The Beast I Have Become

Chapter 40

        Darkness. Everywhere. Darkness. Pain. Darkness. More pain and more darkness. Am I blind and hurt or I am just in a dark room. Maybe both.
        "AAAH!" I scream in pain. Why pain? Why is it always pain? Can't it be different? I wrap my arms around me and cry out. My body shifts and changes as I thrash around in pain and agony.
        Why must I go through this hell?! I ask myself as my teeth grow and lengthen. Suddenly, my perspective changes. I'm still me apparently, but I still see myself thrashing and squirming. Imagine it like you're looking at yourself from a narrative point of view. You are you, but you're watching yourself. Hard to explain, I know. I'm trying my best. I cringe as I see myself painfully shifting before my very own eyes.
        Once the transformation is finished, I see the monster I become. I become a horrid beast with razors for teeth and piercing, dark yellow eyes. It's pretty cool, but the bloodlust isn't. Suddenly, I runoff. Or the wolf I mean. It shoots through the house, making a straight beeline for Matt, Ryan, and Jack. I jump out to stop the wolf, but I only go right through it like a ghost. This is terrible! My friends getting killed right in front of me and absolutely nothing I can do about it.
        "Why?" I whisper to myself as the wolf does its thing. I fall to my knees, unable to turn away from the events going on before my tearful eyes. I go and try again, but it's no use. I can't do anything about this. I just go right through everyone, not having any effect at all. Suddenly, I get a pain like I'm being lit of fire. Literally. I scream my lungs out to the pain thrashing and screaming.

I wake up with a gasp and wipe the sweat from my forehead. It has been a good while since I've had blue hair. I have red hair now. Not too far, but it seems like a long time ago for me. Me and my red trumpet.  
        I smile as I do my scale and just screw around with it. I know I haven't practiced in a good while and my embouchure is probably weak and gonna hurt, but trumpet was my primary instrument, and playing it makes memories from school flow back. Even if I did mess up on those trumpet solos. Nice and red. I've never seen a red trumpet before. I've seen silver and gold, but not red! I had to get it!
        Anyway, I mess around with my trumpet as I lay back in my bed. Until I get spit rolling back down my trumpet and into my mouth, I decide to sit up after that. I blow through the trumpet and let the spit out from the spit valve. Of course, Matt had to walk in at the same time.
        "Aw man," he says with a smile as he turns and puts his hands up, "what the fuck, Mark? That gross."
        "Shut the fuck up," I reply with a playful smile. "You're a drummer. You wouldn't understand."
        "Eh," he says with a shrug, "at least drums sound better."
        "At least trumpets get more solos than drummers," I reply back.
        "At least that's not true since drummers and trumpets get good solos," he replies back.
        "At least I told you to shut the fuck up," I reply.
        "At least you should go fuck yourself," he replies.
        "At least that last statement proves that you don't know how to say things right," I say with a smile.
        "Well played," Matt replies.
        Anyway, things have been pretty great so far. I've been able to control the wolf better and nothing too strange has been happening as often as they used to. Life is somewhat normal again. I know I've said it a lot, but it really has been fairly normal. As I sit in my bed, I continue to toot on my trumpet, even after Matt left. I try to do some songs off of what I remember and seeing if I can get them right. It's been a good amount of years since I've last competed in marching band competitions. I'm able to remember some of the songs, though I do mess up but do find the right notes and try to remember the fingerings. For those who aren't or never were in a band, you wouldn't understand. The band is something you have to experience to know. Band members are basically their own group of nerds. Anyway, I get through some songs, even with the complaints from Matt and Ryan. They said I suck, but when they tried, they sounded like the typical beginner which sounds like a cat that's being choked and drowning at the same time.
        "You suck," I reply with a smug tone, "so go fuck yourself."
        "Yeah," Matt says, "but I don't notice any difference between my playing and yours."
        It took me a while, but I got it. "Hey! I sound nothing like you did! You sounded like you strangled your cat or something."
        "Go fuck yourself, Mark," Matt says with a playful smile.
        Matt and Ryan eventually leave and I record a video. I do a simple, everyday schedule. I do another game that isn't too bad. I'm just finishing up as series. I think I'm finally close to finishing this game too.
        Once I finish, I leave the video for Matt to edit which he gets onto it right away. I head downstairs, looking out at the night sky as I pass. Today is one of my favorite days. I head out into the night, the fresh, crisp air blowing lightly through my hair. I smile and stuff my hands in my pockets, listening as the light breeze rustles the leaves on the trees. I walk deep into the woods, making sure that I'm a good distance away from any other people. Once I feel like I'm deep enough into the woods, I start to concentrate. I focus, my limbs shifting and painfully popping and cracking.
        "AAAH!" I yell out as I fall to my knees in pain. I wrap my arms around myself as my breathing becomes faster and heavier due to the intense pain. I growl, snarl and yell as the pain continues to rake my body. I catch my breath since I sometimes hold it. Once done, I stretch. Ah man, this is nice. I stretch my limbs and shake my black fur. I then run a paw through my red bangs before letting out nice, loud and lively. I feel so great!
        Ok, focus time now. I put my nose to the air and inhale, letting the scents flow into my nostrils. I smell things all around. The leaves. The dampened earth at least a few inches below the surface. The faint traces from animals. I then catch what I'm looking for: a strong scent. I follow my nose, cautious the lay my paws softy onto the slightly dampened leaves. I crouch down and flatten my ears, raising them up ever so slightly. I see my prey. A big, strong buck. Before I give the buck time to catch my scent, I pounce for it, my jaws clamping down on its hind leg. This is the kind of hunting I prefer. Me being in control.

Authors Note
Should I write a second book for this? And if so what should some ideas be and a possible title?
-⚔🐺blackclaw565🐺⚔