[Fiction inspired by the weather- and just in case it is not clear a) I am not a werewolf; b) I do not own a wolf skin coat. ]

The wind is singing, all those wild wordless sounds that shiver out the feral heart of me. I want to pull on my wolf-skin and run through the dark. There are millions of teeth in my mouth, each one is crazy and fierce. I can run until my feral heart beats so loud all I can hear is myself and it's dark and there's nothing to be seen and there is only me running through space for nothing else exists at all.

When I return to the world, in human skin, I will lie on the couch and listen to the wind song and settle into sleep. Dream of the unchecked run: dream of space.


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