Chapter 1 : One Of These Days
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One of these days I'm gonna love me
And fill the joy of sweet release
One of these days I'll rise above me
And at last I'll find some peace
And then I'm gonna smile a little
and Maybe even laugh a little but
One of these days I'm gonna love me
No one ever said being a werewolf was easy, but no one ever told me it'd be this hard. Perhaps I was more troubled then the rest, the way the moon taunted me every night, despite the fact that it wasn't full. I hate this beast inside me. I always have, and I always will. From the day the wolf I happened upon bit me, I've lead a troubled life, a painful life.
It's odd that such thoughts should scar my consience, as I have cut myself off from this world. I don't know why the memories have decided to haunt me. The wolf can still smell it, the dead bodies, the cold of the swaying fabric can still be felt, and the betrayal still stings deep within my troubled heart.
My tattered body has given up on me, the wolf takes over too often. I grow weaker everytime. It is odd that I shouldn't be able to control him, it is not his time. I see him when I look in the shattered, jagged glass that remains clinging to my tattered robes. He clouds my vision, as if daring I keep him locked away. But I can't challenge him, he's become to strong for me.
I've always been a loner by nature, but the fact that the only friends that a loner could ever acquire were all robbed from me has left the wolf restless. I don't understand, but the wolf knows he wants his revenge. I can't control his feelings in the least. But at last I think I may understand him a little more.
For you see, not only was I robbed of my friends, but he as well. Where's the proud stag, the shaggy dog, and the tiny rat? Where's the fiery red head who helped him? Where were they now? Gone. Everyone was gone. But the wolf wished his revenge, what he wished he always got. The squeaky rat would be dead in a heartbeat if he ran across me on a full moon. And I wished he would.
It is an awful thing to say, and I, myself, am afraid that I feel it. But a betrayal that caused mine and the wolf's true friends to be ripped away from us was enough to leave me willing the wolf's quest to continue. Every full moon he prowled, but did not waste, for he saved his biting and scratching for one. This made it more painful for me, of course, having to transform without so much as a scratch to anyone. It wasn't in a werewolf's nature not to cause someone pain in his wolf state. But I could bare it, if only for the thought I could avenge the brilliant stag, the laughing dog, and the rare flower.
I knew it wasn't right, but I can not help it. As I sit clutching my tattered robes to myself I wonder if the wolf could ever give love to any others. He was very picky, and I was not to interfer. I can't help but be afraid to defy him, or try to rise above him. It is a hopeless fight and I realized it. Though I hoped against it, it didn't matter. Hope was a downfall of some men, and I simply couldn't allow such things to happen.
But a ray of it will always shine through me, something I cannot stop. It tells me that I can be at peace, that I can love myself. I don't know when I'll believe it, but it is always there. When the beast in me accepts it, and the internal battle dies, I can love myself. As I've said before, however, I cannot trust to hope.
A light tickles my skin, the sun has begun to rise. The wolf in me smelt the blood, and I began to pick up the glass and rub it off my robes. It grew angry with me, for what reason I did not know, and let out a growl of its own, through my throat. I argued with him, he argued back. I mentioned the rat, for reasons that couldn't figure out, once again, and he stopped. The beast stopped.
When I though he was gone, however, he let out a sorrowful, pitiful wail. I collapsed, feeling his emotion, the sting was as bad as the days they happened. Images flowed throught my mind with a rapid speed, and I grew numb with each passing. A strangled noise passed my lips, and then all was silent. But the sunlight was still there.
My ray of hope, I see. A poorer pun would've picked a pocket, you fool, I thought. Perhaps it was my ray of hope, anyway. One of these days I'm going to love me. I don't know when it'll be, but I can wait. As the sun shined over my tattered body, fully engrossing me in its light, I made my descision. One of these days.
Hi, all. :) I do hope this made a bit of sense to you, though I can admit I'd understand if it didn't. Everybody send love to our favorite werewolf and his sad, weary mind.
-Riddle Wood Lupin
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