fade out line by phoebe killdeer & short straws
I’m prepared for everything, except that grief. I always think, that anger, or the disappointment will get to me. But no, it’s the pain kicking me in the teeth… I swallow. The metallic sour taste does not leave my mouth. The pang’s a throbbing, sticky, resonating misery, trying to pull me apart. It renews with each and every heartbeat, burrowing deeper and deeper, till there is nothing to burrow into. Funny, how this hurt only exists in my brain. This particular brand of wretchedness in this special skull. I doubt there is another like it. And it will keep me company. Forever.
Me turning does nothing to improve my situation either. It makes it only harder and harder to motivate myself, to be a part of society, or even to belong to the human breed. The ache of the turning – I dubbed it – grows with every year. Simple maths. Every year, there is more to be sorry about, more to regret. And the turning, well, sounds much better than popping out of your own skin. Even the ears of a lycanthrope fancy a bit of glamour, considering the actual act of transformation. What’s it like, you ask? Like being birthed, through your own pores. Shapeshifting is … messy? Ugly? Just eww! Don’t believe me? Then try liquifying and leaking through your pores. That isn’t funny, only nasty.
Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing physical about this special pain. For someone like me, who mostly lives in his skull, there really is nowhere to flee to. The mind is a tiny place, don’t let yourself be fooled about that!
Nevertheless, it tries to kill me, to end me, my bodily existence. Again. Is it for the thousandths time? After tonight, I’ll still be where I was this morning. Alive and stuck in a bread job, in debts, married to a woman I don’t love. And I’ll still be in pain, and I’ll still be a human.
I have my bag packed with things for one night. Toothbrush and paste, a new set of T-shirt and pants, new undies, deodorant, sneakers, plus a thick blanket, a sixpack and three big american style pizzas. Extra cheese and extra bacon. No need for a sleeping bag, I’ll barely close one eye.
Shapeshifting burns lots of calories, it’s exhausting.
I look up into the autumn sky. Almost time.
Full moon butts above the treetops from the neighboring park. I can see them perfectly from my current position. Rooftops are the places I need to be, when the cycles turn. And that is today. Now, exactly.
Rain will approach from far west. The wind sweeps up all the sweet scents to me. It smells of peace. It smells of happiness. To tell the truth, it only smells of wet ground.