Blood.

Some say that it’s in you to bleed for your family. Some say that it’s in you to bleed for your friends. Some say that it’s in you to bleed for your country.

I don’t believe in any of it. My blood is in me to keep me alive and breathing.

And that’s why I’m hated.

My life started with a bite. Well technically it started with my parents, but I believe that the bite is what truly set the Wheel of Fate in motion. Many think that there is more than one Wheel of Fate, but I don’t believe that either. If there had been more than one wheel, I would have gotten a lot more decency out of life than a pile of shit.

But no. I’m not like the rest. I’m special. I have special traits. I have special blood.

Therefore, everyone has a special fear toward me.

My human mother probably would have treated me better if my wolf mother hadn’t appeared. While taking a walk through the woods, a large wolf appeared and bit my human mother. Of course this wolf had that special blood that now flows through my veins, but that’s another matter entirely. My human mother wasn’t affected at all. Of course, she was ever so happy about that, or at least until I came along.

I can still remember my earliest memory of her. She stood over me with a large wooden spoon in her hand that she insisted on beating me with whether I deserved it or not, saying “I hate you” and “You’re a worthless dog” over and over again.

And every time she said that, I suppressed the urge to say “Worthless WOLF” because that’s what I was.

I can’t change that, no matter how much I want to try. I have the fur, the claws, the eyes, the muzzle, and the personality of a wolf. Is that so wrong?

Apparently, the answer is yes. No wonder I had so much trouble in that town.

You’re the lucky one. You didn’t have to deal with any of that while growing up.

But I guess even as a child there was something good in my life: my father. At least he gave a damn whether or not I turned out all right. He taught me everything that I taught you, you know. How to talk, how to hunt, how to fight, how to survive…it was all because of him, and I thank him for that. I can still remember the smell of the apple pies that he would make. He would always sneak me pieces when my mother wasn’t looking.

Hell, everything was given to me secretly. No one knew I existed until that incident. I don’t know how my father managed to have a knife crafted with the handle contoured to my paw, but when he gave it to me with my spear, I was so thankful. I did have to keep them hidden, but my father took care of that with help from magic.

My father was a scholar. He knew a little bit of everything. He home schooled me and told me about the wonders of the world. I loved his stories.

I loved him because he loved me. He loved my blood. He loved it because he knew it was his blood.

I loved his stories because that’s all they were. When I finally got a chance to go into the world, I found that all the good things and people he mentioned didn’t exist. It felt like one big lie.

And that was the first time I hated him. It was then that I found that I truly had no one but myself.

But I’m getting ahead.

My mother beat me whenever she got a chance, no matter how stupid the reason. There was one instance where I was breathing too loud and breaking her concentration. The splinters from that spoon stayed in my skin for a while. It’s hard to find them when you’re covered in fur. These beatings happened at least once a week, and it only aggravated her that I would heal so fast.

But I wouldn’t fight back. What was the point? She would just go out into the streets, show people the bite marks, and then I’d be killed. I don’t find death after one attack on her to be that satisfying.

Not only were there beatings, but I was also constantly degraded to the status of a mere mutt. Every day I had to crawl on the floor like a dog and keep my mouth shut. I tried to keep my chin up, but she would just beat me for being so proud of the abomination that I am.

Needless to say, I was very frustrated as a child.

Then when my sixteenth year rolled around, it happened. That nosy little friend of my mother’s decides to just walk into our home unannounced and see me in front of the fire. My mother reached for one of my father’s belts and beat me with it for what felt like hours. I passed out. My mother wouldn’t let me hear the end of how it was my fault.

Of course it was my fault. It was always my fault. No matter what happened, I was always blamed for it.

And of course that bitch of a busybody had to spread it all over that I existed. As much as being recognized was, I was afraid. My mother would probably do something to make me regret living if people started talking to her about me. So of course she covered it up by saying I was just a stray and the product of who knows how many dog fathers and not the wolf that this woman had originally thought.

Being called a mutt isn’t much of a compliment. I hate that word. It’s like someone spits on me when they say it.

So I was brought into existence within that woman’s words as the son of a slut. Not much of a title, but a title nonetheless. I was quickly promoted anyway.

That night, a fox got into Farmer Rentoly’s chicken coop and killed them all. It didn’t take the town long to find my mother’s doorstep with accusations that I massacred innocent animals.

They really did say “innocent animals” but didn’t even think of what I was. It was then that I realised that all humans are the same: lying, scheming, mean creatures. The only exception was my father.

It was probably because of that exception that he was targeted. Rentoly cornered him in my mother’s kitchen demanding cash to replace the brainless birds.

My mother just stood there as he began to attack my father. She wouldn’t do anything. The reason they got together still eludes me. She obviously didn’t give a damn about him.

For once, what happened next was my fault. I grabbed that fucking hick’s wrist and told him to back down. He fled and told everyone that I was a demon. It was at that time that I was banished from that little town and my father was executed.

I hated humans even more. They craved someone to blame, whether it was their fault or not. My mother distanced herself from my father and made it sound like it was he who summoned me from the Underworld. He was promptly arrested for heresy and hung by a member of a church on that ever-so-holy island.

He had nothing to do with it. They just wanted more blood to hate. That’s all that humans want. They can always blame their problems on bad blood, but never themselves.

So I started treasure hunting for three years. It was easy, considering people always gave me the information I needed no matter what they did to keep their voices down. I would merely sit in the corner of a bar, overhear a conversation from loose tongues and off I’d go.

Of course people would call that cheating, but that’s such a human term to me that I really don’t give a damn. They can call it what they want and ambush me after their temper tantrums. I’ll still kick the collective human ass.

They either feared me or hated me. I didn’t really care. Some offered me work, and then tell me to bugger off like a good dog after I finished. As long as they paid, I didn’t care.

Then another thing happened. I ventured into a cave with one who didn’t fear me and got more than I bargained for. I fell upon a plot to resurrect an ancient god who would bring chaos. I thought about it.

This would be my chance to prove to human kind that I’m not just bad blood. I’m a living and breathing creature with feelings. I tried to stop the ritual by attempting to rescue the five innocents with the help of a few random people who pretended to care.

And look where I ended up: holed up in a cave in the middle of a forest because I was too ashamed to face the people after failing.

But even though I had failed, I went through so much. I ventured back to my hometown and stood up to my mother. I found out that one of my travelling companions had been lying to me. I found out that my wolf mother was behind the entire cult plot, which I eventually became a part of. I killed her.

And I still wasn’t satisfied. I failed, that was all that mattered. All the rest seemed to not matter so much.

The only thing that was really accomplished during this journey other than killing my mother and forcing her to bleed for me was that I began to hate humans even more. They lie; they all lie. I learned that one of the few humans I trusted with my own LIFE had been the one to execute my father those three years ago. He knew I was his son and lied about it. I can never forgive him for that. I’m not sure I can forgive any of them.

So I lived in the woods all by myself for two more years when I found you. You were no different than me. Your blood was in you to keep you alive and breathing. Of course, you were just born at the time, so I guess that’s all you knew.

You fascinated me. I picked you up and took you home. I taught you everything that had been taught to me, but I changed a couple things around. Instead of telling you the stories about how great everything is, I let you know of the darker side and danger of the world.

That’s why I think you’ll succeed. You’ve gone into the world knowing that it’s not all sunshine and lollypops. You’ll have a greater life than I ever did.

I guess I’m selfish like that. I keep thinking that maybe I’ll live life through you, but it probably won’t work like that.

But I know you’ll do better. Your blood isn’t bad like mine. Yours is pure, just as pure as it was back when I found you and raised you as my son. I still can’t believe I actually did it, but I’m glad I pulled it off.

But this letter has gone on long enough. I want you to take this to heart and remember me. But don’t go telling everyone how great I was. I don’t want you telling lies. Just remember me like I was: an old, lone wolf.

It’s time that I swallow my pride and bleed my bad blood. But I won’t bleed for my family. I won’t bleed for my friends. I won’t bleed for my country.

I’m bleeding for myself.

And that’s why I’ll always be hated.