Happy Easter weekend everyone!
These days, putting words together to make coherent sentences has become rather difficult. So, in effort to make writing less excruciating, I’ve decided to start doing writing prompts at least once a month. Below is my first one. I know it’s a bit rough, feel free to offer suggestions on how to make my writing both better and easier. ENJOY!
Staring up at the moon always made me feel small. These days not much has changed. Only now, my frustration and anger has turned to rage and every full moon it pours out of body like clockwork.
I don’t remember the city street lights being so bright. I have to shut my eyes for a few seconds. I feel myself bump into a cloud of cheap beer and cigarettes. I open my eyes to find a twenty-something frat boy staggering away from me as he apologizes profusely. I can barely hear him over the excruciating sound of music coming from across the street. I initially despite it, yet it managed to bring me a few moments moment’s peace from the normal pulsating sound of my heart pumping blood to my body.
I strain to focus my eyes on the neon pink sign across the street in front of me. The Coven, it reads. Werewolves have always feared anything that had the slightest to do with witchcraft. No one wants to be cursed twice in one lifetime, right? Today, I felt lucky. Besides, what are the chances of an actual witch being inside?
As the front door opens, I get everything. The sound of the wind blowing past the flyers on the wall, the smell of the trash coming through the back door, the sound of the manager’s keys rubbing against his pressed blue slacks. It stops me dead in my tracks. I stand at the doorway with my eyes closed and my hands over my ears with my mouth open, gasping for air. It’s never been this bad. After I come down from a transformation, everything generally hurts. Usually I can shake it off by nightfall. But today, today was different.
I manage to gather myself before anyone notices the werewolf crawling into the fetal position at the doorway. I find the nearest seat at the end of the bar next to a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit. I’m sure he has a wife and kids to go home to. Yet, here he sits in this bar.
I place both hands firmly around my drink and close my eyes, hoping for one small moment of peace before losing myself at the bottom of a glass. Upon opening my eyes, I inadvertently make eye contact with a blonde two seats down from me. She politely smiles, I return the gesture.
I immediately look down after the close encounter only to notice the reddish-brown blotches underneath my fingernails. Now that I could see it, the smell of blood began to fill my nasal cavity and I can feel my eyes begin to transform into its wolfish-yellow hue.
I make a mad dash for the bathroom, tripping over my shoe laces and bumping into an overweight bus boy and a poorly placed juke box. I haven’t adapted to much of anything about living my life as a werewolf. The one thing I managed to get into a routine of was washing the blood off of me and my clothing after a transformation. Today should have been no different. The more I stare at the blotches the more I remember about how they got there. Flashbacks play in my head like a movie. Only there is no clear ending or resolution. Just faces, no names.
I look up to stare at my reflection in the mirror. The blood under my nails wasn’t the only thing I missed. There are pieces of dirt and grass embedded in my hair. My favorite leather jacket is ripped at the left-shoulder. I have a small gash above my right eye. Despite my injuries, I smile and let out a small giggle at my reflection.
No, today was definitely different. Today, I looked like a werewolf.
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