Her Feral Side

She used the pretty sentences, the perfect little verbs. People saw her smile and thought she was a sweetheart, true. She used the proper language, careful darling lady words. Inside she was raging mad, thoroughly angry through and through. She woke up hard the morning of the big day with salty, sweaty blood on her lips, satisfied at last. With the feral animal she was allowed to transform into, after the wolf howls died down. The moon was her inspiration; allowing her feral side to come out, her soul ratified and cast. She stalked into the kitchen, a hungry she-wolf, ready to rip her parents apart up and down. How are you this morning? Her father asked her, not looking up from his coffee or thumb. This infuriated her, made her want to start with him. But she was not ready yet. Did you want some toast? Her mother asked, having no idea what was yet to come. She decided to let them have one more hour, before the rampage of their favorite pet. She was her glorious feral self, and it was enough for now that it was who she was and what she knew. It was the only thing that still made sense, her being thirteen, and angry, and mad, always confused. Her mother started harping about cheerleading practice and other stuff, she did not give credence to. Her father looked up., smiled, and gave her a conspiratory wink, looking a bit bemused. She was about to let them off the hook, settle down and enjoy their day. When her wild woman side rose up and said something that made sense all around, So she took out her choppers, and her slicers, and her dicers, and went on a hay-day. Her parents’ screams of fright delighted her soul, as they were the kitchen’s final sounds. Her crazy, insane feral side laughed at the frenzied mayhem she had caused, feeling happy one way or another. She sighed loudly, releasing her imagination. “I guess I could have a piece of toast,” she told her mother. Written July 31, 2018 Entered Feral Contest Sponsor: Anthony Slausen