Choices of the Half-Elven: Part 1
#1 of Half-Elven
Ok. I realize this isn't the LFHS chapter that my followers are waiting on, but it's my attempt to get writing and break free of this slump I'm going through. No idea how long this is going to be, but let's see what happens. Here we go.
~If you limit your choices only to what seems possible or reasonable, you disconnect yourself from what you truly want, and all that is left is compromise.~ --Robert Fritz
One being can change the fate of a world: a child, an elder; a male, a female; a slave, a king; a billionaire, a pauper; a coward, a brave; a hero, a villain; an optimist, a pessimist; a lover, a fighter; any of these and all in between can make all the difference, for good or for bad. It matters not what one is; it matters what one does; it matters most what one chooses.
POUND! POUND! POUND!
"Get up! It's time for school!"
I sighed and rolled over. Truth be told, I had been awake for ten minutes already. If I had gotten up and turned on the light, I could have avoided this unpleasant morning ritual, but I had trouble getting up in the morning. I was too tired---not as in physical fatigue but as in tired of this existence.
Allow me to clarify. I'm not suicidal. I'm just wishing for something different. Hell, this had been going on so long that even a turn for the worse would be welcome. Still confused? Perhaps a description of me and my life would help.
I'm a hybrid. There's my first problem. You would think that being half each of two things would give you access to both of your parents' worlds, but what it really does is shut you out from both. And there aren't enough hybrids out there to form their own communities, so I'm continually on the outside. The bitterest irony is that my heritages seem more inclined to deal with each other than a bastardized offspring of both.
As I was saying, I'm half-human, half-elf. Let me say straight off that not all hybrids are the same. Some get more human, others more elf. There are more differences amongst hybrids than there are amongst humans or elves. For me, I have the fully pointed ears and slitted pupils of the elves. I have a little more natural litheness and fleetness than humans, although those traits aren't as distinguished in me as they are in elves. I have a little more natural strength than elves but less than the average human. My aggression level about matches that of humans; I guess I didn't get much of the famed elvish calm. Elves are generally shorter than humans, but my height is about between the two. I make for a taller than average elf and a shorter than average human. My hair, reaching to my shoulder blades, and eyes are undoubtedly elvish. They change colour based on my fancy and my mood. My hair is usually black, and my eyes are typically azure. My eyes are the first to change due to my affect, whereas my hair will only change with very strong emotions. As I've grown, I've learned to change them to whatever hue I want, although I typically leave them in their default state. I've also gotten a lot better at hiding my emotions. It takes a lot nowadays to even get my eyes to change. When they do, they usually stay as a shade of blue. Only once in my life have I literally seen red. It was an experience I very much want to avoid happening again.
All of this adds up to me looking more like an elf than a human, which is rather unfortunate. My father was the elf, but he was with my mother for only a week as he passed through the human town we live in. She was pregnent with me when she married my dad. He knew, of course, and said he would care for me. He has, in his fashion, but even my parents aren't completely immune to the discrimination against hybrids. They do care for me, and about me, but they're a little more gruff than your typical parents and a little more distanced. I've been very independent and very much a loner for all my life. Acquaintances came and went, but I've never had any really good friends. It's hardly ideal, but I've learned to live with it. I've found ways to keep myself occupied, and while I'm not antisocial, I am certainly no extrovert.
Now, back to the action.
I rolled out of bed and turned on my lights to forestall a repeat of the earlier percussive morning greeting and went to my closet to get some clothes for the day. I could have functioned just as well with the light filtering through the curtains, but if I didn't turn the lights on, my parents assumed (sometimes correctly) that I had fallen back asleep. I settled on a pair of khaki cargo pants and a plain red T-shirt. I looked around for my sweater for a few minutes before recalling I had left it in the kitchen. I went through all the other rigmarole one does in the mornings before going downstairs to the kitchen to grab a bite and my sweater.
My dad was drinking a coffee at the table while looking over some notes from his work. He often opened up his briefcase while he ate breakfast to glance at some document or another. I'm pretty sure he didn't actually absorb any information from it, but I think it just helped him get ready for the day. He worked for Mercer Tech, a rather large electronics company. He was a regional director, looking after the stores and subsidiaries in a nearby city and a few other cities and towns nearby. The city was only about a thirty minute commute, so the driving wasn't too bad. My mom, who was eating an english muffin while reading the paper, worked in the town here as a music teacher. Her days didn't really start until the afternoon, so I didn't see her too much throughout the day. She worked most afternoons into the evening, so she wasn't around when I got home from school.
I grabbed some cereal from the cupboard and took it with a bowl and spoon to the table. For some reason, people seem to think it's weird that I eat my cereal "dry." I don't like milk that much, though, so this is the only way I eat it. The three of us sat in silence. We weren't morning people, and there really wasn't much to say. My dad was the first to leave, snapping his briefcase shut and saying a brief, "Goodbye." It was only a couple minutes later that I grabbed my bag and said goodbye to my mom before heading out the door.
The school bus stopped a short distance from my house. It was only a five minute walk before I was standing with a few other kids, waiting for the bus to arrive. As usual, I could feel a few kids looking at me with distaste, but it didn't bother me anymore. The wind did, though, so I put up the hood of my bunny hug*, making sure it didn't catch on my ears. I glanced over and saw a couple of kids like me, standing in silence. There were a couple small groups of two or three chatting as they waited for the bus. I didn't bother to try to eavesdrop. I didn't care much for gossip or who was dating whom.
When the bus pulled up, the others predictably went to sit as far back on the bus as possible, but I sat up near the front. One advantage was getting off the bus before everyone else, but the primary reason was so I could talk to the bus driver. He didn't care about my mixed blood, but then, he was discriminated against almost as much as I was.
The driver was a wereanimal---a bear, to be precise. Weres, as they were called, weren't common in cities. Most lived in more rural settings or wandered like gypsies. As such, most humans held them in rather low esteem, and it was odd to see them working in a permanent position such as a bus driver. Part of that was because few of the weres like to get tied down, and part of it was that most employers wouldn't take them on for fear they would leave. Brian, the bear, had been living in town and driving buses for years now, but he was still looked down on. He never seemed to let it bother him, though, so I enjoyed chatting with him on the way to and from school.
We chatted about trivial things, like the weather and sports, before coming to the school. Raymore High School, the sign proudly proclaimed. I sighed as I stepped off the bus. Time to start another day.
*I never realized until I traveled out of province that "bunny hug" is a very uncommon term. It's what we in Saskatchewan call a hoodie, usually meaning one without a zipper and a pouch in the front. If you think bunny hug is weird, apparently British Columbians refer to them as "kangaroos."
Well, at least it's something, right? This story might die right here, but it might continue, especially if people ask for more. I realize this is a little short, but I just wanted to get something down relatively quick before bed. As it is, I'm already up later than I intended. Oh, and the title is subject to change. I suck at making titles. Anyways, tell me what you think, please. Comments are always very appreciated.