Short fiction by Conor Hastilow

Conor Hastilow Cerative Writing

The full moon calls to me…  (Not literally, it’s a feeling.)

I toss and turn, lying awake.

The curtains are closed tight – but through the smallest gap,

The light shines and calls to me. Again…

I try to block it out: I want to sleep!  I say aloud.

A reply from the light: But you need to fly.

 

Tortured by the voice, I succumb;

Usually I am in control, but on the Full Moon,

The will of the beast becomes greater than my own.

 

I step outside, through the back door.

I look around, make sure no-one’s watching.

 

Out over the fence, towards the forest,

Sprinting over dirt tracks, between trees,

I reach the clearing at a sharp left

Where it always begins…

 

When I used the amulet a year ago, I gave myself this power.

I had complete control over it; but now, by the Full Moon’s light,

It manifests itself without my intervention.

 

But there is no more time for contemplation;

I have begun to change again, as twenty-nine nights before.

 

Those same flames engulf me, ripple and flicker around me;

The light leaves ruby scales in its wake, armour like tenfold shields.

My entire form is redefined; from the tips of my fingers and toes,

Silver, blade-like claws emerge.

Human teeth replaced with vampiric fangs like poison spears,

My new slit pupils surrounded by a golden iris of malice and darkness.

In this moment I am 10 feet tall,

Increasing mass forcing me to all fours.

The light crafts a tail for me, emerging from the base of my spine,

Surrounded by the same scales, its shock like a thunderbolt.

The light extends from my shoulders, and golden wings form,

Their power akin to a hurricane.

 

My entire self is reptilian and draconic.

One more step, and I am ready to wreak havoc;

The rest of the light is swallowed, and my breath ignites!


Clore Poetry and Literature Award, Heaton Manor School, Newcastle