Seeing Red

I remember warmth.

A life full of it. Faces of a family I once loved, now blurred and distorted. The world I first saw through rose-colored glasses is long gone. Now, I only see through blood-stained eyes and a vision sharpened by hatred I never asked to feel.

The bells of a nearby cathedral ring in the distance. The trees stretch endlessly above; their branches tangled in an intricate mess to house the birds and other critters. I move silently beneath it, watching as the squirrels scatter at my approach. The bugs and insects beneath my feet bury themselves deep into the ground with each step I take. Even the songbirds seem to fall silent in my presence, almost as if the entire forest itself has learned of the monster I’ve become.

But I didn’t ask for this body.

Where once was smooth pale skin, grows matted and coarse fur the color of dirt and decay. My hands —well, not hands anymore— end in curved claws, thick and sharp enough to rip the bark off of trees. I used to be a man of average height, but now my frame towers well beyond any man I’ve ever known. My senses are heightened far beyond what they should be, and so is my strength and speed. But beneath it all, is this constant, endless hunger.

My eyes, once a warm chocolate brown, now shine ruby red with a burning intensity. The first sign of my transformation. The first change of my appearance that caused my village to see what I truly was. Not a man. Not a human. A creature. A predator of the forest. A being overtaken by its sadistic nature and savagery. Another head to add to their walls.

Soon, I was the target of hundreds of people. The town freak, the beast to be hunted. I was the next prize. They did not hesitate. They did not ask questions; they didn’t try to understand. They saw the red of my eyes, the fur and the claws, and they deemed it enough to call me a monster. I swore to myself that my humanity remained intact. They may not see it, but under this brute frame, I am still me.

Something shifts.

There's movement in the underbrush to my left, causing me to jerk my head in its direction.

Gunshots.

Pain tears through my leg, sudden and blinding. I collapse with a great howl into the silent forest, my knee slamming into the ground as the force knocks the wind out of my lungs. Warm blood spreads through my fur, thick and sticky, seeping into the earth like scarlet ink.

Another movement in the bushes.

Crack.

I snap my head towards it. A hunter.

He’s young. Younger than I expected at least, probably a boy of fourteen or fifteen. He watches me carefully from the corner of his eye. I watch his hands tremble over the rifle, his stance steady, a gaze of hatred and fear piercing my thick beast's skin. He’s alone, but the barrel is already raised at me, directed to my forehead. One measly boy with a gun, yet he holds the power of life or death.

I try to control my labored breathing as I quickly regain my thoughts. I can’t die. Not today. Not in this body that isn't mine. Maybe I could reason with him? Maybe, just maybe, he would see me for me. I try to ignore the rush of adrenaline coursing through me as I lower my gaze from his face in a show of surrender.

But this body— this blasted body, doesn’t cooperate.

I smell his fear from where I am, sharp and sour, cutting through the damp scent of the earth. Delicious.

His finger tightens on the trigger. My instincts snap.

I lunge before he can fire again.

The distance between us vanishes in seconds. We crash into the ground, the impact knocking his head hard onto the rocks. The rifle slips from his grasp and onto my side. My claws dig into the earth on either side of his body, pinning him down into the mud. He struggles beneath me— gasping, coughing, and crying— but it’s useless.

I open my jaws wide open, baring my teeth into his face, and growl. Hot saliva drops from my mouth and sprays his face as his eyes close shut. He turns his face away as he squirms beneath me. He smells like prey. Terrified, sweet prey.

I dig my claws deeper into his side, forcing his eyes to open from the sudden pain. I want him to look at me as I rip him to shreds.

And then I see his face.

His eyes, his bright blue-green eyes are wide and glassy with terror as he stares at me. His chest rises and falls with uneven breaths, and I hear his heart beating rapidly out of control. I could kill him in seconds, yet there’s something about him, something familiar, that makes me stop.

What am I doing?

I jump off him. The bloodlust dies off. I limp backwards, removing my claws from his body and assessing the damage of what I'd done.

No. I-I can’t— I’m not a monster…

I can still end this.

I back away. I turn. And I run.

The forest blurs around me as I force my body forward, ignoring the pain that flares with every step. Branches tear at my fur, the ground uneven beneath me, but I don’t slow down. I run and run and run, desperate to put space between myself and the atrocity that this monster almost caused. What I, had almost caused.

Little did I know.

The gunshot sounds. It slams into my back with a force that steals my air and blurs my vision. I stumble forward as the blood seeps down my fur and drips between my legs, trickling down to my ankles. I can’t breathe. Can’t think.

But there it is again. Movement.

As I lay on that forest floor in my dying state, a hunter comes from behind me, moving around the large mass of my body to stand square in front of my face. He looks down on me as he takes his rubber boot, large and heavy, and presses it to the top of my head, his rifle in his hands and pointed above my snout.

As I looked up for the last time, I met again with those beautiful blue-green eyes.

Yet, for a second, I could’ve sworn they were red.