Werewolf. the beginning

In the middle of the ocean lay an island. It was like many others, hilly and green with a remarkable set of cloud cover in constant conversation with it. It had the same wild flowers and the gulls and the beaches and coconut trees. It had monkeys and crazy coloured parrots thriving on its many fruit bearing trees. At some point of time a small tribe of ruthless dark complexioned beings had been striving on its heavenly hallows in the midst of the jungle. Later the Englishmen had arrived and scared them away. They had left shouting curses. One frail old man had stayed behind to be slaughtered. When finally after days of praying for mercy, for death his breath left him he uttered one word. As the last breath penetrated his insides, cleansing him one last time he released a mourn. The silence he had kept forever was broken. As he struggled to complete his say and his parched lips parted, his soul drifted away. It made no sense to them. They believed he was summoning god. Little did they know that the mute old man was summoning their annihilation?

He had said Werewolf.

Their castles still stand strong after bearing the trauma of the past. The Englishmen however had disappeared too leaving behind traces and symbolizations of torment in the form of vague inscriptions on the bark of trees. The inscriptions talked about nights of torture. They dictated the arrival of a force so iniquitous and immoral that only death could ultimately silence it. Ironically, it was his beloved and followed him wherever he went. The symbols had never been shared. Storms had brewed, mountains had fallen and the message had been lost, its contents known only to the past now. History never repeats itself.
It was the night of knights. A God, straight from the womb of a dying woman had been born. The dying woman had been the Queen. Her son was to be heir. He was to have the blood and the throne of the mighty king. He was their new hero. The kingdom now had a future. Or so they thought…
A week later he opened his eyes for the first time taking in the sight of his ailing mother and the world outside the window. As she looked at him for the last and the finest moments of her life, her eyes grew wide with shock and her skin shone pallid. He had the same green eyes. The rainy night, the cottage…the stranger with the big green eyes and the same smile as the child she had just borne all flashed in front of her eyes. If only she would have listened to the voice inside her then…if only she would have resisted temptation…she took off the cross around her neck and carefully placed it around his chubby, tender body whispering ”May this protect you my son like it has protected me.”
Those were her last words as the rosary slipped from her hand and she lost count of the beads. Invariably the green eyed man had been right. Death was his shadow.
The king was surprised at the sight of his son. For one he had green eyes. And also his own hair was wavy blonde and the mother’s was flaming red…the same red he had wanted to see in his heir, his daughter. It had been the one reason he had married her. The first time he had seen her, in a simple white gown, the metal cross shining on her bosom, her hair being highlighted owing to the cloths dullness, he had wanted the same for his daughter…yet she had born him a son. A son with black hair.
As he stared at the naïve creature sleeping in his arms a sense of anger enveloped him. Although the whole kingdom had prayed for a son, he had personally wanted a daughter. He had silently hoped and believed that being closest to him; his wife would fulfill his wishes. The priest had agreed too.
A sense of incompletion stirred up inside him. He consulted the priest who confirmed his suspicions. He had lost his love to a son that wasn’t his. Blinded by contempt and rage he had tossed the weeping child from the cliff into the darkness below that night. He married again and was gifted sons again. Sons with golden hair like Mary’s and a daughter very much like him. It wasn’t the same but eventually he grew happy and satisfied.
The true heir on the other hand had survived. A wolf had found him floating in the river and saved him. Mothered and nurtured by a wolf he had been harmless.
Then on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, he encountered his father. The man smiled at him.
That night the moon had almost risen to its full bloom. As his father narrated the whole incident to him with his hands he listened. When his father slept off he starred at the moon as if waiting. As he starred, inside him a creature beckoned to him. Lost in thought, he slept. He dreamed of a cage. Inside the cage, there was nothing but darkness. The door of the cage had opened. That night was the last night of peace and life on the island.
The next night under the watchful eye of the full moon deep in the forest he outgrew his destiny. To his mother wolf he expressed everything on the bark of the trees. There were scratch marks everywhere. His mother watched as he became like her. She watched as his young body shivered and he howled with pain. She watched as his delicate skin became steel. She watched as his eyes grew red. She watched the influx of Gods very opposite. She felt his pain. She felt him grow stronger with the minute. She felt him become alive for the first time. She felt close to him now. She even saw him smile at her as if telling her…I love you mother. And then she never saw him again. And neither did she see anyone else. That night as screams pierced through the atmosphere she returned to her cave. She heard him howling with pleasure. He was taking back his share of happiness. She closed her eyes and she was inside him digging her teeth into the neck of a man. She ran after a rather fat woman and caught her by the legs. As the blood oozed out of her veins she could feel him complying to his pre-eminence. As he relished the fear he had instilled in each, as he ripped flesh apart, as he thundered after them, as he claimed what was his she closed her eyes and knew that her part was over. Her son had found his elixir. His birth was complete. He was now a man. Almost disdainfully the night gave birth to dawn. Like the walls of the castle and the tiny little houses it too was red. The sky shimmered to the events of the nights as if bowing to it.
Like they had been thrown out, the white men had been trampled. The mute old man now rested in peace.
Divine Vengeance…