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“This exam starts at 9:00a.m. sharp and finishes at 12:00p.m. with a fifteen minute break at the middle. You may not leave in the first half-hour or the last half-hour. Otherwise, if you need to leave for any reason please raise your hand and someone will escort you out. It is now 8:55, five minutes left to find your seats and set up your stationery."

Tommy had completely memorised the entire script the attendants used by the time his last exam came around. Those words had been burned into his skull repeatedly, and at long last he would no longer have to hear them ever again. That is...unless colleges read from the same script. He hoped they didn't, the world needed a touch more variety. Even the monotonous parts.

His high school — like many others in the late 21st Century — had moved away gradually from end-of-year examinations, preferring instead to place all the emphasis on mid-year post-Christmas tests, leaving the remaining time to dedicate towards placement classes and college prep. University application grew more competitive each year, so schools needed to adapt.

Right now he sat patiently awaiting the start of his final exam. History. Not a bad subject in his mind. The volume of writing was a bit insane though. Seven topics, write about five. Endless paragraph upon paragraph. And the exam was three hours so boy was he in for a treat!

“Begin."

* * *

“How'd it go?"

“Good. I think."

“Same."

“So you're all finished up too?"

“Nah man, I've still got Physics. Lucky me though, it's next week so I've plenty of time to study for it."

“Lucky me, unlucky you. I'm done. Exams are a thing of the past for me. For now anyways."

“Hey! No need to rub it in." Nick was in no mood for monkeying around, he was maintaining his exam mode focus.

“So...uh...what's the deal with your folks? You gonna move back in with them?"

“I hadn't—" Tommy began but stopped suddenly, stony-faced. He hadn't put much thought into what to do regarding his parents. How long had it been? A year? Year and a half? His family long confined to the furthest corners of his recollection.

“Hadn't what?"

“I...uhm...hadn't thought 'bout it much."

“Still fightin'?"

“Huh?"

“Are you still, y'know, mad at them?"

“Maybe. I don't know. It's been a long time since I've spoken to them."

“You tell me! Nearly two whole years. Shit went down with you and your folks. None of my business of course, but ya can see it all over your face."

“Is this your way of telling me you're kicking me out Nick?" Tommy cautiously asked.

“Damn dude, no! I'm not sayin' anything of the sort. Stay as long as ya want. That's what me, my mom, and my dad have all said. Stay as long as ya need."

“Sorry, I was worried that's what you were hinting." And I haven't got a plan for that.

“Tommy, you okay?" He could see the concern in Nick's face.

“I'm fine."

Spurred into pondering his future by their chat, Tommy felt a wave of concern wash over him. It was times like this when he was reminded of the precariousness of his current life. Living estranged from his family, bunking with his best friend, no real plan beyond what vague and fleeting fancies he entertained about college.

Nick was sorted, the boy bee-lined straight for biology courses and was planning his final term around that goal. Unlike his friend, Tommy had mixed feelings about the whole thing. He had some applications pending, but no passion for anything. He still had time though, he wasn't panicking just yet.

In the interim, he had to do an awful lot of growing-up in the absence of his parent's support. Carl was there to mentor him in independent living, but at times it felt like not enough, or too isolating. There was a hole in his heart, a longing for home. Made worse by the message he'd received...

* * *

The letter sat on the desk in his room, still unopened. It'd been that way for a week or two now. Tommy hadn't mustered (or couldn't) the will to read it.

Why, you might ask?

It was from his father.

The same man, the same beast that finally drove him away from home. Upon recalling that fateful day his nose itched, an irritation deep in the regrown cartilage, a sign even his body remembered. Tommy hated when that feeling came, try as he might it just couldn't be scratched. A damn good reminder of what his father did to him.

His upper lip felt like it was covered in blood, bubbling, but a quick check with the mirror showed it was all in the teen's head. Such psycho-somatic experiences were rare, and unwelcome.

The sinking feeling had returned. The same sinking feeling he'd felt when Lacey Cain first stepped out of her sedan in front of his home. That gnawing tumult, when the news his parents broke to him finally calcified in his mind. The despair he felt when he realised they were selling themselves to twisted science.

That feeling was back. Only this time, the true cause was unknown, making the whole experience worse. What did it say? What could it say?

Tommy picked up the letter. I have to read it. He scolded himself over and over again; how could he just leave it be? How could he ignore it?

He couldn't. He had to read it. Sooner or later. He had to.

Might as well get it over with now...

A deep breath. A tense pause to calm his mind. He opened the envelope.

It read:

Dear Tommy,

It's a struggle to write this. My mind these days isn't great with words. Lacey gave me a hand typing this up, she still has decent writing skills even over a year after transforming. I think I picked the short straw between the three of us, in more ways than one.

I put this off again and again, trying to ignore reaching out to you. Carl said when the time is right it's right, and I hope that time is now. Fingers crossed you'll agree, at least a bit.

In case you were wondering about your mother, she's happy. What I did to you disgusted her, and only the long march of time healed the gulf between us. That and...I don't know how best to say this, but Carl probably told you ages ago: she had twins. Two girls. Calves. Hybrids, like us.

I know it's wrong of me to talk about good news in this letter, but I think you should know about your new sisters. Their names are Daisy and Clara. Cheesy, I know. But it felt so right when we discussed it. And they are the most adorable little bundles of joy in world, to our eyes at least. A year old as of the day I'm writing this. We had a small birthday celebration for them, turns out we're all no longer able to stomach cake or pastries, thanks to our bodies! We didn't let that ruin the day however. We also remembered your birthday, no matter how sad it made us. I wanted to send a card then, but couldn't bring myself to. Sorry, I'm rambling.

Lacey too, is doing well. But that's not why I'm writing this, and that's not what you want to hear from me...

I almost killed you.

I still can't believe that.

Just saying it makes me sick: I almost killed you.

I let a part of me awaken that day I thought never existed. After undergoing the gene therapy at the lab, it didn't occur to me my mind would be so affected, would be dragged down into beastliness, brutishness, whatever you want to call it. Letting myself become an animal. A disgrace.

It was one strike, that stupidly I thought you could take. Stupid. Sums up everything I've done for a good while now. Stupid animal.

I can't even explain why I thought hitting you would solve anything, when I'd never laid a hand on you in anger before. My fault again. I let that shitty part of me take over, and failed you as a father.

No. That isn't anywhere near harsh enough. I sound like I'm trying to excuse myself. I don't mean it like that, but it's hard to think about how best to plead for forgiveness from your child. The very thought is almost wrong, like it shouldn't be possible to end up in this situation.

Neglected you...

Abused you...

Yes. Let's face it, it was abuse. We distanced ourselves from you emotionally, we pushed you away, thinking we were too different now. That you weren't part of our 'herd'. It was abuse, that I, to my deepest shame, made physical.

It has been a long time since we spoke, since we argued, since I hit you...since I drove you away. My regret only worsened as the months went by. You are my son. Human or not, I should've taken better care of you. Should've protected you, and never lashed out.

I cannot ask you to forgive me, or your mother, for the way we treated you ever since signing the contract with Bovinex. I cannot ask you to smile and say 'everything's okay now' because it isn't, and won't ever be properly. Nothing fixes hurt of that kind. I can only ask that I get a second chance, someday, on your terms.

Just wanted to say I'm sorry. I don't want things to be like this anymore.

I want you home.

Please.

The word 'Dad' was poorly scrawled at the bottom of the letter, the result of clumsy bovine digits ill-suited to penmanship. A marked contrast with the printed text above, but it touched something deep inside Tommy's soul.

He was paralysed by the resulting tears.