haven’t been poring over the books on basic werewolf etiquette that Lady Miranda had commanded me to read. And most of all, it isn’t like I haven’t participated in the daily assignment of scouring the prophecy that I am supposed to be a crucial part of about a million times. I hate Analysis class the most.

That is the worst. I hate looking for things that just aren’t there.

I’m not really sure what Mr. Vigilance is hoping I will find. He has told me to do everything; from sweeping my thumb over every letter in the original text to sleeping with a copy of the prophecy beneath my head. Supposedly I have been, as the old baldy would say, “blessed with a superior insight that could lead to a greater understanding concerning the details of my mission if applied in the correct manner.” Or something like that. I stopped listening to him after the very first day. For that matter, I stopped listening to pretty much everybody.

So it probably is my fault that I haven’t learned anything of substance since I began these cursed tutoring sessions. I think my teachers aren’t used to a student that just can’t learn and progress, so that’s why they are going crazy. I am sure to them I seem like a normal kid, with nothing to set me apart from anyone else.

But honestly. I did try. I’m still trying.

It is just difficult when Mr. Vigilance is breathing over my neck, his angry face too close for comfort.

“Mona, do you even understand the point of this class? It is not all fun and games, you know.”

I sigh, fingering the rugged parchment upon which is written that awful paragraph that supposedly defines my life. “I never considered this class to be fun and games, Mr. Vigilance.” That much was true. Very true.

“Then have you not been studying the document? Tell me at least one thing that you learned since yesterday.”

He twists around to the front of the table where I sit, glaring at me like a ferocious animal. Admittedly, Mr. Vigilance is rather handsome. Everyone around here pretty much is. I have almost gotten sick of the attractive facial features, the long, glowing hair, and the perfect bodies that surround me daily. It is as if each of us looks like a china doll, living in our own little world that is ethereal to me even now. Mr. Vigilance is probably one of the least handsome werewolves I have seen, with a light gray buzz cut, sharp, pointed looks, and an athletic body. His muscles are nothing compared to some of the frightening Hulk look-a-likes prowling around the premises. I have seen a few that really put the green monster to shame.

It is strange how my perception has changed over these last few days. Comparing men’s muscles with such impartiality and indifference… I must be going crazy. This place is a madhouse.

Mr. Vigilance’s green eyes glow as he joins me in surveying the document, mistaking my boredom for intense concentration.

“What do you see, Chosen One?” He whispers, his voice tinged with barely contained excitement.

“I see paper.” I decide to humor him, holding my hand above the document. At the movement, he nearly jumps up and down, frenzy with anticipation and excitement. “I see…”