I Hunt, Therefore I Am

Nine Weeks.

Nine weeks I've sat in this cell, staring at the loathsome block of wood keeping my wrists together, but my hands apart. My cell is small, not even a window to see the sky. I heard they don't put them in because some of the inmates saw the moon and maimed themselves to get to it. The walls wrap around me. The room is no bigger than a closet, the only window to the outside world was a small barred outlet on the door for the guards to poke and prod us. I hear shouting down the hall. I smirk. My knuckles are red and bloody. The toes on my bare feet throb in pain. Four broken toes. The guards, you see, they don't really take kindly to our affliction. Most prisoners are beaten into unconsciousness before they change, or are submerged in ice water until they pass out, I hear. Not me though. These wounds are my own. They only afford me a pair of rudimentary trousers and a sleeveless shirt for warmth. Some prisoners don't even get that.

I stand and wander over to the door to try and peer out of the small outlet to see what was going on. A few strands of long black hair fell in my eyes. Annoying. With my hands bound like this, it would be unlikely I could fix the tie holding back my uncut hair. They were bringing in a new prisoner, a wild youth. Copper hair and freckled skin. He was screaming and flailing his protests as they dragged him by club and chain into the cell adjacent to mine. Across the hall, a tan and black muzzle pokes out between the bars. The crooked, rotting teeth bare in a sort of hungry grin. Eduard always liked to smell fresh bodies come into the hall.

"Come on now! His screams are delicious! You must let us have a taste! Just a taste! I want it!" He whines and rattles against the door. Eduard always had less control over his transformation than most, and was nearly always beastly. The guards respond with a clap of their iron billy club against the bars, causing pain to the abscesses in his mouth. He gives a yip and retreats back into his dark cell. I'm busy focusing on the ginger being hauled away when I hear a sharp clang on my door and pull my head away quickly.

Nathaniel Price was eyeing me through the bars. He was a no nonsense kind of fellow, and I enjoyed that about him. My mottled yellow eyes narrow as I grin slyly at him. "Problem, Deputy Warden?"

"Get your snout in your own business, Zirlstein. Unless you would like another visit from the staff."

I shrug, and hold up my bound hands to him, showing my bloody hands. "I've had my fill of visits this week. But thank you for the offer." I reply cooly, my tongue grazing my lips. tasting the faintly bitter contempt on my words. Price moves on, and I retreat to my wooden bench, waiting for night to come.

I admit, while Eduard had little control over his curse, I was hardly better, a lover of the moon and the night. I always found myself of wolf and man in the dark. It suited me fine. At first, we all fought it. The few that embraced it were branded as monsters and immediately hunted. Hunted, but not necessarily caught.

Before the curse struck our kingdom, I was a fine businessman, you see. Specializing in....loans, as I preferred to call it. Sure, the Prince didn't take kindly to my collecting payment without taxation, but what he doesn't know can't hurt him. He's got much bigger problems to deal with, and so do I. The first night of my transformation, I watched myself in a red haze utterly destroy a family that had been late on payments to me. A shame. I was so hoping to coax the money from them in other ways. However, the taste..the feeling, the utter delight in the hunt and in the carnage of it all, I couldn't let it go. And as I became more aware of my curse, I often used that as ...incentive to get returns on my funds. But it wasn't incentive enough, as I found myself killing more and more of my customers, and some others unrelated. The taste of flesh when it is full of fear and adrenaline is.....exquisite. I am a man of impeccable taste. And the flesh of a human in terror is even above filet mignon.

I drift off to nap. And before I know it. It's dark out. I'm awoken by the sounds of banging in all the cells around me. The other gifted are feeling the moon's call...as am I. I lean my head back and grin, panting as I feel my body change, my muscles growing, my bones elongating and becoming heavier, thicker. The stocks on my wrists creak and strain painfully on my wrists. My skin tingles when the fur grows like a black grass over every bit of me. I shiver as my spine arches and my teeth grow into fangs. It hurts, but I welcome the pain, and soon I'm joining the others in our howls. I cannot help but return the calls of my brethren. My ears can pick up so many more sounds now, and we can hear the other worgen outside calling back to us. I feel myself leaning against the door, rubbing my sides on the rivets that hold the steel door in place. "Want out...want it..want it. want out...want meat...want to hunt.." I mutter, somehow my muzzle able to form words in a guttural tone. My mind is on one track. Hunt. Kill. Eat. Run. Mate. Repeat.

The ritual lasts long into the night, and I awake on the floor of my cell. My hands and feet are scraped again. The stocks still hold, but don't hurt anymore. I can see the caked blood around my wrists. The tie in my hair has totally come loose, and I'm shrouded in a curtain of coal-colored locks.

Soon I will be free of this. I'm hungry.

((so, I'm a little early. SUE ME.))