The Worth of a Word: In the Cat's Lair
      
      Author: Caleythia 


The Worth of a Word: In The Cat's Lair

By Caleythia 
Sticks and Stones may break my bones,
but names will never hurt me.
"Monster!"
"We're told throughout our childhood that words are just that, words. 'They 
can't hurt you,' our parents, our teachers, would tell us. Oh, but they were 
wrong. Words can hurt. They cut even deeper than the blade of a knife, or the 
claws of a cat. These cuts aren't made on the flesh, but on the soul. And they 
can transform you.
Me, I'm a mutant. Sure, there are lots of us, but unlike some, my mutation was 
visible from infancy. My new teeth weren't small, harmless baby teeth, but the 
fangs of a beast, capable of ripping into flesh and bone. Needless to say, mom 
didn't breast feed long. 
Maybe they could have handled the teeth, handled me, if it weren't for the 
claws. From my fingers grew retractable claws which could cut through almost 
anything. I had all the attributes of a cat. I knew mom was coming to feed me 
because I could hear her footsteps even from the floor above. I could smell her 
as she neared my room. 
Ah, mom. She tried to ignore it, pretend it was normal. She called me her 
special baby. Ignorance is bliss. "Dad" was another story. He couldn't bear 
having a freak for a son. What would his buddies think? He devised a simple 
solution to it: lock me in the basement.
And so that's how I spent my formative years. I was chained to a wall. 
Occassionaly, "dad" would throw me an animal, tell me if I wanted to eat, I had 
to kill it myself. I had no choice. The rabbits, the squirrels, the opossums, 
they were my first victims. Those were the better times, however.
At other times, the man would come down and beat me. He would get even angrier 
because my wounds would heal before he was evn done. The beatings I could have 
handled. I was strong, even then. It was that one word. Monster.
'You're a monster. Look at you. Hardly even human. You're no son of mine. 
Nothing but a monster, a monster, a monster...' I can still here those words 
echoing even today. Monster. He wanted a monster, I would give him one.
I had my first human kill when I was seven. It was my doctor. I had never felt 
such power as when that little old man lay helpless at my feet, pleading with 
me. I ripped his throat out with my teeth. I escaped my prison not long after, 
roaming free through the woods of Canada. 
Eventually, I became a logger. I was about 12 at the time. The others didn't 
like me much. They whispered that word amongst themselves, but with my hearing, 
it was all too clear to me. Monster. I showed them what a monster was. The 
foreman had it in for me. He was always needling me. I'd had enough. One night, 
in a bar, I ripped him open from throat to groin. Monster? Yep, that was me.
Did a lot of things since then. Got sucked into the Weapon X Project. Became an 
assassin. The whole time, I never stopped being a monster. I killed people for 
the job, or just for the fun of it. And everywhere I went, people whispered the 
word monster. It never bothered me much, although I suppose sub-consciously, 
maybe it did. But when it came out of the mouth of one man, I swore that he 
would find out how much of a monster I could be.
'Look at ya'self, Creed. Ya ain't even human. You're a beast, a damned monster. 
I'm like ya in a lotta ways, but at least I'm still human. And that's something 
you'll never be, Creed.'
The runt. He lived through all the shit I did, yet he was human. Or at least 
pretended to be. But I knew the truth. He was a monster, too. What right did he 
have to throw stones at me. He was no better. I swore that I'd show him. And now 
it looks like I have.
You called me a monster, kid. You're right. That's what I am. And you're gonna 
help me show Logan what kind of a monster I am. Say goodbye, Jubilee."