Such good slam poetry.
The sun is sinking and he can feel himself changing. Bones crack, skin tears, fingernails turning into claws, nose lengthening. He can feel his brain change. It returns to basic, primal instinct. He howls from the pain, and howls from the confinement, and howls because he is lonely. He pushes against the walls, then slams into them, the scratches and bites at them. Something must be able to break them down.
He stills when he hears shuffling from out side the locked door. There's a muffled sound, words that he knows he would understand if he wasn't like this. The lock clicks open and two messy haired boys slip in. He stares at them, lips pulled back, and normally he would be lunging at them, going for the throat, but he doesn't. A half remembered friend translates roughly into pack. But humans can't be pack.
Then they start to change, a black dog and a stag. His mouth starts watering but he knows that alone he couldn't take the deer down. And still, the sense of pack excludes from them. So he doesn't lunge. A rat slips in, and all of the animals look at it. Now this, this he could take. Small and defenseless. A good snack. He advances on the rodent, languidly and snarling. It squeaks and scurries in between the stag's hooves.
Hmph. He growls, and the dog slides protectively between him and the stag. The dog sidles closer until their noses touch, sniffing cautiously. It smells comfortable, and his hackles lower. He can deal with this.
because obviously werewolf.
Fri Jun 10, 2011 10:05 pm
