“Lune-acy”
By: Hyper Atomic (NC)
2/11/04

His sneakers pound against the dark forest undergrowth. The soft peat gives slightly with every hurried step. At times he almost loses his balance, ducking under low hanging limbs and avoiding the occasional root, nature’s trip-wire. Every plant seems out to get him somehow. Thorn bushes tear at his faded jeans, the protection of which desires much. He can feel a new twinge of pain each time his legs rise and fall.

Just as he reaches a rather large and gnarled old tree, agony of such a degree he had never felt before surges up his spine. He can’t fight back the cry that escapes his lips as he grabs onto the tree for support.

“****!” he thinks to himself, “I hope they didn’t hear that….” He strains his ears for any sound of his pursuers. Faint rustling tantalizes the edges of his hearing, for some reason it seems like his ears are keener than usual, his eyesight too, as well as his other three senses. “Why are they after me?!” he questions himself. “I haven’t done ANYTHING!”

The wind gently rustles the leaves. He's sitting now, face buried between his broad hands. “Why?…” he yearns for an answer. It was only four hours ago that his life became a constant race away, but from what?

* * *

It had been a regular Friday afternoon today. His morning was spent relaxing on the couch, enjoying the eighteenth year of his life. The front door had burst open quite suddenly, awakening him from a rather pleasant daydream. There were three men in black suits, that he remembers quite clearly, for shortly after, they opened fire on him.

It was more of a reflex than anything else. They reached into their jackets. His muscles tensed, eyes darted, and finally lunged off his rest. Loud cracks from the pistols, shattering glass, and the dull thud when he contacted the lawn outside. All that’s happened since has been a constant game of cat and mouse. They still hadn’t slowed when he sought the woods for escape.

All his life, he had felt different, separate. He didn’t have many friends and nobody really felt comfortable around him. It was as if he exuded some sort of ‘human repellant’, but that was quickly being forgotten. Getting away from these men, these strangers, was much more important.

* * *

The tramp of humans through the undergrowth roused him from his reverie. He listens again. Yes, they are still coming, still after him, still out to kill him.

A heave from his legs, and he's off again, this time with a tad more fear in his step. He doesn't get very far. A few yards of clustered trees later, his foot sinks into mud, and he falls facedown into the dirt. He gasps for breath, the wind has been knocked out of him. Knowing he can’t stay there, he struggles to get up, but his arms lack the strength. He’s just too tired from running. The wet mud clings half-heartedly to his clothing and hair. He reaches a hand up to brush the persistent earth off his face and is taken aback when pain slices across his forehead. He breathes in sharply and glares at his fingers. At the end of each one protrudes long black nails, much more closely resembling claws, and razor sharp, red blood glistening on the tips.

His frame shudders, he’s gasping for breath again. Intense pain like he has never felt before courses through him. He can feel the nauseous wrench of his insides rearranging themselves. The unsettling sound of his bones extending, thickening, growing, pervades his entire being. He can’t take it and lets out staggering cries between clenched teeth; up, toward Luna’s full and bright surface. To him it feels as if millions of tiny needles are working their way out of his flesh; light silvery gray fur is showing its dim luster over his entire body. His jaw gapes open as he watches, and feels, his nose and mouth elongate into a canine maw, pushing his oval glasses up and out. His teeth are sickeningly sharp. The taught feeling of his skin, stretching to accommodate his new muscle mass could hardly cover up the jagged noise of his shirt rending into hundreds of pieces, falling to the forest floor like multicolored leaves. He’s standing erect now, screaming at the top of his lungs for the tormenting agony to leave him. The heels of his feet raise off the ground, his well worn sneakers begin to bulge at the seams before they too shred, revealing a lenth of slate colored fur ending in jet black claws. He stands digitigrade, like any wolf or other canine. The legs of his jeans tear into frayed ends up to his knees by his growing calves. Though he can’t see it, he is well aware of the shape of his ears changing as they slowly creep to the tops of his head.

He kneels there panting, the pain is gone. It’s rapidly being replaced by a very pleasurable sensation indeed. He stands, with almost no effort at all. He feels completely refreshed and in control. With his arms outstretched and gazing upward, he can feel something spreading within him like soothing fire. Never before in his life had he felt such strength, such freedom, the joy of just being alive! Luna gladly receives his birthright howl.

Nicholas inhales a deep draft through his nostrils, his heightened senses easily pick up his pursuers; they are almost upon him. A wolfish grin creeps across his face, for it’s no longer he who should be running scared.

* * *

Evening wanes in the east while luna retains her pale luster. Nicholas stretches languidly from a sturdy branch, thinking over the night's events. Those men have been delt with, the crimson on his paws are evidence of that. He sighs contentedly, a whole new life stands before him and it sports fur, claws, and a tail.

The branch is abandoned, and the wilderness welcomes back one of its own.