Lycanthrope Lament

To howl at the moon is something we all understand, but when you are driven by compulsion, it’s not so entertaining. I became an honest-to-goodness werewolf years ago. The story is rather unremarkable. I wasn’t the bastard child of a priest, I once read that was were werewolves came from, my story is far less riveting. I was hiking, alone, at night, beneath a full moon, a blue moon by chance. I was attacked by what I assumed at the time to be a dog. As happenstance would be, it was a werewolf, or lycanthrope to use the proper vernacular. 

It may sound inconceivable, but in reality, it’s very banal and undemanding. I have a small joke, I tell myself, It’s kinda like my own version of menstruation, every 28 days, I become a crazed animal and stalk the streets on all fours on my city looking for prey. It doesn’t require a lot of time. I wake up the next day, satisfied and guilt free. After all, I’m not doing anything by choice or decision. I didn’t ask for this, it could be why it’s called a curse. To all the women, I commiserate with you. Although my visit is only for about 8 hours or so.

There have been a few bumps in the road. My first night out. I’m not sure what you might call it, exactly what I do. Laying low in the dark as the innocent move in the pitch black, so supple, so vulnerable. It’s as if they are just slices of bacon in a skillet, who could resist? Anyway, my first night out, I made the mistake of venturing only 2 blocks from my house. Always kill far away from your home, It makes better neighbors. I attacked a man watering his bushes. I wasn’t fully committed to my newfound bloodlust, and he shocked we with a blast of cold water. I hate cold water as a human, apparently, some things bridge the gap. I ran away, squealing like the milquetoast pig who built his house out of sticks. It’s like watching the guy at the fair make corn dogs, but you get only a sucker. Maybe not the same, but you get the idea.

A few months later, I was ready to pounce on a helpless woman as she was sitting on her porch sipping tea in the bath of moonlight. Apparently, werewolves can’t tell the difference between glass and air? I crashed into the window of her Arizona room with enough force to render me unconscious. I woke up in the back of the County Animal Control truck. Transmigrated back to a human, naked, lying across from a retarded looking cockapoo. Dogs really stink when confined... word.

You might think the like of a werewolf is all glamour, but waking up with meat in your teeth is just downright foul. I’ve had multiple cases of mange, outbreaks of fleas, cats who appear to be declawed until the last second. But nothing beats last night.

I was on the prowl. Stalking a lovely old woman as she was preparing to turn in for the evening. I was sizing up her body parts for bite size potions, when from nowhere her great dane jumped me from behind and mounted me with the dexterity of a seasoned porn star. I was watching my dinner, and the next second I’m just the next bitch for her leviathan love machine canine. There is little humility to be gained as you slink away in the dark as you know “Winston the great dane” got you good. I don’t think he was so great.

Why couldn’t I have been a vampire? They get all the chicks.