He ran as fast as he could on the cold, dark pavement. It was a warm and clear spring night, but tunnel vision was already occurring and all he could see was the forest, its trees waiting patiently his arrival, their thin arms stretched out in welcome. But the yellow moon hung high in the sky, its small cruel eyes gazing upon him. Pain was blossoming under his own eyelids, he didn't have much time. He could do it right here, but it would be much more painful under the sharp light of the satellite than under the safe shade of the trees. He got there just in time, and cried out as a cutting pain sliced through his ribcage. He could sense each hair grow, feeling like tiny daggers puncturing the skin. He doubled over, teeth clanking, bone shattering, a writhing mess under gut tightening pain. And then, much like a metaphor of life itself, it stopped as soon as it had begun. He strolled slowly out of the forest, leaving his things behind. He never got out of his clothes before the change. He scattered shredded clothes like dead leaves, because like trees, he was discarding old skin only to be born again.

He breathed deeply the night air, startled as always by the feeling of power running through his veins. He was himself once again, an evolutionary mishap, a beautiful mistake. His human life was pushed back to a dark corner of his mind, seeming as unimportant as mundane, daily routines and worries. The emptiness it left was filled by an overwhelming feeling of wonder and greed. Every smell was new and exciting, and he stopped a moment just to assess the possibilities. And then he took off, mentally warning them all to be careful, because the beast was out again, and it was hungry. Less than real hunger, he felt enraged. And elated, tempted by all the innocent souls that were his, and his only this night. Restlessly he chased down the ones who had wronged him, just by existing. Dirty claws scraped their legs, sharp teeth tore through their skin, and they ran away, feeling like they had cheated death. But nobody was winning, and he certainly never lost. He would never be part of them, but they would be part of him. Forever. Come dawn, he would curl up on the forest floor, a ball of fever and sorrow. Then he would hear their anguished howls carried by the wind, and he would finally feel at peace. Until the next moon, when it would be war all over again.