Famished, the joy of the hunt

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
A werewolf's thought and emotions as he hunts his pray on a full moon night.

Submitted: January 16, 2010

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Submitted: January 16, 2010





A word, a world of its own. Famished cannot be expressed. Nor explained. It is something one must feel to understand, experience to grasp its meaning. Not many can do so, most can be hungry or very hungry, starving or dying of hunger, but famished no. Few have known the real significance of the word, few have felt the sensation it produces inside you, the thoughts it brings to you. When you are famished the pray is the only one for you; you lose your mind and you gain ferocity, you lose your humanity, but acquire something more powerful, more violent. The pray is the center of your world and your mind, and what drives you is the moon. The full moon is what gives you the power of a beast; at a price. A price best described with the word famished. If once you have reached into that pool of power, you must pay the price with your life, for the rest of your life.


He was hungry. He was starving and before him was the pray with the most delicious scent he had ever known. The pray wasn’t aware of him, but he was more than aware of it. He felt his mouth watering with saliva and his heart beat speed up. It meant he was ready to act, that the moment was right. He continued to stalk his victim from afar, prolonging the pleasure of the anticipation, of the expectation. He needed to eat, but he also wanted to do so.


For what is hunger, the thing no creature is immune against, if not the need to satisfy oneself, to fill the pit in one’s stomach with what one most desires? It is also the knowledge of the pleasure it will bring when sated. But what is experienced at full moon is that and more. It is the need to hunt and kill, to see your pray run and cower in terror, to feel it twitch between your teeth while it struggles for its last breath and feel its flesh and blood fill your mouth.


As he crept closer he could hear its heavy breathing, one that suggested it was tired. Or scared. He felt the fear leaking from it, strong as the desire before a mating act. It was still oblivious to him, but subconsciously, the fear took control creating goose bumps on its arms and making the hairs on its neck stand shivering in terror. He knew all this, for he felt connected to her as he had always felt under the full moon, connected to all the living in the forest as if they were but one.


No, not ‘her’, he corrected himself, ‘it’. There was no room for such thought on a hunting night. The pray is pray; it cannot be female or male, pale or dark. Meat. Fresh or old, rabbit or deer, tasty or foul, but just meat. Nothing more. Food. It is not what all animals are? Food for another animal, a stronger one, a hunter?


He approached her, it, the human, the female, carefully from behind, as to not frighten it; but he would soon, for a meal than ran was a much bigger enjoyment. Just then he stepped on a branch with his front paw and it broke snapping though the silence of the night; she turned to look back, the strangely colored fur on her head twirling around her face. He growled at her making sure it knew who the hunter was. He heard the rate of its heart beat pick up as she crouched lightly and extended her arms towards him placing them as a barrier between the two of them and started making sounds he could not understand. He never understood what humans said. But he didn’t need to.


She moved slowly backwards, never taking her eyes off him, trying to run away while he moved in closer and closer. This continued a few yards and at one point he decided, seeing it wasn’t running away, to finish the kill. He was famished. He growled, lowered his body, his belly almost touching the ground, and flexed his limbs to jump. This sent her running. He sprang, easily jumping the ten feet distance that separated them, and landed on her back, knocking her down and forcing her to hug her arms around her head for protection while they rolled together on the dirty road. He ended up on top of it, she faced him, terror in her eyes, screaming, to whom or what he did not know, kicking and scratching at him in a futile attempt to get free.


He was about to rip its throat open when he noticed it had blue eyes; a sapphire blue that felt familiar. He had the feeling he knew this female, but from where? She was not pack. She was human. Pray. While he hesitated he sensed a familiar sensation slowly spreading though his body and saw her eyes widen, if possible, even more, but this time in wonder and hope instead of fear.


Her screams had ceased, but now tears ran down her cheeks as she said in barely more than a whisper, “Johnny”


“Betty?” He asked placing a gentle hand on her cheek.


“Yes, yes. It’s me honey”, she said between sobs, “It’s me.” She smiled, tears not seizing. 


He could not remember where he was or why, but as he inhaled deeply to calm himself he tasted the mouth watering scent of her flesh; his madness returning, his hand slowly turned to a paw that pinned her head to the ground fiercely, he snarled at her to stop screaming and went for it.


The joy of the hunt, he thought as he sank his teeth deep into her throat.




A day earlier, about the same hour of the night he sat suddenly upright in his bed panting heavily. A dream, just a dream, he told himself. It is not real, it has not happened and it won’t happen.


He felt a hand on his shoulder and a sweet voice asking him, “What’s wrong?”


“Nothing, I am fine”, he said as he put his hand on top of hers. “What day is it today?”


He could sense the frown in her words. “Um, Friday I think. Early in the morning.”


“So the full moon is the next night.” He closed his eyes and leaned back on his pillow.


“I guess. Why?” She rested her head on his chest. When he didn’t answer, she asked again, “What’s wrong?”


But he avoided the question. “I dreamed of you. Of us.”


“Yeah?” She was suddenly curious.




She asked, “Was it a nice dream?”


“Yes”, he lied “It was.”

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