CHAPTER 5: All creatures great and small

1048 Words
It became clear that the very life I lived was a blistering façade, I couldn’t help but notice that something had always been off but it turns out it wasn’t puberty after all. In trying times like this, You wake up one morning feeling horny and the next you’re told you’re a werewolf. Still you don’t freak out. You accept it because you’re desperate for a change. Any Kind— a change of scenery, a change of fortune, a do over. A new one at that, to right all wrongs I mean, it was a breath of fresh air, who wouldn’t want to trade a boring life in college for an eternity howling at the moon? Yeah, Exactly. I whisked through, marching at arms length with Barbel, perceiving the various calibres of entity littered around , some were fully transformed, with thick furs forming an assemblage over them, others like Barbel maintained their human forms but wore distinct attributes such as fangs and claws. “What kind of wolf is he…” I whispered, pointing cautiously to the Grey man. “You mean Fyodor?... Well, we don’t really talk about his kind” “kind?” “he is one of the ancient ones…one of the few originals. His kind. Don’t leave the forest till nightfall” “why nightfall” “That's when they transform, they don’t ordinarily transform against sunlight, they do it when the moon is at its zenith, under the cover of thick darkness.” “why?” “Are you seriously asking that?” she snorted “yes…” I said grinning broadly “Jezz…dumbass,” Barbel responded visibly amused “the ancient ones, the originals are bound to the moon. It’s like a tradition, you see at a certain age, period, they truncate whatever life they’ve been living and migrate into the forest in fulfilment of some pact made with the corruption…” “the corruption…?” “ Yes, the corruption. It’s a mythical being, emphasis on the mythical, believed to control the moon. She is…it is viewed as a compilation of good and evil. when we all die we are funnelled through her essence and our sins are stripped off from us, hauled into her, and then we are reborn again.” “wow, A+ for Folklore…amazing what the world has to offer…” I said as we approached a tent. “Well, that’s a story for another day” she said standing in the mouth of the tent, “ guess who’s here and who’s an original?” “who?” Barbel flung open the tent door, and in it was a towering figure, he wore jorts, had a large insignia on his back, a grey stripe running across his well polished beards, he was swole. He was advanced and a bit sickly as if his age had begun to catch up with him. “Dad?” I paused trying to process this revelation. ………………….………………………………………………………………… At this juncture? Anything to clear my head, Right. Don’t drink beer they said, well I’m 20, I’d rush down as many crates as possible till I’m torn away from this reality. An influx of cool breeze ran over me, the ground approaching first, I had lounged from my previous position in front of the tent, cutting through the sky simplistically. I landed on the ground, engraving my feet into the soft earth, a quick scan of the environment and I could see where Barbel had placed my clothes. I hurriedly adorned myself in my former apparel and raced towards the end of Sherwood. Where is my bike for goodness sake, where the hell is Harley-Davidson. I could feel my eyes tearing up, how else am I to Process this. How do I stomach not seeing my dad for the most part of my life only to discover he is a wolf?, I am not crying, seriously. There’s something in my eye. I jerked my engine to live and zoomed off, the road lined up like a serpent as the moon illuminated my path I raced down the road with the engine roaring behind me, increasing speed each bend, trying to outrun the storm swirling inside me “I’m not gonna cry,” I said to myself, I’m just going to drive as far as possible, right! And get that man’s face out of my head. The wind blew through my hair, and the tires hummed on the ground. As I rode the environment shifted from the dense encompassment of Wood, shrubs and trees to rolling hills. The night was silent and far reaching, the moon hung lonely against the thick envelope of the dark sky like a lantern. It was quite unprecedented and sudden, my bike sputtered, jerked and coughed out black smoke from its exhaust, staggering and whirling in the middle of the road it coasted to the side. I powered down the engine, got off and walked away into the night. It hadn’t been long before I stumbled upon a bar. The broken bottle bar, the only structure awake at this Time. From a distance the bar was a dwarf, it was plastered brown, raising its head—perhaps only a few metres above the ground, the front light attached to its exterior flickered occasionally Attracting moths of various sizes. The road leading to it was smooth, and silent, the only noise that filled the air emanated from within the bar, I could hear them breathe, I could tell who was going to die from the sound of their heartbeat—drunk heads, deadbeats, the kind with bloodshot red eyes—high on liquor, high on piss, the type waiting for any type of commotion, or still the type to cause a ruckus upon the slightest provocation, Their chatter was distant, soon it was occasioned by a rather faint scream, I approached closer and the bar moved, it grew. What had appeared only metres above the ground stared down on my essence, it was massive. I flung the door open letting the night wind flush through, the air was thick with smoke and heavy with despair, all eyes were on me. Of course in moments like this there was bound to be a showdown, now I just have to locate who to punch.
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