This story is based on a dream, a real excellent dream I had a day... some chars of the story have an existance as far as I know, but I wouldnīt tell you wich ones ^.~ I miself doubtīs sometimes is this or these was a dream... am a man, a buterfly, or a homeless lone wolf wandering around...? does it matters? I suppose rate of this story is no far than R, but Iīll bet for PG13 But I put the f#ck word soo much times (am sorry ībout that)... _________________________________________________________________________________________________ Start to get cool; autuum is coming. A soft, fresh breeze caress the beach, sliding carelessly over my half-covered by the humid sand drafts, rought sketchs of a forbidden past, another life, another times... Fresh air doesnīt touch my skin, my new skin well covered by fur, fur covered of humid sand like my pictures... your fur can get pretty dirty after some time sleeping in the beach. I sigh; am a draft of myself. Is a summer ago Iīm here: sleep outdoors isnīt as bad and I no longer care to rescue the bad preserved almost ruined pics resting in the humid sand, humids as the sand, hardly recognizables, at other times so valuable for me... Now is hard for me to draw, my huge fine grey fur-coverded handpaws doesnīt allow me to handle pencils or others tools, supposing I can get them: I easily break them, still havenīt control enought of my own strenght... Doesnīt mater at all; the need to draw is vanishing with the ending season, like slits in an 'I' than isnīt me anymore. Essence and Existance are one, embedded. A pity the summer ends: then is when you see the best sunsets: however, beach turns suddenly quiet, desert, and I wouldnīt be the one who īll cry the touristsīs runaway... Is almost a whole year since I escaped: the year I was 'dammned' by gods... still today donīt get what the f#ck damm hyomans mean with that... I donīt know, donīt get the idea at all. Is late, and sky is now covered by dark huge clouds: is gonna rain. Rain, a simple pleasure I used to enjoy is now a little annoying, But sometimes I still remain under the falling water, or jump to the incitating middle-wild sea in front of me, who share my nature. But now my stomach is growling, and this just mean one thing: am hungry, then Iīll get some food. So simple as that. How much have been reduced my 'vital' needs: something to eat, somewhere to sleep... nothing else distracting me for seize the day, enjoy the moment. My ears instinctively points up, earing voices at the distance. My neckīs hair bristled up, anticipating possible danger: hyomans use to be very disagreable... I look carefully the horizont, but before my strong ayes is my stronger nose (donīt try to insinuate anything) which notices me her presence: is that skunk girl. I vaguely remember help she in the past with a hyoman trouble; my memory is now a bit confuse, fragile, īcause I donīt care much too about organize it, or anything else. Hyomannnnsss... The "dammned" by the gods arenīt goods enought to live with them, apparently, but share their beds ocassionally appears to be a whole different thing: I remember they were trying to abuse her; almost with pride, no, really honestly enjoying it, I... make them bleed... hard unstopable bleeding, covering my paws and fangs... And thatīs how we meet each other. Since then she brings me food sometimes, and pens and paper to draw... I still like to draw... draw SHE. One of the few pictures I still care and keep away the most insolent seawave is a portrait I did, a portrait of her beautyness. There Are hyomans whom care about us: someones arenīt more than simple perverts, but others can be unvaluable friends... and lovers. She knows them naturally: is kinda a Madame, saying it in a rude way; so I can know what she wants to propose me before a single one word pass the sacre doors of her muzzle lips: she found me a mate. I donīt know who he is; Iīll trust in her criteria, as ever... I just can wish she gets smart and notices how much I love She, īcause I havenīt the goddam f#cking ball to say it... History tend to playback. A year ago I also couldnīt say some things... ************* Another thing I cannot remember is the day the change started, but am sure it couldnīt be missed with puberty... and who and how the whole thing started, only the SmylingFace Big Guy (who could be the primal responsible) knows. They said soo many thing: from aliens to the Devil, punishment from our sins, transgenical food, a goverment conspiracy and all the usual bullshit. I donīt know who Darwing was, but the poor looser hadnīt a f#cking clue about Evolution and all that... By the otherside, I perfectly remember compassion, fear. Reject. Repulsion. Hate. I need to recognize it: people in my classroom made their best, but all these feelings and many others where printed in their baldy faces. Even herīs. Dammlord oversharpened senses! I could saw it, yes, but also hear it in theis pulsations, smell it in their easily individualizable bodies... these new senses made me feel crazy, revealing me things I never wanted to know, like a sort of telepaty... thatīs how I knew she could never ever try to love me. She feared me. With all her soul. Stupid Divine Joker! Her pheromones drived me crazy that day, raging me to a primal level: I was wishing to take her body there and then, ripp off her clothes and do it in the middle of the classroom.... but I would pull out my arms and legs with my fangs before do a thing wich could hurt she. What a contradiction: my sole presence actually was hurting she. I mumbled a random excuse to my badpaid poor terrorified profesor, who looked me like a sort of walking bomb and nods silently paying no attention to a single word, just making the effort to be there sit in his chair and donīt run to the nearest door... and I ran to the bathroom. There, I cried and cried over my uncontrolled animal lust and my hopeless feelings, beating furiously the wall until some mosaics fell broken in pieces; a cry wich was starting to sound like a howl, it Was a Howl... I calmed down a little, a few time passed wich seemed to be eternal: my mind was going by times, animal feelings getting stronger, I could feel the Beast growing in me.... I looked myself at the mirror, as I used to do frecuently since the changes started: a sort of psichological-crap-autodeceive made me sometimes see myself like I wasnīt changing at all, was the same as ever be: then I can see my normal human face in the glowing glass, and all was like it ever was for a moment... ītill the illussion vanish. This time I didnīt wanted to allow the illussion, so I forced myself to concentrate, keep the focus, trying to see the wolf, the licanthrope possesing me. Then it happenned. All these senses I didnīt even knew that existed a little time ago, my survival instincts, alerted me of the inminent attack. Stupid, ignorant hyomans, whom lives half-blind and proud of that, alienated to the obvious, complainig their mutual ignorance and exposing their blindness, hating all things which goes far their very limited horizont... I was in front of the definition of fanatism, a radical arquetype, kinda skinhead, one of those whom enjoys hurting, no matter the 'Cause' they use as excuses... a simple way to blind theirself more and more, and in a corrupt way feel a little better about their place in life, their very usefulness... Pathetic, in one word; if you seek pathetic in a dictionaire there is a pic of this guy. He was seeing me in the same way as I heard always is: his bald shaved head as the rest of his body showing me clearly the repulsion he felt about my condition, eyes shinning in freaking crazy hate self-retroalimentation and one lone unique premise: KILL. Stupid asshole: at his eyes, he was the human. And I was the Beast. He got two guns from nowhere.... No, am sorry, that trick didnīt worked: I saw it perfectly grabbing them from the back of his pants, almost in slowmotion... I could have a lunch with coffe and the paper in the middle time ītill he complete the action, so slow their moves seemed to me. I wasnīt thinking at all; nothing remotely like a rational mind was disturbing me. I was just action and reaction, precise, fast, lethal. I was a killing machine and was enjoying each moment of it. I pawed curious his right hand, making him loose the gun with a funny noise of breaking bones (then I was even less selfconscious of my strenght). Fascinated, I let his other hand complete his deadly trayectory and point the gun to my head (gosh! in the time it took, I could build a house!), seeing his now shining-in-a-perverted-way-of-happyness eyes, thinking surely he got me... before I forced his hand in an unnatural movement to point his own face at the same moment he was pulling the trigger. He died instantly; a little difference, īcause he wasnīt mindsane enough to feel fear or pain. I was the personification of all he hated; he was the same thing for me. Rational part of me was starting to ask about what the hell I did... But... but... I killed him for selfdefense... ...And Enjoyed it a lot, didnīt you? I react fastly: time will be later to guilt feelings and stuff... my feelings werenīt important now, just a little disturbing troublesome detail: I killed a hyoman. They will pursue me, jail me, maybe kill me, no matter the motive, morality, whatsoever... I was the Beast, the Monster, All which goes Bad in Society, a Deadly Menace... thatīs how the System works. There wasnīt a place for me, for people like me, in the hyoman System. I had to runaway. Forever. So I left all the intrascendental thoughs, letting the Wolf take care of me again: there was so enormous odd power in my new Dammned muscles, I was still feeling all the rage of the battle (massacre?), I was a Wild Borned and was backing to domains of Mother Nature. I could never explain the nature, the very esscence of these feelings to anyone who hasnīt felt them; no hyoman sensation or feeling can be ever used as pale analogy. Thatīs just another brick in the wall that keeps me apart of the hyoman being. I ran as fast and far as mi legs allow me; running over the pavement, climbing or jumping roofs and walls untill I left all behind me, lost the urban jungle in the horizont, and barely no sign of the hyoman existance. I was back to home. ********************************** Broken pieces of memories from a remote past; thatīs how they looks now. Am a Homeless, an Exiliated No Landīs Wolf... to the hyomans eyes. The true is I am Free. Awaking from my daily dream, I see my beautyful skunk girl: I know she awaits a reply to her never pronnounced invitation. I nod an follow her: sometimes even I needs a partner, not by a long time; I always return to my domains, the True Peaceful Reign of Loneliness. Walking sometimes in two, some times in four foots (does it make any difference?) still thinking in an alexic way about the Nature of Being, the Sense of Life. I drop away insecurities, walking side to side with someone who am truely in love, ready to gather some I could love, all remaining things are senseless, vanishing in mist, melting down to the infinite ocean of Creation, aged and lost like these old drafts forgotten in the Sand of Time. I īve accepted myself; now patient await... Giving the world a chance to do the same thing. _________________________________________________________________________________________________ This is my first serious attempt of write an story; I not necessarily agree with all the opinions an stuff exposed there and likes the term 'hyoman' just īcause it sounds me funny. Any similarity with another īs dream or experiencies is just a coincidence, as far as I know from this little big multiuniverse. Mails, criticism and whatever else are ever welcome; they can be directed to helmeetelgato@hotmail.com They will be attently read and friendly replied, if aplicable =)