August

He stepped up to the porch, where the lady swung back and forth slowly on the rocking chair- it made eerie sounding creaks as she moved: moved as though she couldn't stop.

Her hands shivered as he neared her, reaching for the letter she now clutched, crushing one side- he could see her jaws clenched, a stiffening in her neck.

"Someone sent you a letter. How nice of them." She spoke unexpectedly, through her teeth, nervously looking around- at the floor, at the flowers, at the sky.

"...yeah." He gently took the letter from her grasp, taking care not to touch her.

Sweeping by, he didn't glance back even once- not even to see the woman whom he called mother sigh as if a great danger had passed her.

He was used to it by now.

His unusually long, sharp nails scratched the metal doorknob as he twisted his wrist: the door hung open, the darkness inside flooding outside as if it'd been waiting for this moment. It licked at him, pulling him in.

Once inside, he pulled the door shut, hearing the satisfying, muffled click behind him, enveloping himself in complete darkness.

He didn't care much for light- he no longer needed it to see, unlike the "normal" people.

Not bothering to flick the light switch on, he shuffled upstairs, letting his tail trail freely behind him.

It was only then- only when he was shut up in the secluded space of the crowded attic- he felt free, no one staring at him, no one to hurl hurtful, tearing words at him.

Plopping down on the floor, he carefully tore the top part of the precious letter, the letter that had arrived in his name, shaking the contents out on the floor.

One sheet of paper, formally folded into the usual three layers, tumbled out, and he picked it up gingerly, opening, one by one, the wings of it.

It was a letter: that was certain- he saw his name written across the top, after the "dear," in elaborate calligraphy- the letter wasn't typed; instead, it was handwritten.

He gasped unconsiously, wondering who this might be- there was no one who would write to him.

He opened it completely, spreading it out on the ground flat.

"Dear August," it read. "I am writing to you to inform you about our school."

School, he wondered, remembering the nice, clean hallways, and the kind adults- he hadn't been able to go since fifth grade; his so-called mother didn't let him go anywhere outside of the one-foot radius area around the house.

Reading on, he wagged his tail, unable to contain the euphoric feeling rising up in his stomach. "...invite you to join our school for the halfblooded students- you aren't, in any way, not better than others- if any different, I am here to tell you that you are made to be a hero; they are not.

I hope to receive contact from you soon. Signed, Franken, Principal of the academy of Elites."