Were

Shackled to the bed like some rabid dog, I snarl and try to bite.

They whisper in the next room, plotting, planning their attack.

I yank at my bindings, howl at the moon.

Together, they enter, these sanctimonious fools in their dog collars.

Mumbling their psalms, lighting candles, sprinkling water.

“Pater noster qui es in coelis …” they chant.

I howl louder, thrashing on the bed, feel my tendons straining. Adrenaline courses through my veins, muscles bulging. I feel the change beginning within.

With a snarl of rage and elation, I break free.

The feeding frenzy is short but sweet.

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