Hank the Were Rooster 01: Meet Hank
Most of the time, Hank is a normal guy. He goes to work, tries not to bore his girlfriend with his awesome video game exploits, and leaves food outside for the feral cat that roams the neighborhood. Honestly, it’s the cat he worries about the most, especially during that time of the month. (He used to worry about his girlfriend too, but their cycles have synced up, so she mostly wants to be alone during that time.)
When the full moon rises, Hank has the urge to go outside. At first, he sits there and stares up at it. (He’s always loved the full moon, to the point where he’s got the geography memorized. He’s proud that he knows where the Sea of Tranquility is.) The change doesn’t hit right away. Real life isn’t a B movie, with him ripping off his clothes and going animal.
Sometimes, Hank thinks that might be easier. Self-awareness is a curse under which all humans live, but at least other people don’t peck at the ground.
He can’t help it. As the full moon rises higher, he leaves his back porch, walking out into the backyard. Well, maybe not walk. He picks one foot up, knee bent so that his foot nearly touches his butt. He balances like that for a few moments, looking around. During that time, his shoulders hunch and his arms press tight against his side. To his shame, he clucks before switching feet.
If only the weird walk and the clucks were the end of it. No, his stupid urges draw him further out, into the middle of the backyard. He locks his knees and leans down. (Once, before the change first hit him, he could barely touch his toes. Now he’s the most flexible guy in his yoga class.) When his faces gets close to the ground, he starts hunting for food. Not normal food — there’s no normal food to be found. He tried leaving food out: pieces of bread, apples, even a chocolate chip cookie. Okay, with ants on them, they’re gross, but he’d still take them over the alternative.
The full moon warps his taste buds more than anything else. There are worms and ants and beetles and other horrible things in his backyard. As a boy, he liked creepy crawlies. As a boy, he used them to tease girls, which is an acceptable use of such creatures. They are not meant for human consumption, no matter what anyone says.
(Not that he’s admitted to eating such things. He’s still got his pride.)
When he hears the first crunch, the human part of him weeps. When he feels the way the bugs wiggle as they slid down his throat (because apparently he doesn’t chew his foot properly during the full moon), he wants to vomit. He doesn’t, because his body is fucked up by lunar rotation. It goes on for hours, because he eats slowly like that.
He stays out all night. As the first rays of sun touch the eastern sky, he stands up straight, butt quivering. Then a loud call escapes him: “Wake the fuck up!”
If he has to do all that, couldn’t he just cockadoodle like a normal rooster? There’s kids next door, and if the parents give him one more lecture about proper vocab at 6 am, he’s going to do something drastic.
