TW: blood, m*rder
When I came back to consciousness, my head hurt. I felt the light through my closed eyelids, and even though I realized that if I opened my eyes, it would hurt more, the slight pains in my back and the smell of blood forced me to open them. Little by little, I got used to the light and realized that I was in an unfamiliar garden: toilet paper hanging from the tree branches, red cups with traces of alcohol from the previous, and several bodies lying on the floor, some of which had vomit on them. Apparently, I had been to a party last night, a good one. But that sight didn't explain the smell of blood. That's why, when I turned around, I almost had a heart attack: the disfigured body of a woman was lying next to me.
Blood dripping from my hands. I deeply regretted my actions, but I hadn't been able to control them. How could I be expected to prevent them? I could see the blurry grass, my legs moving at high speed, trying to escape the terror. Terror of accepting who I was, what I was, and the consequences that my lack of control had had. She had nothing to do with this. I shouldn't have spoken to her.
I wanted to throw up. The woman's torso was now just a combination of blood and leaking intestines, her legs were full of blood, and she was missing a finger on her right hand. Her face no longer looked like a face. It was just a mixture of skin, muscle, and blood, so mangled that some pieces of skin looked like spaghetti. I started to get dizzy and decided it was best to get away from that body. When I tried to sit up, my body fell apart, and this time, I remembered how I had met her.
I had just been fired. My boss had realized that there was something wrong with me, and I couldn't take it anymore. My job was the most stable thing I had. I had been working at the same company for 15 years. I had dedicated my everything to it. It wasn't fair. Four, five, six drinks later, I was beginning to lose consciousness when I saw her: she was sitting with a friend, her dark ponytail swinging from one side of her back to the other, long red nails gently tapping her glass. I waited for her to turn around and smiled. Minutes later, her friend left her, and I approached her and asked if she wanted to dance with me. She accepted.
I tried to get up once again, this time falling to my knees, but it was progressing. Finally, I crawled a few feet away from the woman and managed to stand by, leaning against the wall. When I raised my hand, I realized that I had left a stain, and when I saw them, I realized that the vision I had had of bloody hands was, in reality, a memory. I staggered to the front door, and as soon as I touched it, it opened up.
We danced for a long time. Then, when our feet could no longer bear it, we decided to go for another drink, and it was then when she suggested going to her friend's party, who apparently lived nearby. After walking a few blocks, we came to a house with loud music, a patio full of cups, and colored lights coming from out of the windows. We entered the house, and a few minutes later, we were already the life of the party. We went out to the backyard, where the full moon was shining bright, and then... the tragedy began.
I knocked on the door a couple more times and yelled out if someone was listening. Still, the only response I got was the groans of a man lying on the grass, who starting to wake up. I noticed that my look wasn't giving a good impression of myself, so I quietly entered the house. I walked around, trying to make the slightest noise possible, and went into a bathroom. I washed my face, all full of blood, especially in my mouth. My teeth were stained red, which worried me the most. It was at that moment that I fully remembered what had happened.
I felt something growing inside my mouth, and when I reached up to cover it, I realized that my claws were fully-fledged already and that it was no longer worth trying to hide it. My body moved uncontrollably from side to side, my bones creaked and adjusted to their new shape. Before I could help it, I had thrown myself on top of the woman and was scratching her face. My hands tried desperately to rip the meat off it while my fangs pierced her abdomen, and my snout searched for food inside her. I tried to stop, but I couldn't control myself.
I began to cry: I had done bad things and hurt people, but I had never done something so wrong. I was afraid; I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I couldn't make up for the damage I had caused. Not this time. I heard police sirens in the distance and realized that I could not flee: there was no time to escape or to try to hide the body. I had almost finished cleaning myself up when the door slammed open, three armed cops behind it. "It was me," I confessed, raising my hands. "It wasn't my intention. I couldn't control myself," I said, still crying. But just as I couldn't control my anger before, I couldn't control my fear now, and my fangs, once again, began to grow.
When I came back to consciousness, my head hurt. I felt the light through my closed eyelids, and even though I realized that if I opened my eyes, it would hurt more, the slight pains in my back and the smell of blood forced me to open them. Little by little, I got used to the light and realized that I was in an unfamiliar garden: toilet paper hanging from the tree branches, red cups with traces of alcohol from the previous, and several bodies lying on the floor, some of which had vomit on them. Apparently, I had been to a party last night, a good one. But that sight didn't explain the smell of blood. That's why, when I turned around, I almost had a heart attack: the disfigured body of a woman was lying next to me.
Blood dripping from my hands. I deeply regretted my actions, but I hadn't been able to control them. How could I be expected to prevent them? I could see the blurry grass, my legs moving at high speed, trying to escape the terror. Terror of accepting who I was, what I was, and the consequences that my lack of control had had. She had nothing to do with this. I shouldn't have spoken to her.
I wanted to throw up. The woman's torso was now just a combination of blood and leaking intestines, her legs were full of blood, and she was missing a finger on her right hand. Her face no longer looked like a face. It was just a mixture of skin, muscle, and blood, so mangled that some pieces of skin looked like spaghetti. I started to get dizzy and decided it was best to get away from that body. When I tried to sit up, my body fell apart, and this time, I remembered how I had met her.
I had just been fired. My boss had realized that there was something wrong with me, and I couldn't take it anymore. My job was the most stable thing I had. I had been working at the same company for 15 years. I had dedicated my everything to it. It wasn't fair. Four, five, six drinks later, I was beginning to lose consciousness when I saw her: she was sitting with a friend, her dark ponytail swinging from one side of her back to the other, long red nails gently tapping her glass. I waited for her to turn around and smiled. Minutes later, her friend left her, and I approached her and asked if she wanted to dance with me. She accepted.
I tried to get up once again, this time falling to my knees, but it was progressing. Finally, I crawled a few feet away from the woman and managed to stand by, leaning against the wall. When I raised my hand, I realized that I had left a stain, and when I saw them, I realized that the vision I had had of bloody hands was, in reality, a memory. I staggered to the front door, and as soon as I touched it, it opened up.
We danced for a long time. Then, when our feet could no longer bear it, we decided to go for another drink, and it was then when she suggested going to her friend's party, who apparently lived nearby. After walking a few blocks, we came to a house with loud music, a patio full of cups, and colored lights coming from out of the windows. We entered the house, and a few minutes later, we were already the life of the party. We went out to the backyard, where the full moon was shining bright, and then... the tragedy began.
I knocked on the door a couple more times and yelled out if someone was listening. Still, the only response I got was the groans of a man lying on the grass, who starting to wake up. I noticed that my look wasn't giving a good impression of myself, so I quietly entered the house. I walked around, trying to make the slightest noise possible, and went into a bathroom. I washed my face, all full of blood, especially in my mouth. My teeth were stained red, which worried me the most. It was at that moment that I fully remembered what had happened.
I felt something growing inside my mouth, and when I reached up to cover it, I realized that my claws were fully-fledged already and that it was no longer worth trying to hide it. My body moved uncontrollably from side to side, my bones creaked and adjusted to their new shape. Before I could help it, I had thrown myself on top of the woman and was scratching her face. My hands tried desperately to rip the meat off it while my fangs pierced her abdomen, and my snout searched for food inside her. I tried to stop, but I couldn't control myself.
I began to cry: I had done bad things and hurt people, but I had never done something so wrong. I was afraid; I didn't know what to do. All I knew was that I couldn't make up for the damage I had caused. Not this time. I heard police sirens in the distance and realized that I could not flee: there was no time to escape or to try to hide the body. I had almost finished cleaning myself up when the door slammed open, three armed cops behind it. "It was me," I confessed, raising my hands. "It wasn't my intention. I couldn't control myself," I said, still crying. But just as I couldn't control my anger before, I couldn't control my fear now, and my fangs, once again, began to grow.