Kyle
I had lost track of time.
My enhanced eyesight could see a deer from miles away, and my hearing could detect the softest footfall from a rabbit. My talons and muscles were instruments of a nightmare, and no prey had ever escaped me. I was at my physical peak, the time in my life when I would be the strongest, the fastest, indestructible.
Yet despite my physical advantages, my mind was deteriorating. With sad eyes, I held the bright, half-moon in my vision. It was nighttime, although what hour it was exactly, eluded me. Time was a difficult concept for me to grasp. I had no idea of the day, the date, the time, or the year. My primal instincts had clouded my thoughts, and I found myself coming to the conclusion that it was nighttime due to the lack of sunlight. That made sense. But how many moons had I seen come and go? How many nights had passed, nights that I’d lost track of?
I was the picture of a fictional movie: the lone, black wolf atop a hill. The weather was cold, though my thick fur provided a thermal layer that even the bitterness of the wild could not penetrate. It was snowing, with thick clumps of ice and snow drifting downwards, the path of gravity. Under my paws were layers and layers of the substance, proving that the season was close to the beginning of winter. My eyes scanned the valley below me, as a king would his land. I could see the rivers, the geysers, the trees, and the animals. They were all decorated with a thin layer of white. As far as the eye could see, there was white. The lack of colour depressed me, and reminded me that I was in the wild, that I was in fact, a self-exiled beast.
My memories were following the similar path as my sense of time. It was rarely now that I could remember my past life. I was sure that I did have a past life, but how, I didn’t know. Occasionally, a specific scent would trigger my brain to throw a hazy memory at me, but it was fleeting, and I could never figure out what the memory was trying to show.
However there was one memory that I could remember, no matter what the time, or the location. It haunted me in my every waking step, sometimes causing me to become depressed and not move for days on end, and sometimes sparking my temper into a rage. I had killed an entire herd of deer the last time that I’d been a victim of my memories.
It always started with flashes of light. I briefly saw faces – the faces of humans that I couldn’t remember – as they smiled, laughed, and talked with me. Through the memory, I could smell the tangy scent of alcohol, and human sweat. I was moving, and the strange sensation would always cause me to collapse, as if motion sick. While I remembered myself dancing amid a crowd, the scene would abruptly change. It would darken, and I’d recognize the surroundings of a suburban street. I was alone. The memory was the recreation of a night in my past.
I’d been on my way to a party, one a few blocks from my own house. I’d never made it to the doorstep. The beginning of my memory – the faces – was always hazy, because it was fictional, a figment of my imagination. To try and suppress the horrible memory, I’d tried to cast one over the top, like a veil to shroud the truth. I’d ‘remember’ partying, although it never happened. What happened was much, much worse…
I would walk on that footpath for a few minutes, towards a destination that I’d never meet. The moon was full in the sky, eerily watching me, foreshadowing the events that were yet to come. I had a drink in my hand. It sloshed messily out of the red cup and splashed dark patches onto the concrete – no, that wasn’t memory, that was fictional. I’d never been holding a cup.
I shook my head to rid myself of the hallucination, but it was impossible to ignore. The details of that night battered at me relentlessly until I was forced to capitulate and ride it through.
I could barely see, it was so dark. The shadows beside me were pitch black, leading into the wild forest that bordered my hometown. Perhaps that was the reason why I could never see it coming.
The feral dog lunged at me from my side, and it barreled into me with enough force to knock down a brick wall. I fell heavily onto the pavement, and this thing was on top of me. It couldn’t have been a dog; it was larger, and less domestic. Its large jaw was agape, and its fangs dripped saliva onto my chest, while its heavy body pinned me to the floor.
Before I could even consider calling for help or struggling under the animal, it descended on my shoulder and I felt two rows of sharp teeth pierce my skin and sink into the skin below my neck. This was the part where I blacked out.
After a time of darkness, I’d see flashes of light again. My parents were among the flashes, their worried faces. I saw a hospital bed, the dark burgundy colour of blood. There was lots of it, and I took a guess that it was mine.
Time passed then, but I never knew how much. I felt physically better, but mentally, there was something wrong. That night I would experience my first shift. I could never forget the bone-breaking pain that would surge through my veins. Each limb would undergo a change in shape and size, and each bone would crack and break individually.
I could remember writhing on the floor when a girl came in. She had blonde hair, and a vaguely familiar face, but at the moment, I couldn’t place her. Who was she? Why was she in my memories?
That scene was short lived. I was nearly towards the end of my memory now, and I only had one segment left. It was the hardest part to relive, the hardest to endure. It was now that I’d lose control, and my beast would lunge forth and create destruction in my surroundings. I could never control it; only wait until it was over.
And there it was, the flash of a pair of eyes. They were blue in colour, but not a vibrant blue. They were a dull blue, almost lifeless, without humanity. They stared it me with a crazed hunger and glee that made me weak at the knees. I recognized them in many ways: they were the eyes of the wolf that had attacked me; they were the eyes that haunted my waking life for the years following the attack.
But most importantly, they were the eyes of one man that I had never met; yet I knew his name. The beast within me recognized him as my master, and that was what undid me. I was powerful, I was independent, and I definitely bowed to no master. I couldn’t help my natural response to the one that turned me, the lycanthrope that had power over me.
They were the eyes of Roland.
~
Well hello my lovelies! New chapter for you, hope you liked it! It's a sneak peek into Kyle's life right now, and a bit of his past (there won't be too many of these chapters i think).
Next upload may be a bit longer than a week because of Christmas (eek! exciting!). Also because I'm working lots :/ So everyone have a Merry Christmas! Or just nice holidays if you don't do Christmas. :)
-Moozelle
