As soon as I walked up to the bar at the Downtowner he had his eyes on me. Now they’re nea
A very expensive suit looks like. Gold watchband and wedding ring, a wallet full of dough. I nuzzle my nose inside his jacket and put the fat bulk of it between my teeth. He’s still alive, has no comprehension whatsoever. A quick swing to the left and the wallet flies out the car window, hits a rock and bounces off. He scrambles for the door. I place my paw on his chest. My claws elongate. Don’t much feel like a run tonight, nuzzle into his neck, you’re not going anywhere tonight, and the smell of fear is ammonia.
In an instant he seizes up, all this energy inside and the absolute inability to do anything with it. I open my mouth to show him the flexibility of my jaw. It fits nicely round his head. Shards of bone, lots of blood and brain, explode immediately outward. The windscreen and dashboard, actually the whole interior of the 1977 Ford Fai
Once the kill is over with everything seems to shift into another gear. The pace of things slows down. The stars move slower. I breathe in and what’s external becomes internal, out and the dissipation is perceptible on the very edges of the universe. My body is part of everything and I can move it all. Nothing is beyond my reach.
I push his car off the edge of
I work outside the so-calle
It all depends on the paradigm within which you choose to live. You make the structure, this is what it comes down to. I don’t believe that being a werewolf necessarily gives me these powers but rather an awareness of my full capabilities. The beast within us all is a magnificent creature and I let it out as often as possible.
When I walked into the Downtowner on
He stunk of cigarettes and aftershave, bourbon. You bet, his hot breath going all over my neck, yer sexy sex-y, down near my cleavage he’s panting damp and fast, uh huh uh huh, gone right into my ear hole now, fea
And I could smell everything he’d been up to. Could’ve mapped out there and then his moves for the whole of the previous week. I disassembled him, when he’
The lighting was dim except for the glow from above the bar. I leant in for a pash. His tongue cu
Cliff was forty-two. He liked young gi
I got home just after three in the morning. Fog lay across the highway and the paddocks on either side. Heads of sheep sat on top, o
With Cliff I contemplated murder within twelve hours of us being introduced. That was a year ago now, outside the Red Line depot in
Still it felt good to see him die, the slimy bastard, frightened and whimpering, his face distorted with pain. I won’t deny there was a great deal of pleasure in that. He was an arrogant shit who thought he knew it all and ended up knowing nothing, the hairy beast blowing his brain long before my teeth did. And when I did eventually get round to sending him to hell it was as a piece of shitting pissing, stinking bit of meat, which is pretty well how you’re all going to do it. Violent or not death, like birth, is ultimately messy.