One of Us
By J.M. Snyder
Conner Allen stood in the men’s room of
Sylvia’s Grill and watched himself in the mirror as he pulled back
the bandage on his neck. In the harsh glare of the single light
bulb overhead, he frowned at the wound beneath the bandage. It
wasn’t very big, and two days ago Conner would’ve sworn it was
almost gone, finally, it was taking forever to heal. But
this morning he had woken to a dull pain in his shoulder, and the
wound was back to looking infected again.
It was a bite, no doubt about it—there were
two large puncture holes that looked like fangs had torn into him,
though he’d be damned if he could remember what happened. A ring of
teeth marks connected the holes to form a mouth-shaped bruise on
the tender skin at the base of his neck. An animal bite
