I am NOT your Alpha

I am NOT your Alpha - Who she is

                The alleyway was empty, like it should be. The time, you ask? I really couldn’t care less. Streetlamps lit the street to the left of me, where the entrance to the alley was. No one was outside, well, at least not within hearing range – and hearing range was pretty far. I nodded my head, popping my gum along to the tune blasting from my zune and singing along quietly.

                “I know a drugstore cowgirl, so afraid of getting bored…” The can of brown paint dropped to the ground with a thud as I sat there comparing the colors, nodding in satisfaction that they were the same.

                “Beautiful disaster, flying down the street again…” I sang along as I used my Swiss army knife to cut the can open and then dipped my paint brush in. It didn’t take long to paint the side of the building, No, there wasn’t very much that needed to be covered. I smirked at the brown building with fresh, wet, brown paint on its side and whistled more of the song. “I tried to keep up, wore me out and left me ate up.”

                  My bag slid off my shoulder and fell onto the ground with a clang.  Inside was the last thing I needed. “butterfly in the wind without a ca-a-a-a-a-a-are…” I let out a frustrated sigh as I realized my gum was losing its flavor, but didn’t bother grabbing a new piece. In my bag there was a sheet of paper and some duct tape. I pulled them out and taped the paper to the wall before picking up my bag and walking away into the early morning darkness.

  “A pretty train crash to me and I can't ca-a-a-a-a-a-are… I do, I don’t… whatever.”

---------------------------- About 5 hours later --------------------------

                ‘It feels soo good!’ I panted, stretching myself out onto my back and kicking my paws in the air. My fur was caked with dirt and grass, but it was cool and refreshing because the forest was humid and hot. I continued to roll on my back, giving in to my animalistic nature and finding myself pleased with the results – my wolf never leads me wrong.

                “You are such an idiot.” Daniel chuckled. He sat at the base of a tree, studying my movements. One of the first things Daniel asked for me to teach him – other than how to fight, was how to become one with his own wolf. I told him on the spot, he has to realize that he’s a werewolf, not a human. Of course, for the longest he didn’t understand what I meant, but the differences between him and I are obvious now.

                Most weres would never put aside their ‘humanity’ and give in to the urges of their wolf. Like Daniel, when they see me digging holes, marking my territory, or rolling on my backside, they consider me weird. But to compare us all, while I’m calm and never seem to struggle with my wolf for dominance – they do. He hasn’t seen it yet; the difference between human and werewolf. To him, it’s that we can turn into wolves and they can’t… but there’s more to it than that. We can’t just turn into wolves- we are one with them, we share our souls with the animal.

                I let out a huff, rolled over and sat on my haunches, staring at Daniel because there was no real way for me to communicate with him and let him know I wanted him to shift. He got the picture. After an excruciatingly long and painful- even to watch- shift, Daniel stood before me as a grey and black wolf. He was distracted by the sounds and colors of our world, taking them in with amazement, as most do when they haven’t shifted for fun in days. He perked his ears and listened intently to the sounds of birds chirping, and as he did so, I approached him and sniffed at his snout. Shocked, Daniel jumped away and made a disgruntled snort.

                That’s his first mistake. I lunged, pinning him down and exerting my dominance – letting him know that this was a lesson, number one. When he submitted I leaned forward again, and sniffed his snout - a sign of affection and a way to communicate emotion in wolf form. The two of us, Daniel and I, weren’t a pack, or even a pair. Our wolves were considered lone ones, and as such there was no form of communication other than basic howling, whining, and sniffing in wolf form. He returned the gesture, and his ears perked up in realization. It was amusing, he had been a rogue much longer than I, but he hadn’t known how to survive as a wolf – his instincts were lacking.