Blood Moon

The full moon dripped blood onto my plate. It was a red gravy dinner.

Feeling the hot liquid on my chin, I recalled the sounds and the smells. The smell of the wet fur and the sound of the brush snapping under my weight as I rushed to create a crime scene. The memories birthed another howl that began in my chest and with the force of a thousand winds from my lungs broke forth through my wide open jaws.

I needed this. I accepted it. I even wanted it. I would miss it if I had to let go of it.

The feeling of being alive lit up the night, a display of sparks crackled and spit. My aura of pain and power. 

To feed, to touch my prey with greed, to taste them with lust, that is what I was when the full moon dripped blood onto my plate.