The Thin, Green Line

By Time Lady, aka Lady Timedramon

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Disclaimer: I do not own the characters within.

Notes: This is my interpretation of Beast Boy's inner thoughts about shapeshifting.

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Ever hear of "the thin, blue line"? Police sometimes use that term to describe the last dividing line between the general population and chaos. In my own way, I walk a "thin, green line" – except for me, that's the line between human and animal.

I was born a normal human. Thanks to a rare, green monkey, a life threatening illness, and my father's experimental treatment, I was given the ability to cross the line.

Actually, when I turn into an animal, it's more like walking a tightrope. When I change, I turn into an animal with a human mind. Every time I turn into an animal it's a new and different experience. I've tried to explain the changes to others. When I turn into an animal, I get that animal's senses. The sights, the sounds, the smells – it's different for every animal – even for different types of the same animal.

Changing shapes is really fun. I can soar with the birds or swim with the fish. From the smallest bug to the biggest dinosaur – it's awesome when you can turn into anything.

It's also a little scary. When I become an animal, I don't just get their senses and abilities – I get their instincts as well. Take a T-rex for example. Just seeing one will give most bad guys the shakes – or worse. The problem is that a Tyrannosaurus is a carnivore. One big, meat eating machine. A hungry one could probably munch down a half a dozen people before anyone could take it down. Kind of makes you think twice about becoming one.

Most of the effective fighting animals out there kill to survive. I don't like turning into them when I'm up against a living opponent. There's always the chance I could lose control.

Did you know that animals smell fear? Yeah. That smell sort of acts like a trigger. My heart starts to race. Something in the back of my mind reacts. It's like the smell of pizza making you hungry when you weren't before. Next thing I know, I get the urge to hunt. I have to fight that, 'cause that usual leads to the kill instinct. That alone makes me scared sick.

Sure, I manage to control it now. There's always the off chance though that I'll lose that control – and then what? People would get hurt. . . my friends would have to hunt me down. . . we'd fight. . . I hate to even really think about it.

Just because I don't like thinking about it doesn't mean it isn't at the back of my mind. I worry that one day that thin, green line may get blurrier and blurrier until it disappears completely. If that ever happens I may lose my humanity completely.

I hope it never happens.

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