It begins with screaming I feel more than hear—joints popping out of place, the creaking pull of tendons and ligaments. I never pass out. I just hold the sides of my head, my hands becoming clawed, bony paws. There is the full moon, and under my upturned eyes a snout pushes forward, dripping blood from my torn canines lancing down and touching my tongue. I still stand on two legs, but I’m covered in blood and muscle and patchy fur. I’m taller. Hungry. Wildly and truly alive.

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