Wolf – Writing Prompt

Wolf – Writing Prompt

while watching „The Howling II“ I received a writing prompt about writing a short piece of fiction from the eyes of a certain famous horror-actor and this is my try – for the lolz

 

I crossed the stream at 3 in the morning. The air was humid enough to keep me alive. Not that I needed to stay alive. I was already dead. But on the other hand, who is really alive?
The full moon was leaving the sky, but I was not interested. My hand itched, but I would hurt myself more that that bite in my shoulder. The bad shoulder, located next to my good arm and my living hand.
But damn, that lady had it coming. And now she was dead.
I hoped.
The bar had been filled with the basic scum, drunkards like me and my buddies from the mart. The mart, where I had survived a shitton of action and blood, where I had been king and god – for a time. But nowadays, kings die and gods fall. And sometimes, evil follows them.
So in this bar, there was this woman. Blond. Curvy. Not older than 40.
She was already sober – again. And she was waiting. Waiting for a man like me. King. God. Drunkard.
„Whats with the hand?“, she had asked me, after I ordered a double bourbon, neat.
„I don’t know, haven’t seen her since my last vaccation.“
„Long time ago?“ she asked.
„Longer than my Triple-A-membership.“
She had smiled.
And later, her smile had turned bigger.
Well, not for my … king, but for my looks.
And then her mouth had grown, because her freaking teeth had grown, as if I made sweet love to a rabbit – or a wolf.
And now here I was, early in the morning, more sober than an angry badger. And I was not alone.
Half a mile before my trailer the motor of my car had given up. A screaming gearbox maybe, i don’t care. I am not good with machines. Or humans. Only women. Sadly, most of them are dead. Or worse.
So I crossed the stream at 3 in the morning. My shoulder burned. My blood too.
And I was not alone.
She was there.
Cassandra. Some name, right? And she wanted to eat me alive. Or make me something evil. You can’t make me evil. I am the hero. Some hero, so, well, part-time at least.
„Cassi!“ I yelled, but the echoes mocked me. As usual, darkness fears me. Laughs at me, but fears me.
And there she was. 7 feet tall, her looks not so good anymore. Half of her face was missing.
„Well, that happens, when you want a bite from me!“
She screamed. Her claws were longer than my feet and my … personality. But on the other hand, I still had both of my eyes. Sadly, only one hand.
She jumped. I barely managed to get out of her way.
Idea, idea, I needed an idea, come on!
Somewhere in the background, a train whistled.
I tried to get the time. I smiled, because I am a fucking lucky guy. Only a few dozen steps away I could see the bridge from some city in the west and some other city in the east – and it was time.
I almost drowned, but swimming with one hand is considered a marvel. In the shadow of the bridge, I appeared again, looked up. Grinned again.
The werewolf-woman was behind me, only a few seconds.
I left the stream, went up the slope to the bridge.
And there she was, directly under the bridge, directly under the rails.
„Cassi!“ I yelled. „Come on and get me!“
She jumped. With her claws buried in the wooden blanks she lifted herself – and pushed her head through the gaps.
„Eat this, wolfie“, I said and shoved my girlfriend, a twelve-gauge double-barreled shotgun created by the Remington Arms Company in their Grand Rapids, Michigan factory, with a stock of polished walnut, a cobalt blue steel barrel, and a hair trigger in her mouth.
And shot.
Nothing happened.
Had I shot it already twice?
Couldn’t remember.
Didn’t care.
The werewolf was already chewing at the mussle.
The train whistled again. I turned around. Screamed something cool, jumped.
The bull bar on the front of the locomotive hit the face of the werewolf and cut it right of.
I had luck.
My gun didn’t.
The werewolf even less.
Nobody believed me when I bought another shotgun.
Nobody believed me either, when I told them about the werewolf in the bar, a bar, which had been empty for at least 20 years.
And surely nobody believes me that I get an itch in my shoulder while watching the moon hiding behind a cloudly sky.
Well, at least, I didn’t have to pay the tab.
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