Bad Moon

Annie shut her eyes and winced as she heard the smash of dishes in the kitchen. She thought not of the mess that she would have to clean up later, but of her friend that was trapped in an unbreakable curse. The terrible curse that broke his bones, and turned his eyes a vicious amber. The one that made him destroy the dishes he used to make warm, comforting dinners on rainy days. The one that took away his humanity, and made him a monster.

Mitchell heard the Earth-shattering growls of his friend searching for prey inside the flat. It was times like this that he felt most afraid. Afraid of the hunger they both felt. The hunger for the wildest and most primeval of things: the blood of man and the meat of animals. The danger, and the impossibility of escape; they would always be stuck like this, no matter their attempts at living normal lives. They would always be monsters. The only thing they could do was to hide, hide from themselves, and the rest of the world. Mitchell looked down at his hands. They shook with fear, and desire. The desire to overcome these afflictions, to be free from the hunger and, more importantly, free to be human.

Sitting together, side by side, on the small doorstep of their awkwardly pink flat, Annie and Mitchell both looked up at the moon. That pitiless orb that drowned the Earth in a pool of cursed light.

With the crash of another dish, Annie wrapped both her arms around Mitchell, pulled him close, and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Do you think he'll ever get better?" Annie half-whispered.

"Get better?" Mitchell looked down at Annie, his eyebrows furrowed into a quizzical glance. "It's not like he's ill. This is a part of him now. He needs to realise that, and accept it as it is."

Annie met his stare. "That's what I meant. I meant is he going to get better about dealing with himself? You know he's going to beat himself up forever about this."

Mitchell let out a sigh. Annie's head fell with the rush of air from Mitchell's lungs. She felt as though she were floating in the ocean, with the rising and falling of the waves. "I hope so. He can't keep doing this to himself. I—I can't keep bringing him back."

"Bringing him back from what?"

"From hate. He can't go on hating himself like this. It's not good for him. He needs to get out there, try to be human, interact. He can't be anonymous forever."

Annie felt a little offended. "Well, what about me? I'm completely anonymous. No one can even see me!"

Mitchell stroked Annie's hair. "You and I are different. We can't grow old; we're already dead. We're participants in a game that we've already lost, but play just for the hell of it. He's still in it. He needs to play the game."

Annie looked up at Mitchell. "You've been watching football again, haven't you?"

Mitchell sheepishly fiddled with his gloves. "A bit. Just enough to understand what the guys down at the pub are always on about."

As the werewolf pounded his paw-fists against the windows, Annie buried her face in Mitchell's chest, and let out a small whimper. "Oh Mitchell, I wish we could make it stop." Annie's voice was muffled, buried in Mitchell's shirt.

"You and me both, sweetheart." Though he knew that Annie didn't need sleep, Mitchell gave Annie a quick, good-night kiss. He hoped that despite the night's pains, the sun of a new day would bring to the group a renewed faith in being human.