We feed

Some body was coming. I could see his shadow edging around the rose bush.
The wind howled against the air, and scraped off the metal of my rundown barn.
I sat still, as motionless as the grave. Clutching on to the only thing that remained
of Liza, Her brown Toothbrush. I could still smell the mint of the toothpaste, on the
bristles. The head was cool to the touch, damp as it was just used. Not twenty minutes
ago.

I could hear the breathing, and see its vapor trail. I did not get a good luck at the guy.
The sight of my wife standing in front of the mirror, with her brown toothbrush in her mouth, sporting a slash the size of a banana on her neck, sort of held my attention.
I did not get a clean look of the man. But I did see him running towards the back door.
He nearly broke the end table when he ran through the hall way. (hell he did smash the Purple lamp, as that fell, and shattered upon impact.) From the looks of things, he was a big fellow. Big and uncoordinated. He wore a black trench coat that almost reached his ankles, and blue high-tops. The red shoe laces were untied. I never did get a good
look at his front side. After seeing his better half, I don’t reckon that I wish to either.
My back remained pressed up against the house. I slowly willed myself towards the
Rose bush. I could surprise him, wait for him to pass. Then I would strike painfully
Fast, and with brutal accuracy. Except, I had no weapon.

Other thoughts ran through my mind. Some so utterly cowardly that I refuse to speak
of them. Part of me wished that I could lay there on the ground. Holding my breath until
the man passes by. I wished that he would not be able to see me, and that the blackness of the night would shadow me. Shielding me from his vision some how. I would lay there for a few minutes. Then Make a dash down the street to. The police station is not but three blocks from here. I could make it in five if I hurry.
I hunched forward with every intention of doing just that. Resigned to my role as a coward. Spineless, and timid. A man whose only reaction when presented with struggle, is to flee. But then I thought of Liza. How the front of her shirt was soiled with blood, until it looked almost brown against her yellow Lakers shirt. The way that her body never fell, how it stayed up right. Her eyes were wide open, both in fear, and in disbelief. No some one killed her- in cold blood. That someone is right there, not ten feet away. The big dopes head is pointed in the wrong direction. Oblivious to the world. Ignorant to my existence.

The dirt underneath my body was cooperative. It made not a sound, as I crawled towards my wife’s murder. Intense anger welled with each foot I gained. The man had stopped, placing the knife by his right foot. I could see the smeared blood; cover the glistening metal in the moon light. The man was horrible looking. I could see the scars covering his face. I also saw new pimples, waiting to become fresh scares. His nose was pitifully thin. His eye lashes were long and oily. Just like his jet black, stringy hair.
His eyes were totally on his shoes. He didn’t even notice me. I was close as close as possible. The man, the beast, the murder. Snapped his head around like the sting of a scorpion. His grey eyes stared at me in disbelief. It was too late. My mind was in full gear. The neurons of my brain, shouted orders to the nerve ending s in my fingers. They responded by squeezing the toothbrush, with a death grip. With the sting, and the accuracy of a jab from Ali. I swung the brush with all my might. Plunging, and digging deep into the socket of his left, grey eye.

My Wife’s killer stared at me for a moment, in awe, dumbstruck. Then he placed his hands over his cheeks “Argh” His scream reverberated through the night. A clutter of birds flew, disturbed by the man’s scream.
He shook his head, three times. Bits of spit shoot out from his mouth. His face was a great mixture of fair, pain, stupor and anxiousness. His arm shoots up, like a Nazi saying Heil. Crunch my boot dug deep against his arm, as I put down the weight of my boot upon his wrist.

The man withered in pain. Trying with all his might to break free of my boots hold. I crunched down hard upon the hell of my foot, until I heard a snap. The murderer didn’t respond in a howl. No this time he responded with a whimper.
“Please... Look i'm sorry. Please you broke my arm man. “The man pleaded with obvious tension in his voice. His eyes looked like they knew what was up. He was knee deep in shit.

“What did you just say to me?”
My knee smashed against the brim of his tiny nose. It exploded with blood.
“Sorry? Sorry? Is that going to bring my wife back you fucking piece of shit.”
I kicked the man, releasing his arm, as he tried to roll over. I kneeled down picked up the knife with ease.

“Oh no, Jesus no” The words came out erratically; I knew that he was scared.
“What’s your name?” I aimed the knife at his face. I felt powerful. A warm surge flowed through my veins. The wind felt good against my face I was alive.
“Gregory. Gregory Lunt’s.”

“Well mister Lunts, you picked the wrong home to break into, and you picked the wrong woman to attack.” I laughed like a mad man, into the night. Then I began the transformation. My back was on fire, my legs ached something awful, and my nails began to grow right through the skin.

“What is this” he yelled, as my face stars to swell, and the fangs that have been hiding begin, to come out the gums All the while my blood starts to turn warm, and my heart stars to beat fierce. I can feel the thirst now, as my eyes shake and roll inside of my skull.

“What are you? “ Lunts screamed, face to face with a wolf that was just a man.
I grabbed the man by the collar of his stupid shirt, and pulled him close enough so that the edge of my whiskers brushed against his check.

“Oh, I am just like you Lunt’s. I am thirsty for blood.” The mans screams pierced the air as my teeth reached into the corner of his neck. I bit down with all my strength and then at once the screaming stopped. I drank and drank, but not too much, for I had to save some. After the feed I dragged the corpse into the house, his body glided over the carpet and through the bits of purple glass shards. I dragged him into the bathroom, where Liz still stood. I grabbed him by his oily jet black hair and lifted his head above the sink, and then I bashed his face into the porcelain with all my might. The last bits of blood began to ooze out from his mangled nose; I ripped of his head and aimed the blood stream unto my wife’s mouth, as soon as the blood hit her mouth, she let out a gasp for air.

Like a drunk she began to drink at the blood madly, she was lapping like a dog and growling like a wolf. Each sweet drop of blood was like a dose of vitamin C; her color was coming back and after a moment. She stopped and looked at me, the gash on her neck all but gone.
“Tonight we feed.”