Another Friday, another Seventh Sanctum prompt. Today I used the Writing Challenge generator which gave me the following. “The story ends in a big city. The story takes place in the afternoon. During the story, there is an assassination. The story must have a werewolf in it.”. I decided to go very basic with it… but even basic stories need a twist sometimes.
The full moon hung heavy in the sky, a veil of thin clouds floating across it. The sun was beginning to set. In a few hours, the city would begin to drift asleep but for now traffic moved down the streets at a rush-hour crawl.
The hunter hurried down the street, weaving back and forth around the other pedestrians. When people thought of werewolf-hunts they always imagined them taking place at night. Hollywood never considered that the moon wasn’t always confined to the dark part of the day. Day-moons made everything much more complicated. You couldn’t swish around dramatically in a trench-coat with a rifle loaded with silver bullets barely tucked inside it in the middle of the day. Nevertheless, there were werewolves to hunt.
The crowd had thinned out a bit by the time she reached the park. Without the sea of heads and jackets to confuse her, it didn’t take her long to spot her mark. Sweating, limping, disheveled – she spotted them from across the park, heading into the woods. Good. They’d be less likely to hurt someone in there. As soon as the soon-to-be wolf disappeared between the trees, she took off running. Couldn’t afford to lose the trail now. She slowed when she reached the tree-line, scanning the ground for footprints but spotting something even better – a sneaker, then another sneaker, a sock, then a pair of jeans. It never stopped creeping her out how they always seemed to know to strip even when they change had begun and they were nothing but feral beasts in bodies that would only stay human a moment longer.
She reached into her jacket and pulled out the tools of her trade, a small handgun for day-hunting. There was the other sock. Safety off; she suspected the beast wasn’t far away. Inching forward slowly, she kept her piece raised and her finger on the trigger, ready to be jumped at any moments. Suddenly, a noise up ahead stopped her short. She peered up among the trees, spotting a shape, dull brown fur, moving. She moved closer, watching where she planted her feet so as to not alert the beast to her presence. Just a few more steps and she’d have a clean shot. One more… one more…
She wasn’t sure what caught the beast’s attention. She stepped on no branches, had made sure to mask her scent before going on the hunt. Yet it spun, predatory yellow eyes boring into her. It growled, but didn’t run. Good. It would be dead before it finished leaping on her, and she wouldn’t have to chase it all night. She raised the gun.
A shot rang out through the afternoon air. The hunter stumbled, the gun dropping from her fingers. A crimson stain spread across the front of her shirt. A moment later, they hit the ground. A second figure stepped into the clearing, a tall woman in a trench coat, a rifle in hand.
“Good job,” she told the beast and smiled. The werewolf smiled back.
I feel like something like this could actually work in one of my story world. Might have to tuck the idea away for later. Happy weekend, everyone!