Right.​

I have never done this before. I doubt I will ever do it again. Yet here I am, writing something most would name a journal. However, that is not the case. Not for me. I was never the journal type and despite recent…changes in my lifestyle, this has not changed. But in the effort of understanding the meaning of all I have discovered and experienced lately, I find it necessary, perhaps for the first time in my existence, to discuss matters with someone. Well, there is no “someone” and so I must indulge myself into what I imagine is a Toreador’s habit.

I had a name once. I was Michael D

Hmf, look at me. I have become so paranoid that I can’t even write my name in a piece of paper that is not meant for eyes other than mine. Then again, my own art is to take things that are not mine.

So be it. Michael D. No one calls me that anymore. I use a stage name. I’m not sure why but I never felt at ease with openly saying my name to my new “family”. It’s a part of my past and I want that past to belong to me and me only. I am not good with sharing and I feel a strong feeling of ownership over anything I consider my own. And right now, I truly believe that my most precious possession is my history. I treasure it and caress it in the solitude of my thoughts, free from all outside opinions who would stumble upon it like elephants on a field of roses.

Here I go again, being all “Toreador”. He would be proud.

Oh, not him! He would probably kick my teeth then make me kill a baby so that what little was left of my morality and poetic nature, eventually died and withered, like his own soul had, who knows how long before I met him.

I am not sure why he did those things. At first I thought it was because he was disappointed at me, for not being all he hoped I’d be after his…gift. For some time I even tried to live up to his expectations, being perhaps the victim of what they call the Stockholm syndrome. But then I realized that there was nothing I could do that would please him. Nothing, apart perhaps from slitting his own throat.

You know what?  I’d love to. If there has been a hint of affection towards my parent I suffered from at first, then that ended rather quickly. There was no hidden motive behind his monstrous acts. No greater plan, no goal, other than to satisfy his own twisted pleasures. He didn’t really want to “train” me into riding the Beast, as he’d claim. And he didn’t really ride it himself, as he would be proud to admit more than once. Cause I felt the beast, frequently those nights. In it’s savage nature it was beautiful, a true hunter, guided only by instinct and driven solely by It’s hunger. Yes, it is not the most eloquent of beings. Yet It is a survivor and for that alone, if not anything else, I learned to respect it.

No. He had nothing to do with the Beast. He was simply a Monster.

Perhaps I should thank him, after all. Through his existence on those first nights of my life, I was taught a valuable lesson: never lose control or you will lose yourself. There are dangers among our people that may take you so far as to lose everything in your existence that’s worth saving. Yes, perhaps I should thank him by giving him what he seemed to enjoy so much. Death. I hear I was beaten to it. I was angry it wasn’t by my hand but I should not complain. It’s done. The gift was repaid.

Some nights I wonder if he was really my parent and if he was, what would that mean for my future. My people seem to have some inherited traits and it looms over me that I one day may become as twisted and deranged as he was. Yet, there is hope, I think. I do not know much about my family’s past but I believe that those traits I was supposed to had inherited, differ in my case. Perhaps it was evolution and that guy Darwin had a point. I became the version of my lineage that most fitted my surroundings, my natural environment. I like to hope it is not and that my true parent will one day appear and teach me into this new life because until now, I am pretty much self taught. Then again, I have seen some things in this new world, even in my youth. So far, I have never encountered a loving parent among them.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate the solitude. But I remember an old friend saying that a tiger will always be guided by instinct yet if no parent teaches her the secrets of the hunt, she will starve. Considering the simple life of a tiger and the complexity of issues that arise in my situation, I’d say tigers have it well with simply starving. With me…I may become like my parent.

At the first opportunity given, I changed sides and joined the rival gang. They aren’t exactly friendly, or rather they do a damn good job trying to appear friendly when I know that for them I’m an outsider. Not that it matters, really. They seem to have a habit of treating their own like tools. They will smile and pat you on the back, giving speeches about how they care for you and wish you nothing but happiness but I know better. I can sense their motives, I can almost smell the meanings that hide behind their words, I can hear the Beast inside them as well, it’s growls and roars veiled behind fancy words and glamorous speeches.
Well, at least they are not monsters and perhaps more importantly, they seem content to leave me in peace for the majority of nights, provided I do some work for them now and then. Considering the alternative, or any alternative for that matter, I find it a pretty good deal. The work I am given is not always to my liking or my nature. But maybe I just want to think that, clinging into what little humanity I have left, because frankly, so far, I’ve done work with minimum blood involved yet I cannot help but wonder if it’s coincidence that the jobs would be smoother if there had been more blood spilt. 

Perhaps the rumors are true. Perhaps we really are damned.

Who cares? I wasn’t exactly an angel before. Though sins seem to be piling up since I joined the family and I keep wondering if my inevitable ending will be to become like my parent.

Who cares? I do. What my parent was saying he was trying to teach me was worthy of learning. We are all Beasts. Each and every one of us. And unless you learn to listen to that savage instinct inside your guts, you will not understand it. If you do not understand it, you can be sure it will do whatever it has to to take you. And take you it will as it did my parent. In his effort to know it, to understand it, he was consumed by it.

Maybe I should pity him instead of hating him. He was lost by the same monster that would claim us all. He forgot the one rule, the one most important rule of any hunter in nature. And in doing so, he was doomed. In every way. For if there’s anything in nature no one can break is it’s Law. Survival of the strongest is the greatest misinterpretation of that Law. It’s not the strongest, it’s the fittest. And the fittest knows it’s place, knows that even being the top of the chain, you’re still part of it. You don’t kill, you hunt. You don’t cause pain, you ease your own. You don’t consume, you feast.

You don’t despise your prey. You love it. You treasure it and respect it for what it is because in the end, without it you are nothing but an empty shell with sharp claws and shiny teeth.

Are we cursed? Perhaps. Perhaps we are destined, each and every one of us, to eventually forget this truth, be it by killing for sport or by using our prey like…things, harvesting them in cities like a farmer does with chicken. We are hunters and so far I’ve seen few that seem to understand what that means. He does, I think. In his own fashionable way, with the fancy clothes and sophisticated manners, he seems to know his place in the world. He’s at the top of the chain and yet he shows it only when necessary. No vain shows of power or meaningless reminders of authority, unless they are harmless. He could do without those but I guess even a tiger has to roar in the jungle now and then, just to listen to it’s voice echo back.

There is another that seems to understand this truth. He uses spite and power too often yet, again, I think he’s making a statement. Like the new-comer on the forest, he must attack the established pack to mark his own domain and claim authority. Of course, he will hunt the weakest of the pack. He is no fool. No, I think he too knows the law and respects it. But I know little of him so far and he may well be another monster in the making.

We’ll see. And until we do, I will walk alone, a tiger living with wolves and asking for their permission to hunt in their domain. It’s their woods, their herd, their rules. I don’t understand all of them but I must respect them. Survival of the fittest. Know your place and live forever. I’ll do exactly that.​