Journal Of A Beast

While I'm standing here I can't help but wonder what's become of you in the some-odd months it's been since last you came by. I think that you may have forgotten me; but in all truth, I'd forget me too if I were like you. I still don't know why you really cared in the first place...

The stars are bright this evening. As they shine down here, heralding night's birth, I distinctly feel that I'm being watched, though I'm sure it's just my imagination. Still, the stars glitter, and they remind me of the cold, heartless, relentless, cruel eyes of an unintelligent beast.

Like the beast that, soon enough, I will become.

Yes, when the Moon rises in the sky tonight, my blood will sing. The change will come, and I will trade hands for paws and teeth for fangs; I will relinquish my clothes and my reason for thick fur and bestial instincts, and become the part of me that once, I denied.

And as I hunt tonight, my muzzle painted a perfect scarlet-black by blood, something will ache, deep inside me. Here and now, I know what it is- the ache of you, missing. But at that point, when I no longer have a name- when I no longer am man, but am not truly beast- I won't remember what it is that I want, that I need.

But still, I will cry.

There is a memory, though, that could almost be of you- strange, that: it may even be you. I desperately hope that it is not, but for so long it's been hidden, and rises only on the eve of the full moon...

I am changing, writhing in my skin, humanity fast fleeing my raging, scrambled mind. Agony, beautiful in its intensity, wrapped itself around my very bones, reducing me to a shivering, whimpering heap. And then...

Her hands- yours?- lifting me, enough that one arm slipped beneath me, and she pulled me in, closer and tighter, even as the change continued and I snarled, a vicious, throaty noise. But she held me tighter, and the last shreds of me slipped away, drowning in the raw power that my mother, the Moon, feeds me.

She speaks, softly, her voice a beautiful melody that calms even the angered, slavering beast in me; her hand caresses my head, as though soothing a frightened child or a lost puppy. And for a time- longer than I can measure- she sings, and caresses. But then her voice, cracking, begins to fade, and her hand loses its slow, steady rhythm, and it's no longer soothing: if anything, it only increases my inner agitation as the beast rises again.

She stops to draw breath, her hand shaking, and then I hear the wolf-song, high and keen, over the treetops. It's the hunting song, sung by the other who claims territory near here.

It throws off the last vestiges of the calm, almost tame dog-like creature that I have become. It awakens fury in my blood, and savagely I claw my way free of her tender embrace.

She screams, then, high and full throated, and I am free as she cradles a mauled arm. Snarling, I turn on her, delighted with her cries and goaded by the smell of hot flesh and fresh blood. Jaws wet and eyes alight, the demon that I have become charges in, fangs flashing as the Moon, with bitter, heavy sorrow, witnesses what may very well be the last moments of her life.

She screams again as my jaws close around her ankle, and then I am no longer interested. This screaming is no longer enjoyable, and I know by her smell that she is one of them, a stranger, other. And others can summon the eater: even the eater may devour me.

I slink away, her blood smeared across my muzzle, and climb through the forest. Something- maybe a stray wisp of myself- causes me to throw back my head, and the mourning-song gushes out of my throat to lie heavily across the night.

Then I am away, the other forgotten, and the night before me.

Almost I believe it isn't you, but she looks like you: under the sun, her hair would be a perfect mahogany, and her eyes- which shone black that night- would be a deep, intense brown. Her skin, moon-kissed, would still be creamy white, and her cheeks rosy; her lips crimson and her hands steady. Her voice, even as it was that night, sweet and rich and deeply musical...

And I know, deep in my heart, that I remember you, truly as you were that night.

I don't think that I've ever been back there, to the place where I so savagely attacked you. Even as a wolf, it seems to repel me, and as a man, I haven't the courage to go there and see if you still remain. I am afraid that I will see you, laying there, your beautiful face cold and still in death. I don't want to see you that way. I want only to remember the way you were in life.

Now I must be off, for the moon is due to rise any minute, and I can't be caught transforming here. I could kill many, too many, and injure or turn others. I don't want that either.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When I woke this morning, I couldn't believe that what I had learned during the wild night that I've just put behind me.

I rolled over, and there you were, lying next to me, warm and breathing, brimming with life. Your face and arms, above the sheets, are streaked with mud. So is the rest of you, I'm sure, but I don't want to make you uncomfortable, so I roll over again and let my head sink into the pillow.

You came to me last night, a wolf in your own rights, and ran alongside me. And I celebrated, and the hunt was good.

And you chose to come here.

For that, as well as for everything, I am glad.