Moose [wanderer] -fin-

No, that's not what I really look like. I'm actually a moose. You know, the big deer-relatives that have massive antlers? Yeah, that's me. But for now I guess I'm just forced to tell you about this human body I'm trapped in.

First of all, my hair is short and an earthy-coppery tone. I don't let it grow out too long simply because it gets very annoying, so I keep it trimmed so it won't ever get into my dark green-ish eyes. Around the pupil, though, there's streaks and specks of bright grassy-green, kinda making it look like when you look up at the forest canopy and the sunlight is coming through, making each leaf a different shade of green. And from what I've seen of my reflection, my eyes kind of look a little too close together. But I guess that's good, in a way, if it distracts people from my large nose. Not that it's very wide, but it sticks out further than normal. And my mouth is smaller than average, but that's okay. It doesn't keep me from eating grass whenever I feel like it, so I don't mind it. My face itself is narrow, but all moose's faces are narrow. It's normal. I'm also missing a few teeth on both my upper and bottom jaw, and the color of the ones that're left is variant shades of yellow. Moose don't brush their teeth, just so you know.

And just like a moose, I'm not skinny. I've got a fairly good deal of muscle from running all around the forest, chasing after other animals that try stealing my grass, and pushing down dead trees. Or trying to, at least. I don't have any flab (or so I think) from all the exercise and I'm pretty thick-skinned, so though getting cut does hurt, it heals quickly and mostly tends to scar. I don't know why, but I scar easily, which explains all the varying white lines on the majority of my body (my fur usually covers them up, so they're hidden). But that's okay! Scars are a sign of a true moose's power, and I am a very powerful moose, so the more scars, the better. And I have a black marking/tattoo of a wide necklace with little tiny dagger-ish looking things all sticking down. It hurts my eyes to look that far down at the dagger thingies for so long, so I don't do that often enough to know what they look like. I don't remember when the marking got on my skin, but it looks fearsome for a moose like me.

That's me! That's me right there! I'm so pretty.

First of all, I don't really cope well with being told what to do. I am my own person and you are not me, so therefore you are not allowed to tell me to do things. Not unless I really like you, then I'll do some things for you, but other than that, no. Just no. I don't really like anyone. And if you do try to boss me around, I won't hesitate to attack you by any means necessary. You should beware of even the weakest moose, seeing as they can skewer you with the spikes on their antlers, and a moose as big and powerful as myself should be very much feared. I can pummel you into the dirt, stomp on you and crush you with my weight, and them stab you with my antlers. When I get at you for bossing me around, I am unrelenting! I hate being told what to do, so don't even try it!

Friends? What friends? I don't have any friends. But who needs them? Moose don't. All they ever do is get in the way and steal my berries and such, so I don't particularly like them unless they do something for me, but like that ever happens. Other people tend to avoid me, for some reason... I don't know why. Sure, other moose live in herds and always have company, but I am a loner and don't need anyone else to help me survive. I am a smart moose and can fend for myself, so I don't need help. Ever. This goes along with the lines of don't boss me around or face the consequences!

I don't need family, either. They left me! I don't even know why! I was just being myself the whole time, but apparently that didn't suit them right, so they just dumped me off. I hate them! Why would they do that to their own son?! I loved them... I really did. Who doesn't love their parents? But they repay my love for them with abandoning me, and I forever hate them. I hate all parents! They all may have nice appearances, but underneath all that crap front is a demented mind that plots the demise of their own offspring. I seriously don't know how any sort of lineage can carry on if all the parents ever do is plot to destroy their kids. Sheesh. If I ever have one of my own -- which I highly doubt will happen -- well, I don't know. I hate parents, so I'd probably just hate myself, or something. I guess I'll just have to wait and see, though it shouldn't take long. All strong and brave moose like me always find beautiful cows following after us.

I don't like civilization, so that's why I stick to the forest the majority of my time. People just aren't my kind of mammals, so I tend to avoid them a lot. They never did anything good for me, so why should I do anything good for them? The same goes for any of my friends, if I ever make any: if you don't do me a favor, don't expect one from me unless I feel like giving you one, but then you have to give me a favor back or I'll get onto you about it. And if you yell at me for nagging you, well, I've already gone over this, so no need to repeat myself.

For the first ten years of my life, things were actually normal, from what I can recall. My parents were nice folks and we all often hunted together, skinned the animals and cooked them as a family. I loved them and they loved me, and we all got along great. But when I was about six or so, my parents began getting into major fights, causing my dad to become angry all the time and beat both me and my mother. At first, you know, it was usually just a hit or two every other day, but as time progressed, it quickly evolved into I'm-going-to-beat-you-to-a-pulp kind of beating. He started coming home later and later at night, reeking of alcohol and usually vomiting towards morning, then getting right to yelling at my mother and I as soon as we were up and claiming that we "were as loud as a herd of moose running through the house and murdering each other." Of course we weren't, though. We were very quiet, especially because we were usually trying to hide from the guy. Mother tried to get him to quit drinking, but that really didn't go over well for her.

So one day when my mother tried to get my father to stop drinking again, he started going after her like she was some rotten scoundrel wolf that just needed to be taken care of. He had a big ass pipe, too, and was pummeling her relentlessly. I had been hiding behind the door while this was occurring, but when it looked as though my mother was about to pass out, I jumped from my hiding spot and tried to take on the big drunk guy, but I was only about ten years old, so how the hell was I supposed to expect to beat him? As I tried to attack him, he merely grabbed my head with his hand and shoved me back. I stumbled, and before I could even react, he swung the pipe at me, hitting me in the head like when you hit a ball with a bat. Needless to say, I was out like a candle in a storm.

When I woke up, things seemed awfully different. I was no longer human! Instead, I was a mighty moose with enormous, fine antlers that could kill you with a single great swipe. But another thing: the house was eerily quiet. Despite the pain in my head and the fact that the walls were tumbling around in a circle, I couldn't find anyone in the house. Well, wasn't that just dandy?

I waited around until I could see clearly and my head stopped hurting, then I headed over to a friend's house. I stayed with them for a few weeks, but they just didn't accept me for who I really was. "A moose?!" they said. "You aren't a moose! You're a human boy! Stop thinking this nonsense. I know your parents died, but that's no reason for you to act this way." But they're wrong. I'm me, and I'm not going to change for anyone. So, needless to say, I left them. They weren't really my friends anyway if they didn't believe me when I told the truth. I can live without them. And from that day on, I've lived outside the district fence where no one looks down on me for who I really am. No one makes fun of any moose that're out here in the wild, where we really belong, anyway. I love the woods and I don't plan on ever leaving it.