The nausea snakes its way up my oesophagus bringing with it a pain that clusters behind my eyes for several seconds temporarily turning me blind. Scurrying around in the dark, I try clawing my way to safety with no success. Dry retching as the foxes lick their lips, I dig my fingers into the soil and promptly puke. The bile that leaves my mouth is bright orange. It pools and shimmers beneath the moon. For a second, the pain recedes, and the slightest of breezes meets the beads of sweat that cling to my forehead. The relief is immeasurable. Rolling onto my back, I look up and take a deep breath before I’m thrown into a seizure. As my body shakes and fizzes, it’s as if I’m being electrocuted. Looking down, my vision clears enough for me to see my cock standing erect. Amidst the horror of it all, I have to say it looks impressive. Good length and girth. Maybe I should do this more often? Then comes an explosion at the base of my skull that wipes away such dark humour. Feels like someone’s taking a knife to me, like they’re tearing away at my skin. Managing to spin onto my belly, I find my fox looking at me, his eyes on mine, not flinching in the slightest. Pulling myself along, I go to dig my fingernails into the muddy soil only for each and every one to split in half. Even my toenails go. Biting the back of my hand, I sink my teeth in as if I were eating an apple. Almost at once, I feel as though I’m on fire. Then comes the sound of popping followed by the breaking of bones. I hear them snapping inside of me, and, if it weren’t for the agony of my predicament, I’d swear it felt as if they were shrinking. Choking on a mouthful of blood I see my flesh change colour. Only it’s not changing colour, it’s changing. The hairs on my arms spout and grow thick. From a light shade of orange to deep red, they match the colour of my beard. Wincing as my teeth pulsate, the foxes shriek as I bring my hands up to my skull. It feels like it’s in a vice. Feels like I’m being squashed. Shrinking. I’m shrinking? Curling into a ball, I look at the moon and see her face, but when I go to say her name, the words come out all wrong. Shrinking shrinking shrinking! Crying out, I close my eyes and convulse. When I open them again, my hands are no longer my own. Nor are my arms or legs. Trying to express my confusion, my tongue doesn’t meet my teeth the way it orta. Nothing feels the way it orta. As the foxes close in and my boy goes about sniffing me, I let out a series of barks that pierce the night sky sending the animals into a frenzy. As I growl and spit and shake, I go ahead and stand on my hind legs with my paws raised high to the watchful eyes of the God above.

A Journal for Damned Lovers UK

A Journal for Damned Lovers US

Anthology UK / Anthology US