I’m not me when I kill people. At least, that’s what I tell myself. I wake up, and I know I’ve done something horrible. My hands are covered in blood, my clothes are gone, and my stomach feels full. I don’t remember what I did. All I remember is the pain. It’s impossible to forget.

It starts with the fur. It spreads like fire, melting me. My bones go next, shifting, changing, breaking. I always cry, always scream, but I can live with the pain. I can’t live with what comes next. Something takes control and pushes me into the dark. I sleep a dreamless sleep, and when I wake up, the nightmare begins.

I don’t know them, the people I’ve killed, the ones I’ve eaten. But I do know they weren’t all bad. I live with the pain because I deserve it.