Right, I decided about thirty seconds ago that I'd try a bit of free-writing tonight, so this is hot off the press, typo-ridden, possibly nonsensical, writing for you all to enjoy (I'm even writing it in the blog text box rather than in word - wow, new territory for everyone :) ):

Twilight. Eight letters long, a word that sends mystical shivers down my spine. Something so simple, so absolutely, wonderfully, magically, amazingly... simple. I love twilight, it's the best time of the day. For me, it's the only time of the day. It's the moment I come alive, the moment when everything in the world makes sense. Yes, even the senseless pain and suffering of humanity twists and turns until it resembles something I recognise as a pattern - a horrifically cold pattern, and yet beautiful just the same. I can see the pink lashes of clouds stiking out from the west, and I can see the hovering, uncertain moon peeking out from behind dark and ominous clouds in the east.

It's the moon that I wait for, the fair beacon of my life, its steely light so much more sensitive than the glaring oppression of the sun. We are lovers, the moon and I. It's a passionate affair that taps into the desperate need itching just below the surface of my skin. It's an insatiable need, one I am powerless to deny - should I ever want to. But I don't. I welcome it.

The stain of the sun is slowly dying from the sky, the moon shifting out in the smallest of increments. It's nearly time, and already I can smell the waning perfume of flowers clawing back to life... being clawed back to life.

The first I know of it is the crisp smell to the chill in the air. Then suddenly comes the ripping pain of flesh being torn from my body. I elate in the torture - I am reborn once more. Minutes it continues and every second of agony is ecstacy flowing through my vains. I can feel the needle-like sprouting of hair. I can feel the way my feet rest deeper in the dirt, and how my claws sink down to grasp at the earth. My mouth widens in an aching yawn that breaks my jaw, only to reform with teeth forcing their pointed fingers through my gums.

Finished. I rest on the mud, my coat warming my blood for the coming hunt, my breath steaming in the warmth of the evening, my pulse racing in response to the glorious disc overhead. I can smell meat. Fresh, living, meat. And I run.

I can move faster than anyone would expect. I race through the dark streets of the world and remain unseen in the shadows. Onwards I speed, the wind brushing the layers of hair in rivers down my back, the moon strengthening my thirst with its ever-present guard. And then I see you. Alone.

I offer no defence for my actions - I am the animal. And so I slice into the heat of your body with an unequalled vigor. My teeth grate along your bones as the glutton in my beastly self comes to the fore. I do not relish your flavour, I do not lick the blood from my face, I only sing to the night of the accomplishment of my strength, I live in the wake of your death, and I move on to find my next victim before the sun rises in its burning hatred and banishes me yet again to the confines of the likes of you...

(End)

Hmmm, what does it say about me that when I started out with that first line, I fully intending to write a non-fiction piece about how much I like to write just as it's getting dark and I should be thinking about going to bed? Like now, for instance :). Night to all - actually, it's probably still day back in England, but have a good one either way. :wave: