The trouble is,

You think you

Have time.

-Buddha

Mother was sick.

Father had her hand gripped in his. His face looked the same as mothers.

Pale. Sweaty. And Grim.

Mother was lying on the bed, her breaths every now and then hitching and stopping, then restarting.

Her eyes were rolled back into her head, leaving only white in its place. At first, it scared me, but after a while, I started to get used to the new way that mother slept.

Doctor Walt was checking her temperature, feeling her pulse, giving her weird white pills.

This wasn't abnormal. This was my daily routine.

It started three months ago.

Mother and I were weeding in the garden. I enjoyed pulling them up but was often scolded by mother for pulling up the wrong plant.

She didn't mind though. I knew she didn't. She would laugh her laugh that made everyone who heard it smile.

Her laugh though suddenly broke off with uneven coughing.

"Mother?" I asked, climbing onto her back while she hacked whatever was stuck from her throat. It was not common for werewolves to get a ball of fur stuck in their throat however, father had told me a story before going to bed of it happening.

"Mooooooommmm-iiieeeeeeeee?" I drawled out, walking to the front of her to see if she had really coughed up a ball of fur.

I didn't see fur in her hand though. I saw blood.

"Mom?" I whimpered, clinging on to her to somehow get the coughing to stop.

It didn't though. And in between her coughs and gags, she managed to gasp out an intelligible sentence that I understood.

"Go...." Cough......Cough......."Get"......hack....more blood fell out of her mouth......."Dad."

Without thinking I left her there, crouched on the ground, clinging to her mouth- running screaming "DADDY! DADDY!"

He ran outside, his eyes blazing gold, alert to danger. Then he saw her on the ground and ran to her.

He picked her up and ran out of the garden with her in his arms.

I stood there staring. They were gone so fast.

In my numbness, I sat down and stayed there until the sun slowly came down and the moon rose. I felt hands on me, lifting me and tucking me to bed however the scent wasn't mother or fathers.

Before my eyes closed I had one last thought run through my head.

Mother is sick.

©world_joy