Once upon a time, in the land of Mehico, there was a baby chupacabra named Fluffy. Although he was just a baby, Fluffy’s life was hard. Everyday, as he frolicked about the vast wilderness searching for goats’ blood, he was surrounded by the mocking shouts of his brethren.
What kind of name was Fluffy?
Certainly not one suited for a chupacabra, they were hairless! The opposite of fluffy!
Fluffy hated his life.
He hated his parents for giving him that name, he hated the others for mocking him, and, more than anything, he hated himself for being so weird. All he wanted was to be like everyone else. He’d do anything to fit in.
With slimy chupacabra tears streaming down his hairless face, Fluffy continued on his path. Deeper and deeper he went into the darkness of the forest, farther and farther from the cruelty.
When at last he was free from their taunts and could no longer hear them, Fluffy let himself fall to the forest floor. And there he lay, eyes fixed on the thick canopy of leaves above him that blocked out all the light.
He was hurting. He could feel himself slowly sinking and losing sight of his own light.
Long after the sun had set, long after all others had gone to sleep, long after his own body had become cold and sore, Fluffy stayed.
Yet, it was at this moment that he realized he wasn’t the only one out here, falling apart under the dark cover of the night.
Slowly rising to his feet, he crept forward towards the barely audible whimpering off to his right. Cautiously, he peeked out from around the trunk of a large tree and there he saw, laying broken and abandoned as he had been, another chupacabra.
“What’s your name?” he whispered.
Lifting her head, the other chupacabra turned and met his eyes with her own, still shimmering with tears and answered,