Against the Grain

I have only consciously seen a couple of werewolves like him since I woke up. I won’t give details for his safety but he was brave to find me and quickly walk by. Luckily his face was covered. Their form is so beautiful. They are tall, thin, and have long fingers. His skin was a cinnamon or maybe dark cocoa brown color-not a shade exactly matched among humans-and his brown hair was mussed. And the light grey sweats. Unlike me, it wasn’t being lazy. They are warm, and long nails have problems with buttons, snaps, and zippers. You wouldn’t think such a large, mythic being would emerge from them. The last one I saw was gorging on some cereal. It is what they have been getting calories and energy from since they were banned from the organ meat. This can’t go on much longer-they are too thin as it is and those from the East Coast are robust. It would put us at a disadvantage. Regardless of why we agreed to something so ridiculous, both the vampyre and werewolves must eat. I heard him say I am punk rock and a spiritual medium. I immediately thought of Ron feeding him what to say. The words weren’t important. The way he moved-like he was dancing-I miss the wolves that were from the Arabias and N. Africa. The fluidity in their movement is like smoke from the bottle of the djinn. He was beautiful.