On Earth… people fight over color.

  Black. White. Brown.

  Dumb lines in sand.

  Here? Different.

  Not races. Species.

  First time I saw an Animarph, I thought mascot suit came to life.

  Wolf-face. Still walked like man.

  Laugh wrong. Too sharp. Eyes too hungry.

  Made me think of dogs on corners back home — the ones that bite chain when you get too close.

  Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Ursons. Big as bouncers. All chest, all teeth.

  Grinsh one of them. Fights like he’s laughing at you.

  Red glow in veins when he swings.

  Then coughs blood after.

  Reminds me of old heads at the gym, pushing too much weight just to prove a point.

  Feylin. Look soft. Move softer.

  But not weak.

  Myla mixes leaves, bottles, fire — like street cooks mixing grease and spice.

  Hands steady when she heals. Shaking when no one watching.

  Like she carrying too much, same as me.

  Humans. Not same as Earth.

  Selena don’t age. Twelve years, same face.

  Fire in her hand, fire in her eyes.

  But wall too. Can’t touch without burning.

  Makes me think… maybe I’m not human anymore either.

  I keep writing because it don’t make sense.

  Back home, we all one thing, but never acted like it.

  Here, they all different things, but somehow… still fight together.

  Maybe that’s what jungle trying to tell me.

  Not about race. Not about color.

  About survival.

  And survival don’t care what skin you wear.