WEREWOLF LIFE

house, watching as the sun sank into the icy-blue waters of the Pacific. Downstairs he knew his mother and "father" were arguing over whose party to go to. Damien was a typical child of the sun and

r and thus Damien was born a little less then a year after they had gotten back together. Marco

w in. He was lost in his dreamworld again, where nothing seemed to bother him. Not his mother, not his teachers, not his friends, nor ev

imbing up but getting down was another story. Throwing his legs over the edge of the roof, Damien began to lower himself slowly. Clinging to the drainpipe, Damien dangled and looked down. He was still a good fou

had always insisted that his boy had the best of everything; everything top of the line and practically brand new. Even his own Jetta down in the garage had only been driven once and that was by Marco. Damien stuffed his hands into his jean pockets an

nding sky. Ever since he had been born, Damien had been taught that if you and your home didn't look top-notch and up to date, you weren't worth the clothes on your back. Once when Marco had stated that to him, Damien had shot b

e had never experienced before. But almost as suddenly as the feeling had come it was gone. He let out a soft whimper as if the feeling that had now left had wounded him. Standing up, Damien moved

countertop, Damien sat on a barstool, re