How I Became a Rogue
“Mommy?!”
“There’s no time!” She said frantically after the door banged a fourth time. She slipped on my small sea blue school bag with a few things and a water bottle on my back.
“Run!”
The door came crashing down after the fifth bang and thats when I saw the eyes. I didn’t want to run. I was frozen in place.
What snapped me back to reality was when I saw the huge black wolf pounce for me, jaws open.
“No!” My mommy yelled, jumping in front of me juat as the wolf bit down. A blood curling scream sounded from her lips as the wolfs teeth dug into her skin.
At that terrifying second, I ran.
That was 10 years ago. My pack was attacked by werewolfs that were not like the regular ones. They were ferals. Wolfs that could not shift to a regular human like the rest of us. It was the blood red eyes of the ferals that I remember most before I ran. I was only nine. Now I’m 19 year old, no family and no place to call home.
I’m a rogue.
I learned to survive in the wild ever since then. My father taught me the basics when I turned eight. It was on my birthday when the attack happened. I had a year of my father’s “training.”
My father was the adventurer/hunter of the pack. He first taught me the food that was edible and where to find water. He taught me to hunt with a bow and arrow six months before the attack.
My mom was an artistic person. We would have people ask her for any tips on anything artistic. She was kind and we’ll know around the pack of around 400 people.
I barely new my baby brother. He was a 1 year old that was never sad. The only time he cried was when someone in the family was crying.
But all of them are gone now.
The only thing I have of them is memories, my first bow, (with hand made arrows. Another thing my dad taught me) a necklace from my mom with a wolf on it and my family photo from when my brother was five months old.
Now I survive and hope to live another day.
My name is Sophia.
