1. ?

I woke up today to the sound of hummingbirds flapping their wings.

It was a chilly morning, the type you'd prefer to sleep in, but the strong "flapflapflapflap" of the tiny bodies at the windowsill gnawed at my ears. Body still half-paralyzed by sleep I forced it out of bed and yawned. Off they flew at the sound of my horrendous roar, shrieking in shrill voices. Except, I didn't roar.

A pity they left, they could have stayed for breakfast. There was still some millet in the cupboard. Squinting to see what they were trying to get at in the pale room, bunches of yellow petals smiled at me - ah, the daffodils have bloomed this morning!

With renewed strength just from the sight of their cadmium, I was careful to inch towards the browning pot without waking the mole rats below, and gazed at the tiny beauties. Soft and golden, their petals beckoned me to touch them. And I so wanted to. But should I? Or should I not? The last time I touched a flower was such a long time ago - how long was it? What, a good, 5 months? The abstinence started after a traumatic event. Perhaps it would be all right by now.

Gingerly, I reached for the tiny buttercup-like things. They were so beautiful. How blessed we are to have such -

frrrip!

A piece of yellow dropped to the floor. Pulling with it, my sunken heart.

One of the first daffodil's petals was now torn, shaking silently in the soft wind as though teary with fear, its other half having fallen silently onto the ground.

I looked down, and groaned, breath sending the other flowers shivering when it wasn't even that cold.

I forgot to wear my claw-gloves.

Sinking back into bed, I damned myself for forgetting that morning. Of all mornings...which brought to mind, that traumatic event 5 months ago...when I shred Aunt Lilith's bouquet with an innocent touch.

"I just wanted to touch it..." I had said to Aunt Lilith, and apologised.

"You, Amadeus Keith Mozart Volsung, have some of the sharpest claws in our lineage. You better wear these gloves from now onwards", she had said, handing me a knitted bag for Christmas.

Closing my eyes, I wished my claws were nothing but removable ornaments. But there they remained, steel-smooth against my forehead.

"Brrrr..."

The alarm buzzed. School would begin in an hour.

Which school? You guessed right. That monstrously large building with its maroon signage, "VAW - The Volsung Academy for Werewolves" that was just a five minute walk from my neighbourhood.

I stared at the ceiling and wished the day would turn to night.

Yes,

I am a werewolf.