Of Tooth And Claw

• Ajanna Omachen, Grade 10, Surf Coast Secondary College
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

She walks.
Her feet burn and are scarred beyond repair, bloody and rotting. She can smell it every day as the sun rises and sets. Three days it's been, three sunrises, three sunsets; this is the third night.
Yet no matter how hard her legs ache and how much her skin screams with every move, she walks.
Her hair lies limp on her shoulders, her hands by her sides, tangled in the dress she wears. Her head throbs with harsh pounds, her blood searing in her veins.
But never does she stop walking.
She can't - if she does, she's dead, because a pack full of wolves certainly travels faster than a lone pup. Without as much stress, too, not having to look over its shoulder in case he's there, right behind her on the road.
She doesn't know where the road will take her, but as long as it's away from the city she doesn't care. Perhaps she'll go to Arizona, and try to make a life for herself there. Maybe she'll go to school and hang out with people.
Actual people.
No, a part of her thinks, as if jutting it's chin proudly into the air; you're a wolf, you are not a human and you won't associate yourself with those things.
She walks on, ignoring the primal part of her that drove her to kill. The animalistic drive that pushes and pounds at her chest, waiting to burst free of its restraints in the form of her skin.
It's growing stronger, she can feel it. It's taking over her, and if she's too weak to hold it back, then every human within a ten mile radius is dead.
She knows that all too well; knows the feeling of blood on her hands, dripping down. The feeling of flesh in her teeth, sliding down her throat.
And she knows the Shift, how it takes all her bones and snaps them and breaks them, and once it's done with her, it spits out something more lethal than a mere teenager girl.
It spits out a wolf, dark and silver and gold and powerful and deadly.
She finds that if she doesn't focus on it, it'll go away - though only partially. The thoughts will still flare and twitch in her mind. She needs to Shift; she wants to Shift.
But if it's not as noticeable, she ignores it.
The stars guide her way, silver and gorgeous and electric. The moon illuminates her world, huge and round and bright.
It's getting larger.
Soon it shall be full, and the primal, animalistic part will have that beautiful swell of satisfaction. It will break free, and she won't be able to control it as it wreaks it's havoc.
A week it should be - until then, she'll just have to deal with the desire for flesh and blood and the Shift.
And in a week, every single human around her will be dead.