Estimated reading time — 3 minutes
I have never enjoyed alcohol mind you, I never had the tongue for it. I don’t drink it for the taste, nor the feeling it gives some men. I’ve found that alcohol numbs my urges, dulls my senses. It continues to make me feel somewhat human. I try my best to control myself, do they know how hard I try? Would it change anything if they did? No. I very much doubt it would.
I was out especially late one night, heavy footed and stumbling. I was drunk of course, it was common for me to leave my nights blurry with an abundance of ale. While I was on course to my dwelling the slippery cobblestone road was being hogged by four men. I assumed anyone else standing in gloom at this hour would be drunk as well, but these men were different. They weren’t swaying, they didn’t have the occasional hiccup or irregular breathing. The veins of these men were not heavy with alcohol. Bothersome, truly bothersome.
Whatever business these men had, it was not my place to intervene. I slowly stumbled to the side of the road so the men could pass. But to my surprise the men didn’t continue on their path when I moved, in fact they turned to face me. Before I could bark a word in response the men were closing in. I was too slow, too uncoordinated. The last I remember a blackjack was being swung towards my temple.
I was dragged from my restless slumber by the bump of wagon wheels on an untraveled road, judging by the rough ride. All I could see was the wooden grain of the wagon bed pressed against my face. I could barely crane my neck, my hands and feet were tied. I’ve been tied before, and these were not amateur knots. Whoever bound me had done this before.
At this point I was as sober as a priest before his Sunday sacrament. My eyes adjusted to the darkness easily, and I could smell the stench of sweat and soil embedded into the men’s clothing. I was able to focus enough to make out their conversation. Two of the men were speaking of money, something about a price for a healthy adult male, I resisted a chuckle; me healthy? The third man was sitting in silence leading what I presumed was a horse from the smell. The fourth man who accompanied them when I was abducted was not with us. Perhaps he was just around for the kidnapping part and not what came after. I suppose this would explain the missing persons at the village I currently dwelt in. I was surprised that people were going missing, and for once I had nothing to do with it.
No matter, I’ve grown tired of these men’s rambling, and I was in no mood to be sold to the highest bidder. I rolled my way onto my back and stared up towards the clear night sky. There she was, my cruel mistress. Staring down at me with her pale face seemingly inches from mine. Attempting to persuade me without saying a single word, she enveloped me in a comforting cloak of twilight. Like a mother laying a heavy cotton blanket over her sleeping child. I want to do good, I want to be better. Why does everyone always push me as if they receive a shining silver coin for doing so? Bothersome, truly bothersome. The strong rope securing my limbs was being stretched like rubber from my growing body. I could feel the tufts of fur growing under my now dirty shirt. Soon I had no shirt at all, and was free from my bonds. One of the men noticed the wagon shifting from my weight.
The man turned in his seat and was face to face with the snarling snout of a seven foot tall beast of muscle and fur. Before the man could utter a single squeal my claws raked across his throat leaving him breathless to say the least. The two other men stared wide-eyed at what happened to their comrade and tried to flee. The one manning the stirrup was too slow, my jaws clamped down on his skull with a sickening crunch. The last kidnapper had escaped into the forest out of sight in the shrubbery, but I didn’t need my eyes to find this foul man, I had my nose. I set off into the forest on all fours sprinting towards the whimpering man who barely managed to run faster than a sickly goat over the uneven terrain. He had run no more than one hundred feet before I was upon him. I quenched my thirst with his blood.
When I came too, not even the horse had been spared. The gruesome sight would have turned even the most battle-hardened veteran’s stomach. I unfortunately was not a normal man. After all, I didn’t kill these men, they unknowingly killed themselves. I wanted to be good, I wanted to be better. I did my best, even if no one else will see it that way. I set off back down the untraveled road, following the fresh trail left by the wagon. Leaving my cruel mistress as the only mortician that will ever find these corpses.
Credit : Turtle
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