A Wolf in Briefs

Basically, the one-sentence story exercise. I had to do at least 500 words and, since I've been toying with this idea anyway, decided to go for it.

     Stirring slowly from the stupor of a half remembered dream, he felt the warm rays of the sun beginning to warm the fur on his body as it shone on through the window facing the sea, serving as yet another reminder that he had once again kicked off the covers he had so painstakingly placed there yesterday in an attempt to live like any other civilized being on the planet despite his more lupine features including, but not limited to a muzzle and fangs and claws and whiskers and pointed ears and padded feet, etcetera ad nauseum, but despite his condition one could clearly see in his body and stature and eyes the more human side of who he used to be back before the genetic mystery of lycanthropy had begun taking hold of the human race, though just like the depths of the sea lapping at the shore of his current home no one had yet been able to figure out why people were turning into werewolves, nor how such a thing could even begin to occur with no known origin; it had been four years since his own change, but unlike many who underwent such a milestone in their lives he found himself quite agreeable to the body that lycanthropy had bestowed upon him, choosing to view it as a gift instead of the curse the blown-out-of-proportion media would lead a majority of the human race to believe was the case, and even just the slightest whisper of a thought crossing his mind regarding those who not only viewed lycanthropes as less than human, but also actively shut down any discussions involving lycanthropic representation was enough to jolt the lazy wolfman to his senses, and even the steady, rhythmic, eternal music of wavy digits upon sandy keys was not able to calm him down fast enough as he sat there, bolted upright in bed with his nostrils flaring as he breathed in and out and in again, dressed only in his green and black boxer-briefs as he forced himself to remember that in this present moment he was safe from those who would hurt him in their misguided attempts to 'cure' him, whether physically or mentally, and that it was not himself who was a monster but those who would play church but practice hypocrisy that were the true terrors of this nightmare world, and that despite all of the terrible things happening in politics and war and news and other such nonsense he, as a wolfman, or werewolf, or lycanthrope, or whatever the hell the media was calling him these days, could just sit in this moment for a while longer as he listened with heightened hearing the humdrum yet never quite repeating pattern of wave after wave after wave lighting upon the sands of peace he had grown so very fond of, and finally banishing all negativity from his mind, if only temporarily, he was able to open his eyes one by one, squinting against the light as the first object that came into his perception was the pair of blue jeans he had left on a chair the previous night.

The End

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