Musing

by victorfrankensteinis_awhinybitch

Summary:

Guest#666 was once a human. Human mind, human body and human instincts. Entirely normal, for a Guest.

Things change. People change. Sometimes for the better.

For Guest 666, they've changed for the worst. A human mind, now trapped in an animal body with an animal instincts.

How will he cope with it? Can he cope with it?

With all that she's done, should she try to cope with it at all?

~~~

Guest 666 paces the property around the cabin the killers stay in, and thinks.

Notes:

Just so you guys know, I wanted to put "Zoochosis" but I can't use custom tags with my phone. So we're just gonna have to go with what we got.

For clarification – Guest 666 has zoochosis. They pace, self-harm via gnawing on themselves, and occasionally gnaw on objects.

Also! I'm going to try and write more Guest 666 / Noob666 stuff. If you guys want something specific you can request it in the comments. :3

Additional tags that I couldn't add; the horrifying concept of having a human mind but being trapped in an animal's body and having to war with an animal's intincts, just me?, ok gotcha

It's dark. Quiet, where the killers lay their heads at night. My mind stirs, unable to settle. I gnaw at my claws.

It's so quiet. And there is so much I need to do, that I want to do. But I can't.

I huff, and carefully stand, trying not to bump my head or horns on anything. I feel those wretched spiked things grind against my skull as I move them back to slip out of the door and into the night. A cold wind blows, past my wiry fur and to my skin. I shiver.

My hooves make soft crunching sounds on the gritty dirt, and I follow the route I've, by now, paved into a path. I slowly trod around the rocky fence contructed by 1x1x1x1, in an attempt to keep 'vermin' out. I can feel the muscles in my haunches stretching as I walk, keeping me upright. There are a few things I won't let my monstrous form to take from me, and one of those is my bipedal desire.

The cold wind blows again and I growl, shaking my head like a dog shaking away anxiety. I continue to walk the perimiter, my ears catching on the softest of sounds. I hear a mouse scurrying to its burrow, attempting to hide from any predators that may be lurking. I hear an owl take flight, wings flapping near-silently in the midnight. I hear monsters sneaking beyond the stone wall, seperating us from them.

I wonder, then, are we really so different from them? The creatures in the dark, stalking about? They're only trying to survive. To feed, to gain sustenance. Perhaps, even, to enrich themselves.

I am not so different. In appearance, in behavior.

I am monstrous. In every sense of the word. I kill to enrich, to amuse myself eith the chase. I kill to feast, to gorge on human flesh, to sustain. I feel no remorse.

I'd like to think that, wouldn't I? That I feel nothing for my fellow prisoners.

But I do. I feel deeply for them. A deep guilt fills me just as much as their viscera, when all is said and done. They did not ask to be thrown into the lions' den. We did not ask to be lions.

Yet here we stay: Claws and teeth bared, stomachs growling with hunger and anger. The others insist to be more civilized. To kill any game they find, to hunt.

But I...

I cannot deny the animal. The Beast.

I am lucky, at least, that they have not found me out.

I am not different than the monsters that lurk in the dark forest, who snarl and snap at one another, who feast on the flesh of their kin.

I am no different than the lion, who devours the skin, the muscle, the tender organ of the innocent buffalo calf.

I am a monster.

I am The Beast.

 

.

.

.

 

The wood of the rotten wooden porch creaks under my weight as I duck my head back into the cabin where the killers begin to wake. I refrain from growling as those damned horns scrape my skull, my nerves stinging in pain. I hear a voice call to me.

"Where were you?"

I cannot respond. I settle into my corner, and curl up. At the very least, the ratty blankets placed in the corner for me help cushion my joints from the splintered wooden floor.

I do not sleep. My mind stirs, unable to settle.

I gnaw at my claws.