Raindrops

Raindrops were falling on his head, but not in such a literal or amusing form.  These so-called raindrops were memories rushing back all too quickly—an amusing and noisy night in the garage gone wrong with the simple words of ‘Death by werewolf.’1

He left, trying to shake the memories out of his head, moving from warm, stuffy air to the cool, whistling breeze of the forest and the scents that they carried.  Behind he had left everything from happy couples and laughing to a crying partner with two trying to keep her from following, trying to quiet her down, and the dented car door that lead to all of this in the first place.2

‘Death by werewolf…’3

These words were a simple reminder of guilt and of the very event that made him an outcast—a death that he truly could be blamed for…a murder out of rage from a simple comment and the threat it held.  This time it was a joke, but he was clearly upset by it, the ‘threat’ of clipping a certain someone’s vocal cords for making too much noise resulted in a dented door, a shaken young woman, and the three words that he did not need to hear from her partner.4

Memories stirred just that quickly and he left hesitantly as the memories struck him.  One followed, some comforted those left behind, others were never aware of what had happened—his partner attempted to follow and nearly succeeded with all too much noise.5

Her cries pummeled his sensitive ears and he was torn between fleeing and returning to her, but he fled instead, hiding even from the sharp eyes of his would-be hunter, a friend of his who he knew was pursuing him by smell more than sight.  He immediately fled to the trees, careful of weak limbs or those areas that he could scarcely hide in in the winter due to his increase in mass in this form, coupled with his fairly bright fur color.6

He shivered, but from anything but the obvious cold, and shut his now tear-filled eyes and remained where he was, claws digging into the bark of the poor tree he now resided in.7