here is the edit.
She died in my arms.
Memories have two sides, one pleasant, but the other can haunt us forever. I couldn't get her face out of my head. Neatly kept hair strewn in odd directions, mouth slightly ajar, as if even in death she was trying to talk to me. But her eyes were wide open, un-blinking, staring straight up into mine. They seemed to burn with accusation, as if I was responsible for her fate.
And I was. If she hadn't met me, then she would still be alive. I had to leave, escape my own thoughts. This place held to many ghosts.
I didn't like thinking about it. Trying to focus on something else, I watch the clamour, the speed and the complexity of the city below. Streams of light from the headlights of cars zipped along like the life-blood in the veins and arteries of the city. The Pulsing neon signs clustered, revealing the beating heart of the city centre. As poetic as it sounds, I loathed the commotion. That's why I came up here. Cloaked by the darkness, albeit more like the semi-darkness due to the permanent orange haze of street lighting that had smeared itself across the sky. Down there, there was always the ever present stench of fumes, of which I could only stand for so long. How on earth do they cope with it?
I forget that they are only human. Sometimes, it's just unbearable. Even if I were to be caught, the relief of unleashing it far outweighs any result. And up here, under the protective cloak of darkness, my howls will wake the entire city...
It's the night when I come alive. It's the time when the rest of the world sleeps, so I can go out and prowl in peace. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not the monster that they portray me as. I'm not the bloodthirsty demon of the full moon that they fear me to be. They're wrong anyway; for starters, I can change whenever I feel. Oh, and before I forget, I don't eat people. They're not that tasty I've heard - I joke with you though. I don't eat people. It's the same reason why humans don't eat each other, or why wolves don't eat each other either. It's disgusting. And it would be hypocritical of me too eat both species, seeing as I'm one half of each. Yet I'm never one or the other.
I observe the speedy approach of dawn, pensive, as the suns' growing rays chase the moon away. I sighed loudly, knowing that I couldn't taste some small sense of freedom until the sun beats a hasty retreat. The warm glow of contentment was burnt from my chest as the day embraced me, now comes the time where logic and reason rule, a world in which I have no part. I played down my feelings, knowing that this would be the last time. This night, I would stage my escape, and free myself from my daylight misery.
I stood alert like a sentinel, watching the sunlight reflecting off the windowpanes of the skyscrapers, making the city seem like a giant golden diamond. Shrugging at the strangely beautiful sight, I begin to make my way home, where I shall endure my facade for the very last time.
As I walked back, my mind began to wander again. Ironically, the world is my cage, although I can't even see the bars. Why do I think like this? Well, it's just that the world has enough problems with people being different – racism and discrimination, prejudice... I could go on, but I find it depressing. The more I list, the fainter my hope is that one day I would be able to walk freely as I truly am and not have to keep the constant mask up. Denying yourself is excruciatingly painful, yet the consequences of setting myself free from my reservations would outweigh the short lived freedom. It doesn't matter how many times you're told to be yourself – the tone is almost mocking to me. If I was, I could guarantee that they'd scream at the very least. At least during the night, the shadows protect me. The darkness alters many familiar sights. Ordinary shapes can be mistaken for something else. But the day brings a time when there is no way you can hide. The small hours of the morning though, they give me precious little time in my true form. If I didn't have that precious time, I would have lost control a long time ago.
I make my way further into the city, swiftly strolling down each block, numbing my mind in the steady rhythm of my walk. Occasionally, the urge to let go and run on all fours stirs within me, but I suppress the feeling, knowing that I have to keep control of myself now. In my mind, I wince inwardly as a sad whine echoes through my thoughts. I sigh to myself and walk on; knowing that today is going to be a struggle just like every other.
As I made my way down the pavement, the usual daily commute had already begun. I saw men dressed in smart suits rush into Costa Coffee and load up on cappuccinos , speaking into slick phones , or cradling a laptop in their arms. I passed a woman frantically rummaging around in her handbag before rushing back into her flat for the set of car keys she left on the table. People walked swiftly with purpose around me, dressed in various clothes depending on their profession. However, none of them looked directly at me. They just seemed to stare right through me, as if I wasn't there at all. More than once did they nearly bump into me, but recognising that there is another person a few feet in front of them, they look up from their small, individual lives before hurrying past like captive leaves on a powerful breeze.
I turn off the main street and amble down a few lanes, before I enter the reception area of the block of flats I currently reside in. My shoes padded noiselessly over the marble floor as I traverse the lobby, heading straight for the staircase. My flat was on the sixth and top floor, but I never liked using the lifts. Something about those metal doors closing made me empathise greatly with tinned sardines. Still, why should I use it when I have a perfectly good set of legs? I ascend quickly, knowing that soon I will have to get my things together. I've lingered here too long. Nothing is new, and I can't stand the city either. What I came here for, I got done.
It doesn't take long before I find myself standing in front of my flat door, producing the set of keys I needed to gain entrance. The door opens smoothly on its oiled hinges, and I set into the relative darkness of this small patch of the world I can call home. I reach out with my fingers for the switch, lazily turning it on with a flick of my fingers.
The flat is fairly modern – open plan, lots of windows and light. The doorway opens up into a wood floor entrance hall, with a small rack to my left with a rail of pegs to hang my clothes up on, and to my right, a small mirror which in retrospect, I shouldn't have even bothered with, seeing as I never use it. From the entrance hall, the room opens up. To the right is a small open top kitchen, with only the minimum appliances I needed. The left leads off to a separate study. The walls are covered with bookshelves, proudly displaying various titles, broken only by a large singular pane of glass, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, illuminating the entire room. Sitting on a large tabletop, lays an aging laptop, lights flashing regularly as it slowly charged, whilst several books lay open, sprawled across the flat plane. I spent most of my time in here, either reading through the variety of books, with topics varying from the occult to nonfiction. Most of the books here were left here when I moved in here, and I'd already read anything of anything of worth a long time ago.
I carelessly flung my jacket onto the floor, before I walked forwards to the open space towards the very back of the flat, where my bed lay. Kicking my shoes of as I walked on, I collapsed onto the soft sheets, smiling faintly as I felt the cool fabric brush against my cheek. I lay there for a few moments, eyes closed as I rested my legs for a bit. However, sleep would not come, so I decided to clean myself up after spending the long night up.
I smile to myself as I shift, watching my human features fade and become more lupine. Ears became more triangular as they moved, while my face altered as a muzzle started to extend outwards from my face. All the while, my features altered, brown fur spread across my skin, becoming more and more like a wolf's pelt with each second. My teeth altered in my newly formed muzzle, becoming sharper and angular. I opened my mouth, look at the fangs that were know housed in my mouth. I looked down at my hands, which had become more like paws, with hardened black pads on one side, while my fingernails had become sharp black claws. I closed my eyes while I waited for the feeling to recede, before I looked at myself in the mirror again. Like it or not, this was my true form.
The clothes I had been wearing had become loose and baggy in some places, while in others they hadn't. The socks I had been wearing slipped off my feet, while getting rid of my jeans proved difficult – I had wrecked many a pair by simply ripping them off, and this time I try to use caution. When I succeed in getting the off without ripping holes in them, I feel my tail hang out, limp after being constricted in my clothes. I proceed with pulling my shirt of, which although isn't as challenging, still is weird, as shirts weren't made to be pulled over muzzles.
I stretch, enjoying the feeling of the cool air on my fur. I stop short of howling with joy – I don't think it would do well. After all, the sign in the reception does specifically say 'No animals allowed.' The thought of that always makes me burst out in laughter, if only they saw me now. Still, even more amusing was the irony of it. Humans are animals too; I just find their indecision about accepting it so laughable. One moment, they're saying that they indeed are, but then they decide against it. After all, I guess they wouldn't like seeming to be not so special anymore.
Knowing that it's easier, I drop onto all fours, wincing slightly as by claws clack against the hard wooden floor underneath. In quite a few places, there are scratches, varying in length and depth, all caused by me. I remember when I first moved in, I shifted and left a set of claw marks next to my desk, and I spent hours trying to fill in the channels with polish. Now it just looks like that the wood has three dark seems, as if the tree grew very quickly that year. If only you were to rub your finger against it, would you find that it's not the case. Still, I could bet that no-one would think that it was caused by a 112 pound werewolf. That would constitute as stupid idea.
Taking care, I pad towards the bathroom, thinking of having a warm shower before going to sleep. I rear up onto my hind legs, allowing me to reach the sink and mirror. Although I can walk on two legs, it feels strange, and I'm not confidant enough to try it all the time. Walking around on all fours is fine for me. Besides, it's great if you fancy going for a run. In the mirror, I look at my transformed body. Yes , I don't look like a true wolf , my paws happen to slightly resemble my hands , albeit my fingers are packed closer together , and my thumb has migrated up my wrist , giving me a slightly large dewclaw , with some movement. It does however function like a true wolfs paws. The biggest change however, is in my hind legs. Those now resemble a wolf's, with the same number of joints and toes. The pads are slightly larger; hence I can walk on my hind legs.
Along with those traits, are the undeniable hallmarks of a wolf – a brown pelt of thick fur, with streaks of pale tan. Unmistakable lupine features. Yet there's something I haven't told you yet. Seems to be, that humans would expect me to just look like a hairy, rabid creature, bearing small resemblance to a man. And when I'm human, that I'd supposedly have wolfish traits. They are wrong. When a werewolf is indeed in true character, we resemble wolves very closely, with minimal human characteristics. And when I'm human, I look exactly like you, albeit my eyes.
Eyes are the one thing that doesn't change at all. I can be in either form, and my eyes will stay the same. Ironically, this is the only way a mortal can tell us apart. Looking in the mirror, I can see why.
My eyes don't look anything like a normal human's, or indeed a wolf's. I just have this piercing, predatory gaze, as if something wild inhabited the sliver tones. Yes, my eyes are silver, not a dull gray that I often see humans possess.
I sigh, reluctantly bringing myself out from my thoughts and into action. I could already feel the drowsiness creeping up my limbs like invisible weights, whilst my eyelids seemed to become increasingly heavy. I decide to revert back to my original plan – get clean, and then sleep. As tired as I am, I know it's not a good idea to go to sleep when like this. You'd be surprised how hard it is to keep fur clean, regardless of how careful you are.
I pull the shower door open effortlessly, turning on the steaming hot torrent of water. A broad grin of contentment washes over my muzzle and I feel the warm water run through my fur, creating a warm sensation that I couldn't describe to anybody. Eventually, I grow weary of this, and I decide to prepare for sleep. I shrug to myself as I step out of the shower in a cloud of steam, my brown fur drenched with droplets of water, each hitting the floor at regular intervals, creating an irregular rhythm like rainwater. Without thinking of it, I shake myself dry, sending water flying in all directions. A bit dismayed at the mess, I proceed to dry myself as best I can with a towel, before I move into my bedroom, claws clacking on the floor. Before I climb in, I take one look at the picture frame that rests on my bedside table. I had found it here when I moved in, but, oddly, I hadn't had the courage to move it. It wasn't that it was a psychical challenge, but what it represented hurt me. Picture frames – humans place photos of loved ones and people who love them back in them. They place them where they can see them, so they are reminded that they are cared for. I however, had a blank frame. You might wonder why I don't get rid of it, but to me, if I did it would mean accepting the truth. That I will never love, or be loved in return. Sleep doesn't come easy. I miss her so much , it hurts my heart every beat.
