dinohigh, no humans allowed!

Uniquely insignificant. That's what Anon had said to her when the teacher called her "special." The words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. They clung to her, sticky like sap she couldn't scrub off. And the worst part? They felt true. He knew it. She knew it.

Anon was her enemy. Or at least, he was supposed to be. But lately, they'd been talking more—not really talking, though. It was more like he was leeching off her, eating the lunches she paid for while barely saying thank you. She hated it. She hated how he could easily afford his own food—he was rich, after all. And yet, she hated even more how he wasn't relying on her anymore.

Recently, she'd noticed him hanging out with another girl. And it made her jealous, though she wouldn't dare call it that. She hated the twisting ache in her chest every time she saw him with someone else. Hated how small and meaningless it made her feel. She wasn't important. She wasn't special. She was just... there. A nobody.

They say everyone is different. Even more so with dinosaurs. But what happens when you're part of a species that's designed to stand out? To evolve traits solely to set you apart from others?

It's tormenting. A cruel irony. To feel like you're all the same.

Her claws brushed over the ridges of her back, tracing the sharp outlines of her iconic plates. The vibrant, pulsing stegosaur plates on her back—a masterpiece of evolution. Her mother always said they were a biological marvel: a defensive shield, a temperature-regulating device, and a display feature, all in one. But to Zhiming, they just felt... there. Ordinary. The crown jewel of dino evolution reduced to a meaningless decoration when it came to her.

"I mean, don't get me wrong," she muttered aloud to herself, her voice soft as though saying it aloud made her feel less alone. "At first, blending into the herd made me feel safe. Made me feel wanted. Part of something bigger than me. But..." Her voice faltered as her claws dug a little too sharply into her palm. "But my mother always pushed me to be something more. Something better. And soon, her unhappiness became mine."

Her crest flared slightly, the plates along her back giving off a faint, vibrant glow as her emotions churned. She sighed, long and heavy. "I'm not satisfied with just being me anymore. I want to be the best me I can be. The perfect me. Is that so wrong? To want to grow into someone you can actually be proud of? Someone better than just... this?"

She glanced at her reflection in the dark, blank screen of her TV, her claws brushing idly against her tail. A razor-sharp spike—a thagomizer, as the nerdy humans called it—jutted out at the end, a deadly reminder of her ancestry. Stegosaurs were built to defend themselves, and she… she hated how weak she still felt.

Her eyes drifted to the muted TV screen, where the paused image of her game's protagonist, a sleek and radiant warrior, seemed to mock her hesitation. The controller lay loose in her hands, her grip slack. The room was dimly lit, her other hand flicking through her phone. Notifications from group chats she barely cared about buzzed every few seconds. Unread texts. Social media updates. It was all noise—noise to drown out the hollow emptiness in her chest.

And still, that gnawing ache persisted.

It wasn't just her relationship with Anon, or even her fear of being forgotten. No, it was something deeper. Something primal. Her claws tightened around the controller as her mind wandered to the unspoken truth of their so-called "civilized world." A world where carnivores and herbivores supposedly coexisted. Where they shared meals, danced together, even loved each other. But no amount of progress could erase the reality beneath it all.

"They still eat us," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Even if they don't want to admit it. They'll always see us as prey." Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard. "And I'm supposed to be one of the lucky ones? The winner in life?" She laughed bitterly. "What's so lucky about being a herbivore in a world that wants to devour you?"

She glanced at her tail again, the sharp spikes gleaming faintly in the low light. It was a weapon, sure. But it didn't make her feel safe. Nothing did.

"I don't want to be the center of attention," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "Not unless it's to protect someone I care about. Then… then maybe it's worth it."

But that was a lie, wasn't it? She hated how small she felt, how insignificant. She wanted to be someone who mattered. Someone who could hold her head high. But she wasn't. Not yet. And every time she thought about how far she still had to go, the weight of it crushed her.

Her feathers—soft and downy, more like a bird's than a mammal's—ruffled slightly as she ran her claws through them. Her hair had always been one of her few points of pride, softer and more vibrant than most. But even that small flicker of joy faded quickly. Smiles didn't last long on her face. Tears, though? Those always came too easily.

"I wish I wasn't so... feminine," she whispered, her claws tugging at her feathers. "So soft. So tender. So weak." Her voice cracked, and she quickly shut her mouth, holding back the tears that threatened to spill. The last thing she wanted was to cry again. Not tonight.

She glanced at the empty pill bottles scattered across her floor. Anti-anxiety meds. Sedatives. All drained dry. They barely worked anymore. Maybe because she took too many. Maybe because she needed them too much.

"I'm gonna die," she whispered, her voice trembling. Her tail flicked nervously, the sharp spikes scraping lightly against the bedframe. "I'm gonna die, and they won't even remember my name. My face. I'll just… disappear."

Her breathing quickened, her crest dimming as panic set in. She clutched at her chest, her claws digging into her skin. "It was an accident," she hissed through gritted teeth, her thoughts spiraling. "I didn't mean to hurt them. They came too close. I was just… I was just protecting myself. They—they weren't dinos. It wasn't my fault."

But the words felt hollow. Empty. She slammed her fist against the bed, her tail whipping violently behind her. The sharp crack of the tail spikes hitting the wall startled her, and she froze. Her reflection in the dark screen of her phone stared back at her, wide-eyed and trembling.

"I'm not prey," she whispered, her voice shaking. "I'm not… I won't let them kill me. Not again."

Her gaze drifted to the old family photo on her nightstand. Her parents, her siblings, all smiling together in the countryside. The Armatus name had meant something once. Stegosaur pride ran deep in her bloodline. They were veterans of the Great Bone War, pioneers in the age of dinosaur dominance. But those days were long gone. Her family had been discounted, their name stripped of its glory. Cast aside as a "nomen dubium," a name of doubt. No longer valid.

"They threw us away," she muttered, her claws clenching. "Just like all the others."

Stegosaurus stenops had taken everything from them. Their place in the world, their wealth, their pride. The elected "replacement" for Armatus had flourished while her family withered. Zhiming's relatives—once noble, once powerful—were reduced to nothing but farmers in the countryside. Forgotten by history.

But not her.

"I'll show them," she muttered, her crest flaring slightly. "I'll show all of them. I won't let them forget me. I won't let them throw me away."

Her claws tightened around the game controller as she unpaused the screen. The protagonist moved with purpose, cutting through enemies with sharp, decisive blows. Zhiming's tail flicked behind her, her plates glowing faintly in the dim light. Her eyes burned with determination.

She wasn't special. Not yet. But she would be. And when that day came, no one would ever forget the name, armatus.