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Home Again

Can there be something so unbelievably strange in the world that can be hidden from view, but can be seen through someone's eyes-like windows to your soul? That that something can be just laying in wait under the skin, waiting to be let out to reign havoc over the people around you? It's frightening to think about. It crawls under your skin, making your blood run cold, and gives you shivers that go down to your very bones. You just want to crawl under the covers to hide from monsters that can not be seen.

Well, that's every waking moment in my life. I heard and read about hundreds of legends and myths that were made up or rendered true about vampires, werewolves, dragons, zombies, fairies, or even trolls. But very rarely have I read about a creature that comes out under the cresent moon, to spread it's wings and screech into the starry night sky calling out an opponent to take down. The creature is so erratic it tries to even deem itself ruler over all.

My name is Lyana Swan, and I, am a griffin.




Children are crying, people snoring and the stewardess is in the aisle serving drinks and meals. But I am sitting next to a nice old lady and her seven year old grandson. She seemed noble as she knitted there while the boy was watching cartoons on the television on the back of the chair in front of him. Relaxing in my seat with my head sinking into a pillow, I look out the window. Fluffy clouds go by, I could see tops of mountains poking out of the sea of fluff.

I knew the feel of those clouds. Every night of the cresent moon, I turn into a griffin and fly through them. Weaving in and out, scattering them about. At times I even scared bats when I flew next to them. Having the body of a lion, front legs of a dragon and a head of an eagle would scare just about anyone.

It had taken six long years to control my beast that lies just beneathe the surface. But as long as I am in control, I won't endanger anyone.

"Is that your family dear?" came the old lady beside me. I turned my attention away from the window to look at her. She set down her knitting and was now glancing at the photograph I held in my hands in my lap. "You have a beautiful baby girl."

I was confused when she said that and looked at the picture. It was a picture of my father, Charlie Swan and mother, Selena who held a small baby girl in her arms. The baby was me when I was six months old. Charlie had his arm around Selena's waist as they stood in front of our house in Forks, Washington.

"The baby is me, the woman and man are my parents," I smiled.

Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh my, I'm so sorry dear, you look so similiar to her, I thought you were her."

I had the same waist length brown hair with white and gray natural streaks-which showed up due to my griffin being gray with peppered white-and blue eyes. If we stood next to each other, no one could really tell us apart. But that couldn't be the case. As she disappeared when I was four and was never heard of again. But my father raised me and we were, are the best of friends to this day.

"It's alright, it's understandable," I told her.

"Are you on a business trip or going to visit family?"

"I'm going home to Forks, I've been away for far too long," it had been a long time, six long years. I was going to have some permanence to my life when I return home. When I turned eighteen, I had gone away from home to learn to control my griffin. My father knew it was going to happen and for seventeen years we made the best of it. He was the only one who knew about me being a griffin, besides my mother, wherever she was. She had told my father everything about griffins after they fell in love with each other at first sight in the diner my father loves to go to. Every griffin at age eighteen would leave home to control themselves so they didn't harm their loved ones. A week before I turned eighteen, I said goodbye to my friends and my father and exiled myself to where most griffins go when they came of age. It was a place deep in the mountains of Ireland. It was a beautiful place to stay for six years, but it just wasn't home. I wanted to be home with my father in Forks, it was the only place where I felt I truly belonged.

My father and I kept in touch over the years by mail, but I still missed his smiling face. He seemed omnipresent and it was comforting. He told me the recent events that happened in the small town and about his other daughter Bella, who was now living with him for the past few months, or even the small inconsequential things. I never once detested her, I understood that I had a half sister and my father loved another woman once my mother didn't turn up.

As the plane finally landed, I sauntered out of the plane with my bag slung over my shoulder. Looking down at the photograph in my hand as I stood next to the baggage pick up, I could already feel like I belonged.




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Blue4 said...
Nov. 11, 2010 at 11:46 am:

Nice start, about time someone whould write a story about a griffin. Just try to be careful about some run-ons, and word choice, sometimes. I am excited to read what will happen next, continuse writing. (Did you mean to make it sound a bit like twilight?)

By the way, could you please read some of my stories, rate , and comment? I'd appreciate it.

 
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