nature's lost children . chapter one

Instructions

PEARL. Footsteps move down the upstairs hallway. I look up, stretching across the floor. “Hey, Mom,” I call out brightly with a wave of my paws- er, hands, sitting back on my legs. I’m not wearing any gear at the moment, as I’m just in my pajamas, enjoying the early morning sunshine on my dark skin as it trickles through the window. Due to this, the fact my tail isn’t there unbalances me a bit, as I’m used to it. “Hi, sweetie,” she responds, picking me up and spinning me around. I’m, as always, surprised she can still do that with my stocky, (unfortunately) masculine, body. And as always, I know exactly what she’ll say next - “How are you today?” Mom asks, setting me down. I stand there, thinking before answering as I run a hand through my lavender hair. I probably shouldn’t let her see how tired and sad I am inside - my friends say I look most vulnerable in the morning. “Fine. A bit tired, but good otherwise!!” “Good to hear,” Mom says. She pats me on the head, at which I grin, and walks into the kitchen, humming a song — probably something from Newsies, which she booked at our local community theater a few days ago. She suddenly calls from the kitchen, voice bright. “Hun?” “Yeah, mom?” I yell back, cupping a hand around my mouth to make my voice louder. “What do you want for breakfast?” “Uhh…” I think for a few moments, but I know what I want. “Ham omelet, please!” I love omelets, especially with meat in them. Honestly, anything with meat in it. My family calls me ‘The Carnivore of the Savannahs.’ I don’t think they know I was actually domesticated when I was a savannah cat. “Alright, sweetie, I expected that one,” Mom laughs. I hear her grabbing a pan and ingredients. I sit there on the floor in a patch of the warm sun, until I get bored and hop onto the couch, making biscuits with my ‘paws’. I turn in a small circle before curling up, tucking my head beneath my arms. After a few minutes, I feel myself start to doze off… It’s short-lived, though, as Mom calls out, “Breakfast is ready, T- Pearl!!” Ugh. My parents are supportive, but sometimes even they mess up, unfortunately. Deadnames, pronouns... I’m tired of it. Nevertheless, I put on a happy face as I walk into the kitchen - on two legs. The scent of eggs and ham fills my nose as I plop down into my seat at the kitchen table. I place an allergy pill in my palm and take it with a gulp of apple juice, erasing the taste, which somehow manages to be bitter and sour at the same time. Mom slides the plate along the table, and I just barely catch it before it flies right off the edge. As I stuff my face, we sit in silence, Mom still humming. It’s gotten a bit annoying, but I don’t wanna say anything - I’m afraid I’ll hurt her feelings. Once I’ve finished eating, I dash upstairs and do the following. 1. Brush my hair 2. Brush my teeth 3. Get dressed (including tail) 4. Brush my hair (again. I didn’t account for putting clothes on making my hair frizzy.) Afterwards, I bound down the stairs and swing my backpack on. I grab my water bottle and take a swig, enjoying the cold water on my tongue. “See you, sweetie!!” Mom calls from the living room. “Bye, Mom!!” I holler in return, tail brushing against my legs as I jump out the door, swinging it shut behind me as I race off to the bus stop.