I Am Not A Monster.

Running.  

I need food.

It can't be far.

I smell it.  

The stench of fear taunts my senses, causing my mouth to water at the prospect of an easy meal. It's never a challenge to get my teeth into flesh. They're not fast enough; their fright clouds their judgement.  

They assume I'm not real. I'm just the wind in the trees, the rustle of its leaves as they walk alone. I smirk, my sharpened teeth flashing white in the moonlight.  

Alone. Easy. Food. 

I slink quickly through the shadows, my form ever changing in the darkness. If anyone were to watch my hunt, they would see a cat one moment and a frail old man the next without blinking at the change.  

It amuses me to see how far they'll go to convince themselves that there's nothing out of the ordinary. No monsters out in their backyard, no ghost watching their every move. If only they knew.  

I'm so hungry... 

I wrench myself back into reality as I come to feel a shift in the air. It's so slight, I'm not sure it's even happened. But it has.  

My stomach groans as it realises food is near. The shift seems to be coming from a side alley.  

Small. Dark. Perfect.  

I turn and run towards my meal, saliva dripping down my jaw and onto the concrete floor below me. My eyes narrow in anticipation.  

The smell of alcohol hits me as I enter the damp, cold area. A scrawny woman is leaning against a wall and she sways as if she is sea-sick. 

A snarl threatens to rip through my throat, disappointment causing my body to bristle in contempt. How dare she - she, my meal - be so measly?  

I almost turn back, almost give the woman a last chance of life. Almost.  

I can practically taste death in the air around the woman. Even if I were to leave now, she would not survive until morning. It won't be murder.  

I sink further into the darkness, moving as one with the shadows. I make little noise, but I suspect that she would not detect me even if I chose to be loud.  

I almost wretch at the smell of vomit and self-pity.

I calculate the distance between myself and my prey, slowly stepping back. I lunge at the woman, my weight acting like an anchor as she falls. A cry of fear builds in her throat. I can feel her muscles spasming below me, and a sick sense of satisfaction rests in my chest as I think of what she sees. 

Me.

The epitome of power.

My fur is bloody and matted from years of neglect, dark black and grimy. I realise that my eyes must be bloodthirsty; when they connect with hers she shrinks back in horror. I'm over twice her size, and she knows she has no chance.  

My claws flex on her chest, and she, again, tries to scream. Something ripples through my body and I throw my head back, muzzle twisting at the corners. Am I... laughing? It sounds like a meek interpretation.  

Oh, well.  

I bring my face down to hers, fangs bared. I growl, my hot breath leaving droplets of residue on her face. With my tongue lolling out of my mouth, I flick it across her cheek, allowing myself to taste the leathery skin.

Finally... 

I instinctively open my jaw as wide as it will go, readying myself to clamp it onto her head. I tear it off; toss it to the side. I hear it smack onto a wall, but I don't move my gaze to look at it. How could I? The sight before me is beautiful.  

Her headless body gives a final twitch before it notices that it is, most definitely, dead. With an almost defeated grace, it slumps onto the floor and lays still.  

Words cannot describe how I feel when I finally get my first mouthful of meat. The raw, bloody mess that fills my mouth is practically heaven. What dwindling life force that resided in the corpse flows into me, and I feel the best I have in days.  

The floor is practically painted red by the time I'm finished. What was a woman is now a bloody mass of skin and intestine, her remains splattered on the walls and nearby bins.  

People who will find this tomorrow will say it's the work of a monster. What else could do that to a human - or what was left of one, anyway? Certainly not another.  

And yet some do. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers; am I really worse than them? I am merciful. I take those who want to die, those who are too caught up in drugs and alcohol to do it themselves. I do not harm society.  

I'm not the monster in this world.