Lycanthrope

My transformation has always been a respite for me; a pleasant diversion before the irksome obligations of life catch up.

Cowards, those of ignoble origins, call it traumatic. To me it's ecstatic- a boost of strength, a surge of vigor!

I love the full-moon, the orb that shines in the dark; the deceptive sphere of light that illuminates nothing but itself like the Devil's lamp. It makes me sleepless; it makes me anxious; it makes me feel energetic yet hungry; it makes my blood churn and rise and yet, makes me feel thirsty for more!

As the light fades slowly, I set out under the expanding cover of darkness. My bare body rushes across grassy fields, wild and free like a naked sword dancing nimbly, carving the will of the Devil into the flesh of those destined for doom.

A scar- an old, edge-to-edge bite mark- on the nape of my neck bursts open and exudes blood which slowly trickles down my newly-grown mane of hair. It was never meant to heal. It serves to be my identity.

As I approach a desolate pond in the middle of a woodland, my lower limbs seem to give up; I fall, face forward, to the marshy ground. Suddenly, my body is taken hold of. My insides squirm as wave after wave of intense, excruciating pain run down the length of my spine all the way to my tail bone. I gasp, pleading with the cold night air to alleviate my suffering. I writhe and twist, my pearly-white torso thrashing against the wet, muddy shore. My eyes, drained and dispirited, despondent but desperate, gaze into the night when, at long last, they catch a glimpse of what they sought: the pale, glittery globe hanging low in the otherwise spotless sky.

The full-moon stretches out its gleaming fingers which wrap around me. My pain spirals. My body, now distorted, thrusts and pushes at its crust to cast off the luminous sheath that surrounds it. With a violent jerk, I hurl myself closer to the pool and, at length, peer at the unbroken surface of water- stagnant, and oblivious to my suffering.

A red-eyed monster stares back at me.

The nails of my hands have sharpened. I claw at my furry face; my talons graze painfully against my elongated nose. My legs have shrunk and my muscles are stiff. My long, sharp-edged canines hurt my lower lip. I let out a loud, reverberating scream.

My pain recedes as quickly as it rose.

My senses seem enhanced. I growl; my voice is gruff and throaty.

Beastly instincts take over my heart. My hind limbs firm on the ground, I rear.

Now I am a wolf, and I must feed.