Werewolf

Consumed by the inner torment that haunted his existence, Michael walked as if there were a demon pulling at his very core. Day by day the darkness would consume his heart, turning him into something that he had no way to fight against; it was a cancer that he could not rid himself of.

He couldn’t recognize anything in himself aside from the pain and anger, the fear and the loneliness, all of which seemed to have a permanent hold. How had he come to this point? How had he been victim to such a cruel joke? He left himself open and vulnerable, in allowing himself to entrust any and every person that would give him the attention he craved so much. Unfortunately as they would leave him, they would take a piece of him with them, leaving a void that would grow with each day and the opportunity for something to come and fill it.

It became a fear of his, that which he feared would be the only thing that could inevitably come in and permanently fill that void; it was only for so long that he could fight it off—he was weak to begin with, and his only strength would often come as a byproduct in trying to dawn that façade for those who had indeed given him his desired time. Now that was gone, he was having to learn how to be strong for himself, unfortunately he was no black magic wielder, he had nothing special within to keep pushing through. Giving up, letting go, not only of the hope of things changing, but everything in whole was becoming an increasingly attractive thought. It was more difficult for him to make this decision than to get back on that horse, that was what was expected, complete fall into the embracing darkness was new, and as his plan of action had never worked to begin with, he was ready to try something new.