Howl

Abomination

When you hear the word Werewolf. What does it provoke? Demonic wolves, large beasts, Loups-Garoux, muscle enhanced native american teenagers, or something else?

I would say that my people are more closely related to that word and what it provoked in simple minds rather than the true image. All of the rumors behind that word and meaning, could be true except, we don’t come of age into our fur and humans can’t become one. Get bit by a werewolf, and all you are going to do is die.

Much like vampires, we could live on blood. Food is also a substantial way to live, but blood is needed for us to change. Changing takes a lot of work, loss of blood, breaking bones, splitting skin into fur, it’s just messy.

You feel everything in that moment. Blind and deaf, not a whole of one species. That would be the best time to kill one of us with something as simple as blunt force trauma. It’s happened, many times. But we’re so beautiful in that moment. A sight to see.

We don’t age after we reach full maturity. Once we’re born, we grow until blood is necessary in our diet. Ranging from ages 18 to 25 that’s when our bodies crave it. The change takes a lot of work. Exchanging skin for fur is painful. Changing back is worse. You are producing a whole new set of skin, new bones, your organs are downsizing and shifting, everything moving and snapping and grinding. It’s like being reborn but in a matter of minutes.

We’re not immortal, we can die from anything strong enough to kill us. An arrow to the heart, a bullet to the head. Anything direct and with enough force. Otherwise, we heal rather fast.

My name is Sara. And I was born before time was invented. Before calendars and clocks existed. My kind is the oldest living creatures walking the earth. We were an accident. A grand and spectacular accident.

I pushed myself to the brink of thirst, forcing the beast in me to stay put. I hated everything about my other form. I hated that I needed to kill to survive. I hated having death following me.

An accident and an abomination.

Tossing the ring of keys onto a random counter, I shrugged of the thin coat and kicked off my boots. A slight growl left my lips as sharp pain rolled through out my abdomen, stopping in the middle of the living room I tried to sit, but the pain shot up my spine. Stumbling toward the TV set, I blindly reached out to grab the edge of the shelf as I put my other hand on my stomach. Breathing through gritted teeth, I tried to slow my breathing and unclench my taut muscles, the colour behind my eyelids was a bright red, pulsing in time with the rolling thunder in my body.

My knees gave out from the intense pain and I felt the cold floor beneath my heated palms. Groaning, I rolled into a fetal position, letting my cheek rest against the soothing floor.

I needed to feed.

-

When I had fully matured and had control over my fur, I realized that Feeding was just as nourishing as it was in my fur. I wasn’t quite used to the pain and process of the shift, at the time. But half-shifting while hunting proved to be helpful. Minimal pain and very convenient. So every chance I had, I half-shifted, making sure I just had enough wolf in me to drink and feed.