Useless Werewolf by Naaz Frederick

Being a werewolf is horrible. Being a useless werewolf is worse. At night you are crazy and unstable. Why did you let this happen? You wouldn’t be a werewolf if you said just said no. Why didn’t you deny it? You don’t remember being asked. You didn’t want this. Why are you complaining? Everyone nowadays claimed to be turned, you are not special. You are nothing. You hear your mother on the phone earlier, you heard it too clearly with your trained ears.

“These fake werewolves are destroying the lives of who turned them, why would you expose if someone was turning people? That’ll cost them their lives.” Your mother hates the new trend, as she calls it, of involuntary werewolves calling out those turned them.

After that conversation you couldn’t look at yourself at night again. You had come so far, but all is for not as a useless werewolf. You could not make any progress on this life altering event. It defines you. Your aggression, your tense senses, you are defined by the turning. Every time you saw a wolf your friends come with the comforting words. At least they are supposed to be.

“You weren’t turned if you didn’t want it. Reclaim your body.” And then. “Carry wooden stakes so it never happens again, you are in power.” The usual phrases one would want to hear after being turned. That is not what a useless werewolf wants. Instead of impowering yourself you spend every day crying and indulging in the destructive frenzy that comes with having something taken from you. You will never be human.

And as you sat at the circle of other involuntary werewolves seeking recovery you are alienated. Your friends set this up. Your friends suppose this would make you happy again. They wonder why you changed after the bite. Perhaps being surrounded by those who reclaimed will change you back. No amount of support could.

“May you share your story? We are here for you. You are strong.” The grip of the pack leader devastated your bones and tore your heart to shreds. It makes you sickeningly jealous.

Why couldn’t you be a powerful werewolf with a sense of dignity to take back what was yours? There should be a group for you, the werewolves with no purpose. Though it’s possible you’re the only one useless enough. You left soon after this interaction, you can’t stand to see these werewolves be useful and take control of their life.

The moon means boarding up your room once again. If not to keep you in, it was to keep everyone else out. As you transformed at night you tried this time to look at yourself as it happened. You are disgusting, vile, and worse than others before you. Your skin grew, stretched, and began to grow hair. This is not what makes you vile.

It is the fact you let this happen.

Naaz Frederick is an Indian American writer based in Winter Park. Follow her on Twitter @b0kutwo