The werewolf « Thread Started on Sept 6, 2005, 6:42pm »
Title: The werewolf Author: Terryn (Or Sarah) Rating: PG-13 Genre: Drama, horror Author's notes: This is actually a post I put in my other RPG about my "alter ego" character-- Terryn. (Wow, how ironic.) But, every now and then I write posts that I am very fond of and save them as short stories. So, please enjoy. any commentary (So long as it is a little more profound than: Good!) is welcomed, encouraged, and appreciated. Enjoy! ~Terryn
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Terryn jogged out to the forrest, it was just before dusk and already she could feel it. This twisting, wiggiling feeling in the pit of her stomach-- like she had swallowed a ball of live worms. It wasn't horrid now, but it wouldn't be long before it got worse, so much worse that it would be unbearable.
It was the pain of transformation.
Her monsters, her demons, her torment, her pain forced it's way out of her once a month, moving from the inside destroying everything that kept her covered, kept her safe. It made her her own monster, her own torment.
There is nothing pleasant about being a werewolf, no thrill, no excitment, only pain. Only pain.
She reached an opening, it was her usual place. Surrounded by trees, filled with the signs of her struggling, and as she changed, so did it.
When she had found it, it was nothing but a small empty space-- untouched, alive. She stayed there the first night, the first time she changed and it became corrupt. Her claws ripped the ground, and her skin, the ground ripped under her paws, she slashed trees, she attacked anything that moved, she attacked herself when there was nothing else to be done. The clearing was constantly in a state of decay. The ground ripped, the tress scratched, blood hard and dried splattered on the ground and the trees. Bitemarks, scars.
She could feel the change comming as she collapsed onto the ground. Her stomach burned like it was on fire, it felt like she was being ripped into tiny shreads. Something, something un-nameable was growing inside her, expanding, bursting. Her breathing became strained, her face flushed, she whimpered.
Now it was growing through her skin-- small patches of pitch black fur, it severed her skin like razors, splitting her like cracks in the earth. As the hair grew, it was like ten million needles were forcing their way out of her skin. The claws ripped through her fingers. Her blood curtling screams filled the air, piercing the very moon with her agony.
Her face stretched, like some retched machine had hooked her nose and was pulling her face into a snout. Her fangs grew, gouging her gums. Ears, a tail, all ripping through her skin in pain, in anger. Bursting from her with no mercy.
The change complete, a monster made. Her scream was the last to transform-- a deep and throaty howl escapped her lips, with all the carnivourism the night could bring. The bloodlust, the violence. Terryn was lost, lost for a night in a body that wanted only blood, only revenge.
Her howls piereced the air, the birds froze, the centaurs cringed, it was as though the whole night had stopped, silencing itself to hear her song. Her terrible, her pitiful, song.
The werewolf had returned.
« Last Edit: Sept 11, 2005, 11:47am by saudadelacour »
Re: The werewolf « Reply #1 on Sept 11, 2005, 10:25am »
wOw! This is so amazing. What imagery... what passion. I love it. I've read it like five times now! The only thing that bugs me is in the very first like it says "Right before duck" or something to that fashion. It is a great story but I just get hung up on that! Too cool though. You are an amazing author.
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