Treasure Island

Connor Whyte

(March,30th,1993 / Montana)

A monster and A Revolver


Sitting in the cold night, Watching the moonlight waiting for the change of the monster to shift its form, Burning and aching as the form begins to shape. As it stands in the open with eyes red as the sun, It howls to the moon and cries in the night.

Heat of the skin and fur drenched in blood, And rain, Quickly it moves to a person unaware, Making its move on the next prey it finds. A lonely man stands in the road eyes black as stone, Rain bounces of his dark rain coat. He is a easy target but is not alone.

He sees me and he begins to make a stand as my muscles begin to clench to let out a large roar, I feel the heat of my breath and make a move.

He moves so fast my eyes do not follow as I began to choke and throb as a bullet comes from the mans revolver. A extreme pain knocks me down cold. He was never alone as he has a gun faster than the wolf.

This vision comes from my own mind and I lay in my bed feeling the wolfs pain. My eyes turn red and claws extend I howl to the moon and cry to the night. Running down the road I see a man and will make my attempt to feed as he is alone, I will fight all my pain away when I take hold of this mans throat, But is he alone? I will not know.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Edited: Tuesday, December 04, 2012

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

This is a real experience I have had but wish to not detail it by the way it really went.

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