well, here's chapter 1.

I wake up in a dazed state. I recall nothing at first, and then the events of last night hit me like a train. The fear in the air, the terrified screaming, and the expression on his face during his last fleeting moment were what I remembered. I groan in disappointment at my weakness of control as I have reverted to human form. This isn’t the first time this happened. In fact this has happened every full moon since the- RING! RING! RING! My alarm clock rings. I never fully understood why I placed that in my room as I always get up several minutes before it rings. “It’s probably just too much self harassment” I say to myself as I roll my eyes in disgust.

It’s not like there’s anyone to listen to me here in my house. Or it’s more specifically, my borrowed from my parent’s house. I’m sixteen years old, and I live alone due to the fact that I cannot get along with any of the members of my family. I am content with living alone, though the chores do pile up a bit every now and then. My name is Jethro Summers or Jet for short. I’m named after some guy in the bible. Haven’t bothered reading it since it burnt my hands last time I tried picking it up. I get up and take a shower, and I put on my school uniform. I go down and make my breakfast. I get my backpack ready and go to school. I take a tricycle (a motorcycle with some sort of covered side-car), the usual local transport in the Philippines, and aside from the jeep and the taxi which I’ll talk about later. I arrive at my school and get there twenty minutes before classes start. I walk up the steps and am relieved when I get to the fifth floor which is for the fourth years which I forgot to mention I am one of.

Its not that I’m advanced, It’s just that here 16-17 year-olds are usually fourth year since there isn’t a middle school in the Philippine schooling system. I go up and greet my friends (I question the usage of this word), a bunch of queers, honestly.

They’re a rather odd bunch, but they look out for me, and eat at the tables downstairs with me for lunch, and we have the occasional shared recess of p100 worth of isaw (two bowls), little squiggles that are the small intestine of chickens (probably not that appealing to you folks, but that’s Philippine street food for you), either that or get some ice cream, and everyone likes ice cream. Then we go up to the chapel, pay our respects-well, at least they do. It burns my essence if I try to go in there. They think I’m, kidding. But I am not. It does, quite painfully, and not a pretty sight; the last time I was there my skin blistered and peeled of. When they asked what happened I just said I got set on fire with a candle and just put it out. But it burned in a cold way like a fire, except, well, cold. Well, they try to shove me in, but I’m pretty good at dodging grabs. And no, SHE can’t get me in there either.

I am referring to Denise. She is one of my friends. She’s rather a bit of a klutz, and at times a bit slow at catching up with stuff such as hints or jokes, but she is overall okay. She is rather short for her age, and I often mock her about it, but it is all in good fun, and she is an understanding person whom you can talk to about nearly anything. Another friend of mine is Murdoch, a friend of mine from my toddler years; we grew up separately after that but met up again during fifth grade. He is, well, rather ungallant to those of the female gender, to say the least, and I would be quite wealthy if I had a peso for every time he got slapped in the face or chased in anger or strangled by a girl. There is also Voltaire, ah, well; you could say he is rather chivalrous, as you could say he is the opposite of Murdoch. He enjoys playing card games and video games and often after class we play with some cards to relax after a hard days’ schoolwork. And he is positively infatuated with Denise, whom insists that they remain good friends instead. I have never understood this whole love business, probably due to the fact that I have never met a girl that I have found attractive okay, trust me, not one. There is also Jose, who also plays a lot of video games, and is overall a good guy, though not much to describe about him. There was also another friend, but she moved to Canada and I do miss her so, as she provided an excellent conversation and she was also a very good Murdoch and Voltaire deterrent. Those are my school companions, in a nutshell.

Bell rings, back to class. Ho hum, boredom. Go wait for Denise, go down; maybe play a game of magic the gathering (a card game), then get on the jeep (modified from the army jeep designs, it’s got two long benches placed vertically on either side so every one is cramped and there’s not much personal space, it’s the is equivalent of buses in the Philippines, since the buses are usually for rural transport) to the main campus, which is separate from the high school campus. Some minor chat with Denise, I talk about my thoughts mostly, she’s a good listener. We get there, say goodbye and see you tomorrow to each other, then I take another jeep to my part of the city, then walk to my subdivision back to my house, or take a pedicab (like the tricycle, except with a pedal bike instead) if I’m tired. Then I get home, feed my dog George (a white Belgian malignoir), then I cook myself some dinner, bath, a little studying, then go to sleep. That’s a basic day for me. Day time, that is.

Well, hello blogging world, here I come.

my life is rather uninteresting, so i will start of with the prologue for the story i'm writing.

In a cold, dark, narrow alley, I sense my prey as he makes a futile attempt to escape. In the silence of the night, under the light of the full moon, my senses rise to inhuman levels as I feel the influence of the night, surging through my veins. I stretch my large, black, paper thin wings, in preparation for precisely the right moment to swoop down and strike from my vantage point. As I attack, in the climax of my hunt, my sharpened senses seem to slow everything down, in a way that I sense so many things at once.

The wind in my face, the flapping of my wings, the whizzing of my claws in the air, the dripping of his sweat, the wheezing of his tasty lungs, the thudding of his crunchy legs, his delightful screams, the beating of his succulent heart, pumping every bit of adrenaline through his body in a last ditch effort for self preservation, these things are an orchestra to my senses, sending me into a frenzy of delight as I swoop down and thrust my claws through the pathetic human’s body, each the equivalent of a steak knife through his back as he howls in pain and terror at the ten claws protruding through his chest.

In his last fleeting moments, he looks behind him, expecting to see the face of the devil himself, instead seeing a young boy, halfway through his teens, though with demonic features on his body, consisting of a pair of horns, wings, claws (of course), and a tail. Before giving any reaction, he lost all senses as everything turned black and he died on the spot. That was good, as at that precise moment I decided to stop tarrying and get on with consuming him, tearing through his skin, breaking bones like twigs, spattering blood on the walls, eating his flesh in the fury that is my demonic hunger, and finally consuming his heart (and unknown to me, his soul). Chewing on the last bits of his flesh, I finally calmed down, licking the blood of my arms, the silence of the alley pierced by my howl of a triumphant hunt.