I stared at the boy that had just sat down; he looked like he had just stepped out from a wake. Yet, there was such sorrow in his heart, just death and most of all, his nature was twisted. Something stepped between him and his destiny and that, in my books, is unforgivable. He is too old yet too young; his heart is rotting where his body should be. A modern Dorian Gray. I observed him for a few miles before the bus stopped, giving me the right incentive to talk to him, to itch the curiosity that burnt inside me.
My mouth opened, only to be filled by the stench of alcohol – a deathly amount of alcohol – slamming itself down between us. My nose wrinkled up and I almost coughed up my guts, I didn’t know what was worse. An immortal human cursed to walk with his love dying, or the werewolf that has had so much pain he’s been forced to drink copious amounts of alcohol that would kill a hundred humans.
I reached for my backpack, pulling out my spell-book. It was wrapped in brown paper and below that laid the leather-bound book: Gold leaf pages littered with hieroglyphics and pictures of werewolves, Gods, cats and witches everything you could think of; even the forbidden spells are in here – love, death and resurrection. I flicked through the pages with a smile, stopping every now and then to trace my tattoos down my arm. “Please save my soul, take my life as yours lord, but Anubis.... save my soul.” My right arm, middle line down my vein from the elbow to my wrist, he had not slain the man he thought and his heart was pure; lighter than the feather it was measured against.
I continued tracing the tattoos on my arm, not looking up as I addressed the man. “Why are you so drunk?” He denied it, slurring his every word as I figured he would. “Let me re-phrase that: ‘why are you so sad?’”
“Sad?” He laughed, a dull dry hollow thing, “Why woulsh I be shad?” Astonishing, single words are manageable, whole sentences seem beyond him.
"You tell me..." I sighed, shaking my head, "you smell awful like a dog that has taken a bath in beer." With his addiction I wouldn’t have put it passed him. Dog + Human = Alcoholic, go figure. He raised his arm and sniffed himself, reminding me so much about what I knew about his kind."I never did like werewolves..." I coughed, "disgusting creature."
"You." I pointed, looking up slightly, "are a disgusting creature," I looked back at my book, I'm surprised he's even barely intelligent.
"Why...? How d'you know?"
"That you are a disgusting creature? Easy, you stink of alcohol; you act like a dog and GEEZ! You smell like one too," he shuffled away from me as I explained. I understand that he was on about how I knew he was a werewolf; it’s funny that story actually. But one I’m not open to share, "thank you," I smiled, "would you forfeit your remaining alcohol?"
"The hell would I do that for?"
"To bring yourself toward a brighter tomorrow?" I muttered in a monotone, sarcastic of course. I wasn't sure he had a 'better future.' But I didn’t want him destroying himself; nor did I want his smell filling my nose the whole journey. He refused and looked away from me, so I shouldered my bag and closed my book, shuffling onto the seat in front of the funeral kid.
The curiosity burned more furiously and I pulled a rune from my pocket, an ankh is etched into its surface. I threw it at him and he instantly caught it, as it glowed in his hand he threw it back. Good, fingerprints now, I grinned to myself and sniffed them, Warlock dust. Each spell holds a residue from the person that casts it. We call it ether, I have such a sensitive nose I can identify various ethers.
I picked up a piece of paper from my bag and wrote: ‘I know your pain, you’re suffering. He was wrong, have you accepted your fate?’
They always said curiosity killed the cat – too bad I’m no cat.