To my child: happy birthday! If all goes according to plan, then you will be eighteen when you receive this journal. As I write this, you are yet to be born, but I want to share my heart with you regardless. To tell you the kind of person I am, and how I experienced the life that was given to me. You might consider it a tragedy, or me a monster, but in the end, this is simply my story of Sorrow.

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Sorrow was never a remarkable place, but it was home. Located in the heart of Central Georgia, the city served as a place for both man and monster to live in some semblance of harmony. I lived there so that I could attend Mary Rose Academy—a charter school specialized for monsters—where I would spend my high school years. It was a typical experience with a curriculum focusing on the different monsters that lived in our world. While I enjoyed my classes there, I found it hard to fit in, and mostly kept to myself through my freshman and sophomore year. That all changed in my junior year when a human sat opposite of me at the booth where I always ate alone.

He was a freshman, shorter than most, light-skinned, with baggy clothes that made him seem more like a child than a teen. His shaggy brown hair hid his eyes as he ate in silence, unacknowledging me while grabbing salty sustenance from his bag of chips. My first impression was that he had been sent to sit with me, the loner kid, as a prank.

Best to not interact with him, I thought. If I ignore him, he will go away.

Still, he sat with me without speaking the entire lunch period, only getting up to buy another bag of chips. When he returned, I asked him, “Why sit here?”

“So you don’t eat alone,” he said. “Food tastes better when you eat it with someone.”

He offered me his bag of chips. I carefully examined the bag and sampled one of its contents. There was a disgusting aroma, a burnt taste, and an unsatisfying crunch as I bit into it.

It was the shittiest chip I had ever eaten.

“They’re stale,” I said and coughed up the bits. My drink was unable to get rid of that awful taste which disgusts me even now as I write about it. The boy laughed and smiled at me despite my visible disgust—his listless brown eyes locked with my own.

“My name is Sam—Sam Heim,” he said in a sing-song tone. “Short for Samantha.”

I was surprised by his strange enthusiasm. “Samantha? Shouldn’t it be Samuel?”

“Right? My parents thought I was a girl in the womb. They ended up buying a bunch of girly stuff with Samantha written on it before I was born. They were shocked when I turned out to be a boy, so they just went with Sam.” He let out an unsure chuckle. “What’s yours?”

“The name’s Elliot. Last name’s Lynch.”

“Elliot, ey? I hope that we can be friends. We humans gotta’ stick together, you know?” Sam wiped his hands clean on his blue jeans and extended his arm for a handshake. “What do you say, Ee-lie? Friends?”

We had barely spoken five minutes and he had already given me a nickname. It was the first time anyone called me Eli, the first time I felt a genuine connection with someone near my age. I went against my own instinct and shook his hand. “Friends,” I said, sealing our bond, and my new name, forever.

In time, the small booth Sam and I shared felt even smaller as more people began to sit with us. All of the newcomers were monsters which had also fallen for Sam’s capricious behavior; though their personalities proved as human as it comes.

The first to join our little group was Vivi Vulpes, a therian like you, my child, but a fox girl. She was “blessed” with piercing gold eyes and had the “fluffiest” strawberry blonde fur of any therian at school. Her parents were very well-off, and she wasn’t afraid to flaunt their wealth with her designer clothes and accessories. It was clear even then that she merely tolerated my existence as Sam’s friend—wanting him all to herself as she had known him the longest out of anyone.

Next to join was Evie Whitmoor, a banshee on the cheer team for the Mary Rose Harpies. Her vivid orange eyes gave some much needed color to her pale white skin and hair. Her voice was gentle and soothing as her vocal cords were not yet fully developed. She was actually a senior despite being the shortest of the group—a fact we often teased her for. It may seem cruel, but banshees take a bit longer to develop; and she would end up being taller than all of us in a couple years. Her voice would also become louder and a bit more jarring, but despite the legends, it is only strong enough to make whoever heard it wish they were dead.

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Following Evie was a sophomore named Killian Berith, a devil; but we called him Blinds because of the black blindfold he always wore. Like others of his race, he was nearly indiscernible from a human except for his tiny pair of horns, sharp ears, and thin spaded tail. He kept his black hair short, about the same length as his temper. And it was no secret that he was only there for Evie, his crush being obvious to her, but it was not reciprocated. While we didn’t hit it off as friends that year due to his abrasive personality, he still treated me well enough to be considered an associate—in my mind, at least.

Lastly was your mother, Lyca Wolfe, a wolf girl with emerald green eyes and flowing brown hair—her name the result of her parents trying to emulate the strength of the lycans without realizing the pun. She was someone I had known a while as we were in the same cohort. I would often catch her staring at me in class and giving me a wave whenever our eyes met. She eventually asked if she could sit with me and the others at lunch, and we quickly became friends after—no doubt because she practically held me hostage at lunch by sitting next to me. Her unabashed affection grew on me to the point where I was beginning to feel the same way. And when she asked me out, I said yes.

That short period of time, to me, was my first step in actually finding a place in this world—something that you’re probably struggling with now, considering. It was an enjoyable change of pace compared to the lonely years I had before. The laughs we had, the banter, it helped me get a handle on how to interact with my peers. Lyca’s loving touch was also welcomed, being my first girlfriend and all, but, just like youth, our time together was both brief and fleeting.

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Lyca lived within walking distance of my home and would come to my place after school, staying for dinner, and returning home late in the night. For the first couple of months, our relationship went about as expected for a young couple new to love. I would often ask her if she’d like for me to go to her house one day, but she insisted that she prefers to stay at mine. I didn’t think twice about it at first—even thought it was better since I lived alone. It wasn’t until March that I started to realize how shallow our interactions were and how mundane things were becoming. While I spent a lot of time with her, I didn’t actually know her as she avoided most topics. There even came a point where her regular visits after school stopped. She would act like nothing was going on when I spoke to her at lunch, however, and her insistence that nothing was wrong made me feel like I was overthinking things. I really started to worry when her attendance at school became erratic with her not showing up at all a week before finals. For a while, she was as good as gone, until I saw her again after the last day of school in May, knocking on the front door shortly after I returned home.

“Surprise,” she said, and a surprise it was. She wore a white summer dress—the first time I had ever seen her wear one. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail with a white ribbon that matched the one on the lower end of her tail.

“What’d you get all dressed up for,” I asked, too flustered at her beauty to question her absence.

“I felt bad that I haven’t seen you in a while.” Her tail wagged with anticipation as I examined the way her body filled her dress. She poked at her silver necklace with the crescent moon charm that I gave her on Valentine’s Day. “May I come in?”

I couldn’t refuse her company and let her into the living room. We cuddled up on the couch and she laid her head against my chest, reminding me how much I missed her touch. We sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company, our hands finding our favorite spots to comfort one another.

She held me and whispered, “After this, we’re finished. I won’t be able to see you again.”

I didn’t understand her statement. I tried to get up, but she pressed further into me, not wanting the moment to end. “Why?” I asked, accepting defeat as she buried her face into my chest.

I could feel the warmth of her tears staining my shirt. “My parents are moving back to Independence,” she cried yet kept her composure, her words muffled and trembling with sadness. “I tried to convince them to let me stay. To let me graduate. They won’t listen! Now I’m being forced to leave in a couple days.”

“It’s okay.” I held her tight and tried to think positively about the situation. “It’s only a year before we graduate. Maybe we can… wait it out… and get back together when school’s over.”

She lifted her head and looked at me teary eyed. “You’re right.” Her mood became a bit better. “I’ll see what I can do to come back to Sorrow—or anywhere we might be together; I promise.”

I nodded and smiled. We kissed and mingled a bit longer on the couch.

Things progressed, leading us to head to my bedroom. She whispered, “There’s something else I wanted to give you before I go,” and spent the rest of the day making up for lost time.

That was the day of your conception. I wouldn’t have told you in person, but I won’t be around to suffer your embarrassment, so I may as well admit it. Let it be a lesson in using protection; lest you continue the cycle of therian teenage pregnancy.

But I guess that lesson would come too late.

Unfortunately, all I got to see of Lyca on the day of her departure was her family’s moving van heading down the road. The time she had given me to meet was too late and it denied me one last goodbye. It was hard seeing my first love taken from me, but it was beyond both of our control. Our promise would be my only source of solace regarding our relationship as I knew that the distance had the risk of us drifting apart—and that time would be the ultimate decider. It should come as no surprise to you how things turned out, but I expect that by now you know your mother better than I ever did.