werewolves

i spent the morning

reading bukowski to a class

reminding them and myself

that writers are werewolves

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Neon Moon: Part 34

Dr. Chapman said nothing for a moment. “Well, whoever you are, you are harboring enemies of the United States behind your useless bravado.”

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Neon Moon: Part 33

For all the good it did him, Dr. Chapman couldn’t believe the atrocities of rural life. It was a veritable collection of genetic anomalies and oddities. Striking couples, sons and daughters of star athletes and the town prom queen, sat beside thick people of ruddy complexions. Whole clans gathered, all slightly uglier variations of the others. They knew one another, congregated in ignorance of the natural selections around them.

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Neon Moon: Part 30

The ranch house was made of brick with two large windows facing south. The wraparound porch was cluttered with rigging to string up deer and other game and even with time and the unforgiving sun, Bartholomew could smell the blood on the ground, the blood soaked up by the sparse grass. Inside, the furniture was simple wood chairs and a table. A rocking chair sat beneath a wedding picture of a man and woman. “They own this place?” Grant said, inspecting the place.

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Neon Moon: Part 26

The feel of the fire stayed with Bartholomew long after his cleaning. It was part of the curse. To be hurt and to heal. Having hell enter your flesh and know there was no sweet touch from death. Bartholomew’s blistered skin rose and popped and leaked. There was always someone with a vial or dish to collect it. He was the wolf yet he was naked, stripped of his fur by the steam. When the thick hairs grew back, he was visited by agony again. The change back into the man sent him spiraling into unconsciousness.

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Neon Moon: Part 23

“I am ze first,” Gunter said. “Zat iz vy I am called patient zero.” The old man seemed relaxed as though none of it were strange to him. Though his blue eyes seemed to be swimming in his head, there was a large smile plastered on his face. “I know this must be very strange for you, but I am happy. It haz been over tventy yearz since herr doktor haz allowed me ze pleasure of company.”

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Neon Moon: Part 22

He wasn’t a wolf for a full five minutes before they flooded his room with an acrid smelling gas. It did not burn his lungs, as Bartholomew expected. The voluminous cloud lulled him to state of sleep that was not quite sleep. He hit the floor like a sedated bear and the glass rose in front of him. Six pairs of heavy boots clopped inside and took hold of him with tines of metal wire and with great effort, they moved him onto a cold gurney with no padding, just a metal table on wheels.

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Neon Moon: Part 21

Bartholomew heard them crying. His friends. From all the cells, there was a whimper. Except one. In the one cell Bartholomew could hardly see, there was laughter.

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Neon Moon: Part 20

Bartholomew heard them changing. From the loud yaps and grunts, he knew them to be Joe and Grant. They screamed and growled and Bartholomew waited to see if their added strength could break through the ballistics glass. One bounced off the barrier so violently, one of the bunks was torn off the wall. The other, Grant by the sound, sat in its cell, seething and waiting to be let out.

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Neon Moon: Part 19

They left him alone for what felt like days, though by the count of the feminine hair band on repeat, it had only been two hours. He closed his eyes, trying to send himself somewhere far away, but to no avail. “Patient seven,” he heard and looked up to the distorted image of Dr. Chapman.

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