The lips of a cat hide more than just fangs (original short story) 

1
I never asked to be like this. I never asked for this to happen to me or for me to be born this way. But I accept it. I accept what I am, who I am, and all my flaws. That docent make my life any easier. Acceptance of oneself dose not rid all feelings of hate you fling at yourself in the dark and the light corners of your mind. It's dose not stop what the kids at school say from being any less true. I am a freak. And I always will be. The ears and the tail, try as I might to hide them, are a part of me. They can not be concealed by any manner of lose jeans and emo hairstyles I decided to wear during my junior years. They make me a game to all those who pass me. A game of how many lives dose a cat have, and how many can we destroy. Thats why I stood now, in front of the mirror, half dressed and scrutinizing every aspect of my body. The ears that stood proud and pointed a top my mess of light brown hair gave involuntary twitches as the sound of passing cars reached them every so often. My eyes were wide and rounder then perhaps any humans should be. And blue. So very, very blue. My nose was up turned and buttoned, It's structure small and thin, almost like a snout. My cheeks were round and rosy, two sets of whiskers sprouting gracefully from my cheek bones. And my lips. Oh those red, red lips that hid so many sins. Behind those plump roses i hid my sharp fangs. Glistening, white and pointed. Not sharp enough to kill a man but enough rip at the flesh of his throat and wait till he when pale and rigged at my feet. I loved my fangs. They were my only weapon against society's prejudice of me. My tongue would often trace them during class. Circling around the enamel and loving the smooth soft texture against my taste buds. But that was not all that hinted at my deformities. No. Past my jutting ribs, flat stomach and my wide hips, at up most lowest part of my spine there hung a tail. Long and thin. Covered with brown and black fur that had a ginger tint to it in the summer sun light. My tail. The cause of some much pain but also the most beautiful aspect of my whole structure. Boys would often grab at it in the halls. Tugging me backwards so they could push me in to the lockers, pin up boards or water fountains that littered the hallways of my poor excuse for a school. They had broken it on a number of occasions. Leaving me in hospital for days on end while it healed. My balance suffered so severally with it's loss that I would often experience bouts of vertigo that left me laying on the tile of a bathroom, my head slung in the porcelain bowl as I emptied what little food I managed to force down that morning at breakfast from my stomach. It truly was beautiful. The phone in my hand gave a gentle reminder of the time as it vibrated in my fist, flashing a note on screen to alert me that i only had 10 minuets before I would have to leave, if i wished to avoid a tardy slip. I turned from the mirror and headed towards my closet that lay but 3 steps to the left of were I just stood. After some quick riffling through the sea of cotton and denim I pulled a pair of black jeans and a simple t-shirt from where they hung and threw them over my imperfect body. I rucked my tail into the waist band and, with practiced hands, pulled it though the custom cut hole under the back belt loop.  The top i hd in my hands was more complicated then any other item of clothing I owned. While others I bought for comfort. This I bought for style. It was simple enough in design, a plain white t-shirt that hugged a girl in all the right places, but how it was edited was graceful and so petit. The sleeved were very short and bunched up with thin white elastic to the make them poof ever so slightly. The neck line was low and decorated with beautiful off white lace and gathered slightly to make a crumpled effect as it circled just below my collar bone. There were no buttons but thick fish and eye hooks that secured the fabric tight shut, all in a evenly spread row down to my hips. The bottom was hemmed about an inch to Finnish the edges up neatly and complete the garment. I adored this shirt. It simple complexity, its so wondrous design. It defied all conventions but was still a thing of absolute beauty. I tugged it on carful over my bodice and hooked the sides together with ease. I hunted for my black and white hi-tops and a pair of clean socks to complete my outfit before straightening my hair and outlining my eyes with a thick layer of eye liner and mascara to complete my look. Once I found myself satisfactory for the days events I packed my bag with home work, text books, notepads and pens and slung the brown leather over my left shoulder, securing the bronze clasp tight. I was about to run from the house when I remembered my most important accessory. My collar. I hated that thing. That black strip of leather and silver pendent was degrading to the few like me. But by government rule 'all pets, or human half breeds alike, must not leave a household with out the proper identification and owner information'. Owner. That word. My father was not my owner. I was not a pet. However much I may share their characteristics. I jogged quickly over to my bedside table and yanked open the top draw. I pulled out the strip of leather, the silver pendant shining in the single ray of morning sunshine that peaked in through my closed curtains. It held my name "Kathy Norman" and my owner (there was that word again) information "33 Oakland lane, phenix brook. 7389 7193. Property of Devon Norman" in case I ever went rouge like some other sub species 'choose' to do. I secured the buckle around the back of my neck and adjust the leather accordingly. It wasn't to tight as it would cause discomfort or lack of air supply but no to loose as it would bounce against my neck all day with each step and rub against the sensitive skin. Once again I headed for the door. iPod, phone and wallet stored safely away in my pockets. I skipped down the stairs, taking two at a time and keeping on hand on the polished wood banister. I skidded on the carpet of the hallway as I came to a halt at the doorway to my fathers study. My father. Not the most understanding of people but one of the most kind. He was honest and hardworking, never giving up on his dream of being and author. He was so strong after mum left but I could see it was killing him. He truly did love her, even if she never did. Now he lay slumped over his oak writing table, fast asleep on his crossed arms. His black hair tousled and his white button up and grey slacks wrinkled, a sure sign he had sleep in them. His lips were slightly parted as he let out calms sounds of sleep and rhythmic puffs of breaths as him imagination whet wild behind closed eye lids. I smiled softly before swiftly kissing him on the cheek (lightly sprinkled with a layer of stubble) and heading out the door and towards my nightmare of a school.

ok guys don't get your hopes up. I might not continue this. Its just been stuck in my head for days! Feels good to get it out (that's what she said ;D) anyway.....I'm just testing this out. Comment please. Feedback is VERY welcome. As long as it constructive