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Mary C. Moore

Copyright 2010 by Mary C. Moore

Smashwords Edition

I am Wolfman.

I am part wolf, maybe.

When the wolves run I sense them.

Teeth bared, tongues flickering. I sense them.

Paws heavy, fur thick. I sense them.

I sense her too. She is out there.

Her red cloak.


I howl. I begin to slobber. A greed for ownership, it rises inside me. How do we survive life? But I want her. I rumble. The twisted bones of my body urge the gorged muscles to move. Scraping the floor. Floor you ask? Do not forget, I am part man, part wolf, no.

Her grandmother, that evil witch. The old one stole her daughter—her love from me. She was mine, all mine, and I was hers. Love you ask? Can a freak not be loved? The witch’s daughter saw good, but the witch made her see evil.

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