Of Man and Beast

Wolf.

Monster.

Beast.

It would be best to put him down. He'd go quietly. No pain.

Sobbing. Soft weeping.

Howling.

Lycanthrope.

Half-breed.

Half-blood.

Freak.

Get away! Get away!

Put him out of his misery. No pain. I promise.

My son. My only son.

Faggot.

Cannibal.

Baby-killer.

Nuisance.

Unnatural.

I'm sorry, sir, but no one is comfortable working with your kind.

Unspoken: What if he eats a customer?

Bogeyman.

Murderer.

Thief.

Werewolf.

I stared at my hands. My human hands. No paws. No fur. Skin. Bone. Scars. Hair. No tail. No claws. No fangs. No fear. Only pain. Only teeth and blood and bone and skin and sinew. Only me.

I am human.

But I am also what I have been called. I am the beast of the moors. I am the fear of every mother and the bane of every hunter. I am the servant of the moon and the pariah of society.

I am a reluctant soldier.

But I am also a cold-blooded killer. I long for blood on my tongue. I want to rend human flesh with my teeth. I yearn for the hunt. I desire to kill and be victorious.

I am a teacher.

But I am also a demon in human form. I watch my prey. I defend my pack. I howl with my kind. I am a danger to society. I am too weak to overcome my Dark instincts.

Once upon a time in Scotland, I had a pack. We were a motley group: a wolf, a dog, a stag, and a rat. I am too weak to call myself an alpha. I submitted to the stag, more fool I. I ran with my pack and forgot the biting words. I hunted with the dog and teased the rat.

I had a pack.

Once upon a time in Scotland, I had a pack.

But no more.

My alpha, my leader, was killed from within the pack. Someone wanted to become the leader and our alpha would not bend. So he died. I thought it was the dog. The dog was fierce and the dog was strong. He could be alpha. He could kill the stag I submitted to, tail between my legs and ears flat, so many years ago.

But it was the rat. He did not want to be alpha. He only wanted to kill. Perhaps this is the way of the rat.

I found the dog again. I fought him, fought for the fallen stag, though I could not lead myself. The dog whined, licked my ears. We stopped fighting.

But then the dog left me, too. Soon after, the rat was gone.

And I am alone. I am a human. I am a soldier. I am a teacher. I am a pack member.

I am also a monster, a beast, a wolf, a cannibal, a faggot, a murderer, a baby-killer, a half-breed, a thief, a bogeyman, a nuisance, a freak, and a lycanthrope. I am Remus Lupin, werewolf 45c-7.

As I sit here, alone, wrapped in a torn blanket, in a warm room, I am cold. I am surrounded by the Order. We are victorious. We have won. But at what costs?

The last of my pack, a phoenix, the son of the stag, is here. He is the only pup we ever had. I watch him. Our pup defeated our snake-eyed enemy. The phoenix weeps with what he has done. I hold him and defend him against our Order. We look out for each other. We are pack.

But sitting here, watching the phoenix tremble in his sleep, I am not sure we are truly victorious. I am sure of very few things tonight. While the world celebrates the pup's victory, loudly and wildly, the pup weeps in his room. He suffers, too.

Perhaps, with the help of the phoenix, the pup, we can have pack again. Maybe, just maybe, I can stop being what people think I am. Maybe, with the phoenix and his friends, his family, his pack, we can change things. Without the war, maybe we can change the world.