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It hurts.

That first bite, tearing through the flesh, scissoring through muscle, bone and blood. You feel it, though you're not sure what it is.

The virus. The lycan's curse. It fills you up, swirls through your system fast and hard, swooping and diving through each organ, each nerve and muscle. It eats away at your humanity and if you're very, very lucky, it won't eat you in the process. You can't fight it. Once you're bitten, it just happens and you're left to shake, shudder and endure.

Most humans die within the hour. Some survive and go on, walking the moon on all fours.

Long before that happens, the memories come, fast and hard on the heels of the bite. Your head pounds and the world rushes by in a torrent of sound. Flashes and flickers of a life you've never led fill your mind and your stomach churns at the speed of time as you sift back through the years. You don't know what's going on, can't think and your bones...your bones tell you stories that you neither want to know nor comprehend.

Your throat closes and you think, maybe I should howl...maybe I should scream my agony to the sky? You don't. You endure, curling into a ball on the ground, fingers clenched to your stomach like you could dig the twisting, hot animal out of your spine if you will it hard enough.

Your mind stutters. Time passes. And you try to run. The bite is angry, red, blood filled and accusatory. You look at it, counting the teeth, seeing bits of muscle chewed raw around the edges.

That's when the hunger hits you. It fills the back of your tongue, saliva choking you. You don't know what it is. You feel ill and yet the hunger comes on, stronger, making your shaking body suffer more, cells rebelling, stomach clawing its way through your skin.

Smell comes next. And you smell it, all around you, tainting the ground, the air a swirling, delicious mass of scents. It all comes at you and you can pick things out, like pictures in your mind. There's a dead cat over there. Two blocks down, there's rotten garbage. Someone's fucking. Someone's shitting. Piss. Chinese food. Grease. Animals. Flesh. Meat. Humans. Human meat.

The hunger spikes and you double over with want. You're disgusted, but the want gets stronger and you reel in horror. You want away from the feeling, the hunger inside of yourself, but you can't run. It's taking you over bit by bit.

Sight comes with no warning. Suddenly, the world is sharp and bright and you can see freckles on faces fifty feet away, can read words blocks away. Your eyes hurt. If you'd look at them, they're bright, hard blue, all iris, pupils merely pinpricks.

You close your eyes, squeezing them shut to relieve the ache, eyelashes fluttering against sweaty cheeks. With your eyes closed, you notice something odd.

Rain comes down and you, you can hear the impact of each drop with the ground. It hits your skin and the sound it makes on your bloody, dirty, ripped clothing is deafening.

You move to fall to your knees and realize you've already fallen to them. Your breath is so loud in your ears that you want to scream; only you don't because of the sound. You can't take it. You don't want to hear all these things. The wind. Cars, trains, the howl of something in the distance that makes your spine shudder...

Its too much. You think you're dead. You hope you are and that this is merely a formality. It'll all be over soon. You pray to whatever god will listen as you crawl away, hidden in the shadows.

There are things after you. They want you and you want them. You swallow, feeling blood on your tongue. You don't know how it got there, but your hunger is still raging. You want them. All of them. Soft underbellies, fleshy, flabby arms...entrails.

Your nails tear furrows in the damp pavement and you stare at them in surprise and horror. They're long now, sharp, distended and hard. They glint like razorblades in the faint glare of the flickering streetlight. You give a short cry of disbelief, but it won't help.

There's no going back.

Your wound aches. You lean against the wall and pray the moon won't find you. You know what you are now...you can't resist it.

The memories flash again and you think your head is going to split open. You cower away from them, but they don't stop. They'll never stop until...

The world is lighter somehow. The air thrums with electricity, crackling and popping over your skin. Your eyes roll around in your head. You moan and try to focus on the world around you.

And you see it.

The moon, your mother. You will forever worship it, roll on your back and expose your belly in supplication. You want to spit at it, throw rocks at it like the first proto-human, terrified it'll come down and ravage you.

The pain starts immediately. And it hurts like nothing you will ever know. It hurts every time.

Your body wasn't mean to change, to pop out of shape and morph at will. Your skin wasn't meant to bubble and burst, veins throbbing, spine juddering downward out of your back. This isn't natural. You scream to the sky, throw back your head and the feel muscles twist and pop.

Your face elongates, nose breaking and remolding. Your teeth pierce your lip and you throw your mouth wide to swallow the sky. Your skin shudders out a light smattering of hair and then your ears go, shifting from one from to another. Your arms pop. So do your legs. It blinds you with agony and you want to rip out your heart for betraying you. You don't want this. You want to make it stop, but it won't. It can't. Your muscles cord and uncoil, bubbling up, building on themselves.

You can't describe it. There's no way to get the words out. It just happens. Things change, your body gives, ribs crunch and rise against your skin. Your spine buckles again and you're stooped slightly. On all fours you howl at the sky and hear your clothing rip, throwing away the last vestiges of humanity.

And then...you have no other choice but to run. You aren't you and yet, you're more complete than you could ever have imagined. The hunger is all you can feel and it drives you to madness, heightened senses leading you onward.

The human doesn't see it coming. You rip and tear and eat, dip your face--muzzle--into the soft flesh and tear with your teeth. You toss your head, swallowing a heart whole, face wet with gore and bits of meat. You howl hard at the sky and the world trembles.

Strangely, you don't regret what you've done. There is nothing to regret, there is only the hunger.

The others find you soon after your first feed. They always do.

They don't bite; don't inflict their wrath upon you. They welcome you and you, you howl and feel their muzzles upon your face. There, you learn all the secrets of the world, of the war and you want to be a soldier. You understand these things. You have survived.

The moon gives way to morning and it hurts no less to shift your form back to your human visage.

You will never be that same human again though. You are more. You are a child of the moon, a lycan.

And you will never look back.