Word Count: 236
He lives in a basement apartment. Must stretch at the small window over the sink to look at the moon. He waits all the long month for the full blue one, the one that won’t slice into his dreams. Cutting them open with wounds that leave them in nightmares. Nightmares that pour sweat from his body. Sweat that soaks into the twists of the sheets on the small single bed where he sleeps.
He fully believes he’s a werewolf. All those Friday night movies he’d watched as a kid. The flickering TV and the moonlight that lit up the small space between him and the screen. The moans of his mother leaking under the door from her bedroom where she spent most of her time with the men.
He’d asked her once if he had a real father. She’d said yes but couldn’t remember his name.
Saturday mornings used to be special. Elvira with her black mane of hair. She brought stories that flared up his mind, reached into his instincts, howled like a wolf in his throat.
On most nights now he sat in watching movies. The old ones that he’d seen as a child. And on full blue moon nights once a month for a while now, he’d slip up the stairs to the sidewalk. Quickly creep in the shadow of the long rows of houses. Peek in windows, just like the blue moon.
