Identity Crisis
by Becki Lee

Little Timmy had always known he was different from all the other kids.

"Mother," he had remarked one morning over cereal, "I think I am a werewolf."

"Sure you are, dear," his mother had humored him, winking over her shoulder to her husband.

Timmy, satisfied with his mother's apparent approval, had nodded and gulped down the rest of his cereal before heading off to school.

In his teens, when he was in his developmental stage, he noticed that he was growing hair on his palms. Not a whole lot, mind you, but enough to make him worry. Luckily, since strange things happen at that age, no one thought twice about it.

By age twenty he began to get a strange craving for meat. Not barbecued meat or broiled meat or grilled meat, but raw meat. During the full moon, no less.

Meanwhile, the hair on his hands was getting harder to conceal. He began to self-consciously wear gloves everywhere he went.

Age twenty-one came along on a foggy afternoon. He had an incredible headache the entire day and was in quite a foul mood. As the day progressed dismally, so did his temperament.

Finally fell the night. Timmy felt as though he could no longer bear the pain in his head.

Suddenly, the clouds parted in the heavens above and exposed a cream-colored moon. . . round, shining, full. Timmy gasped at the significance of this and locked himself into his bathroom.

"Oh, no," he moaned. "I knew it, I just knew it! I am a werewolf!" He could feel his body changing. His mind felt as though it would explode from the pain. It was as if he were being torn apart from the inside out. Yet there was to be no relief for Timmy.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he was losing control. And there was naught he could do about it. Timmy helplessly watched his body transform as his humanity slipped away. He became less and less conscious of his surroundings and was soon only aware of one thing: the desire for blood.

One last pang of torture and suddenly, all agony was gone.

Timmy brushed himself off with his cape, black as midnight, and admired the absence of his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

"Ah well, close enough," he said, licking his pointed teeth. And he turned into a bat to go find a bite to eat.

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