Go back one page
-------------------------------------------------------------- Permission granted by author for anyone to distribute this writing free of charge (including translation into any language)...under condition that no profit is made therefrom, and that it remain intact and complete, including title and credit to the original author. Ezekiel J. Krahlin http://surf.to/gaybible -------------------------------------------------------------- QUEER LYCANTHROPY, or WEREWOLF ON A BICYCLE (A short story and an essay) (Dedicated to two Brians: my homeless buddy of many years ago, and one I've never met, except on a website being maintained since his sad death.) ................................................................................................................. BRIAN AND THE WEREWOLF (a parable for the 21st century) © 2001 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin (Jehovah's Queer Witness) In a time when lonely old ladies were being burned for witchcraft and young men were tied with bundles of sticks to light these fires, a woman died at childbirth on the edge of a village. The child's name was Brian, because he was born in the briars. He grew to be a lover of men; but these were dangerous times for brotherly love. Brian therefore lived a lonely life of heartache, and hatred for the ignorant folk with whom he daily bargained to survive. Until he met Damien, the werewolf. Damien was a special werewolf, for he loved Man, and longed for a maiden to bear a pack of frisky pups. But most people are stupid, and fear all creatures of God's design that they cannot tame for their own selfish needs. It was, of course, on a night of the Full Moon that the howling began. The townfolk bolted their doors and did not set foot outside their cottages--except Brian, who loved adventure. On the third Full Moon of the Howling, Brian hid himself in the forest where he last heard the werewolf's cries. Brian's patience was rewarded, for there in a clearing under the brilliance of an August Moon, appeared Damien. "What a magnificent creature," thought Brian. "His fur glistens with resin, and he steps around the little blossoms." Now, the werewolf has a sharp sense of smell and keen ears; but Brian was crouched downwind in the nettle, possessed by the stillness of all creatures of the wood before the werewolf howls. Damien raised his face to the moon and pierced the night with the cry of a soul that is damned. Tears sparkled down the canine face, and Brian quietly wept. The howling only ceased when the moon hung low in the sky. Then the werewolf sat on a rock and sobbed, covering his wet face with large, soiled hands. Brian wanted to surrender himself to the werewolf, but he knew it was not the time. When the werewolf vanished into the forest again, Brian stepped into the clearing and sat on the rock, and thought. Then he picked some clover, placed them on the rock, and went home. On the fourth Full Moon there was no howling, and the villagers rejoiced. Except Brian. He crouched all night in the nettle, but the werewolf never returned. The clover was gone, however. But it could have been washed away by the rain, or blown by the wind, or woven into a nest. Brian placed another bouquet on the rock; and cried, and slept, beside it. When he awoke, the werewolf lay beside him. "You were shivering," said Damien. Brian trembled in the warmth of the werewolf's arms, and his heart leapt for joy. He nuzzled his face in the werewolf's chest, and the scent of cedar filled his nostrils. But when he tried to kiss the werewolf on the nose, it leapt from their bed of rotting leaves. "I brought you some breakfast," said Damien, and scooped some quails' eggs from the ground. When Brian began gathering sticks to light a fire, the werewolf grabbed his arm. "No. Just eat them," said the werewolf, who cracked open an egg and licked the gooey substance from the cup of his hand. Brian smiled and ate quails' eggs until his stomach could hold no more. This is how Brian learned to live in the forest and find shelter, food, and companionship, without bargaining. "Damien," said Brian one day as they rested in a meadow of dogwood, "I pray every night that God will turn me into a woman, so our love would be complete." Damien looked down at his companion whose head was resting against his thigh. "Our love is complete," said the werewolf, caressing the brow of his only friend. But Brian longed to please the werewolf in more than a filial way--and the werewolf understood. For each in his agony had found a place in his heart to love the other. The villagers lived without fear of the werewolf for five, peaceful years. And Brian learned many mysteries of the ways of nature from the tender wisdom of his friend. Every evening, as the sun slipped below the hills of Devonshire, Damien would sing songs on the lute that Brian carved for him out of birch wood: "When I saw you sleeping in the briar, I knew you were dreaming of me. We live in the dale of Clover-on-rock, Beneath the cherry tree." And under the veil of night, deep in the forest, they embraced. Brian would whisper himself to sleep: "My dear, beautiful, wolf friend." One day, when Brian was gathering rosebuds for tea, he heard Damien's howl. It came from the village. By the time he got there, it was all over. The ignorant folk had captured and killed the werewolf. Brian returned to the woods and watched, all night long, the village festivities around the bonfire to celebrate the death of his gentle friend. Where the blood had been spilled, now grows Wolf's Bane. And for a hundred years after the murder of Brian's beloved friend, the townfolk bolted their doors against the fullness of the moon, and the howl of a werewolf on the edge of the forest.---finis
ADDENDUM TO BRIAN & THE WEREWOLF (late-night musings by a candle, August 19, 2001) How did the villagers manage to capture and kill Damien? Well, he and Brian would sometimes sneak into the village late at night, to steal some tasty morsels or useful tools from the shops there. They'd disguise themselves in dark cloaks, and stealthily move about the gloomy streets to gain their prizes. Never in their excursions did they enter someone's home, nor did they injure anyone. On one of their nocturnal visits, Brian paused before a window full of handcrafted jewelry. Damien stepped up to him, and peered over his shoulder to admire the object of Brian's delight: an ivory cross carved with roses all about that hanged from a lovely chain of pure silver. Damien remembered that cross, and wanted to surprise Brian with it, as a birthday gift. So the love struck werewolf sneaked into town all by himself, without Brian's knowledge, and snatched the rosy cross from its ledge. Sadly, a villager glimpsed Damien's eerie shadow moving through the desolate streets, and alerted his neighbors...which led to his capture, and death. (Damien was crucified on a stake of dogwood, and burned alive. Despite the agony and his howls, he kept one hand firmly clenched even unto death, as if to say: "They may have caught me, but they'll never get this! My boundless love for you, Brian, will rise from the ashes some day, like a phoenix." And his final thought was: "Hail to the Great White Wolf. May you curse my enemies, and shower mercy on my beloved.") Many years later, a plague wiped out the entire village, and thus Brian could safely pay his honors to his only love, by visiting the spot where they burned the unwanted. Deep, deep, under layers of ashes (from other poor souls that came after Damien), he uncovered what remained of his beloved: a few bones that once composed his left hand...and lying among these bones was that ivory cross, untouched by fire or ash. (These finger bones, he gathered into a small, sacred pouch; and wore them close to his heart.) Was Damien truly handsome, even as a werewolf? Well, yes, he surely was. Brian did not need to dig deep at all into his spirit, to find the beauty in Damien. For even though fur covered his entire face, it did not conceal for a moment, the remarkable good looks of the werewolf. Should he shave his face down to his smooth, flawless skin, people would be stunned at this terribly handsome young man. But no one really bothered to see through his hirsute countenance...except Brian, who instantly flipped over this gorgeous dude! Damien was also very well built: strong, well-muscled and perfectly proportioned body: the type that would inspire Classical Greek sculptors to the ultimate heights of their talents! Except, of course, for all that copious hair...er, fur. Again, Brian had the vision to see through all this hair. Or, to put it humorously: he could still see the forest despite all the trees. And let us not ignore their love-making, for love they surely did manifest in sexual, erotic ways, as well as in friendship, devotion, and affection. Damien, being canine, was true to his nature, and loved licking Brian clean from head to toe, then back up again, all over his trembling body. Not an inch of this lad's fair flesh was neglected, anywhere. They would nuzzle and bark at each other, and tumble in the leaves and grasses, late into the night, under the stars and the waxing moon. Among the many, many things Brian learned about werewolves, was that puppy love is the best love, by anyone's measure. And so they growled at each other in their night embraces, nippy love bites while they dreamt of racing each other, chasing rabbits and birds through the meadows of Avalon. While Brian instantly fell in love with Damien the very first time he laid eyes on him, it took some months before he gave up a residual amount of wariness that was ingrained deep into his psyche. This was a simple matter of the survival instinct in a world of treacherous evil. And Damien's keen werewolf senses told him of his lover's hesitation in this matter; so he wondered how to break down this final wall, gently...else he feared driving Brian away. However, he need not have anxiety over such an outcome. But this fear was just a simple matter of Damien's residual caution; a survival instinct in a brutal world. So the last wall of distrust came down one beautiful, summer night when a cool breeze bowed the heads of daffodils, and made rustling wind chimes of the trees across the wooded hills. It was five months into their friendship, when Damien paused from cleaning up their evening meal, and suddenly dropped to his knees before Brian, and embraced his legs. And he looked up at Brian's confused face, and spoke: "I thank the Green Lord from the bottom of my little puppy heart for bringing us together, and giving me such happiness I could never imagine in this life. Oh, Brian, I don't know how I could ever go on without you, now that our souls have touched. You are a lovely boy, my magnificent and tender pup!" Brian shivered in rapture, and dropped to the ground, where he curled up into Damien's arms, and wept tears. They were tears of joy, though Brian did not realize that, for he just cried and cried like a newborn baby, for days on end. Damien laughed with delight as he led Brian around by hand, watching him stumble through the bramble and shrubs, in order to remain as close as possible to his werewolf love. For Brian was born again...into the heart of Gaia that came through Damien's tender counsel and caresses. No longer was there any wall at all, to block the incredible trust he now held, in complete devotion, for the wonder that is The Werewolf. Indeed, Brian became a werewolf, one of the brotherhood who need never be a stranger in the woods ever again, no matter how far from human settlements. And, like all good werewolves: the farther away, the better he liked it. It is my conjecture that those labeled "werewolves" in olden days, were merely people born with abundant hair over their entire face and body. So they were cast out as infants, into the forest to die or fend on their own (perceived as they were, as devil's spawn). Naturally, most died in a short time, but a rare few survived. Damien was such a one. And this explains why Brian remained alone after Damien's passing: there were no other werewolves around to befriend. But let not sorrow be the final seal to this story. For they were reborn in this life, to find each other once again, and to live this time, a very long life together with great affection, fulfillment, and, of course, puppy love. How do I know this? I was Damien, the werewolf. And my Brian came to me twelve years ago, homeless and in need of a good friend. I would delight him with my tales; and one day he asked me to write a story just for him. So I said, sure, what kind of stories do you like? "Horror stories", he said. "What kind of monster do you like the most?" I queried...and he answered "Werewolves". So I set about to write my werewolf tale for Brian, intending it to be quite funny. Instead, this wonderful, but tragic, tale flowed from my pen as if by magic. I was worried that Brian might not like it, but once he read it, he simply adored the tale, and carried it with him, always, folded in a pocket. It is only now, twelve years later, that Damien came to me in a lovely dream, and taught me more about werewolves, which is the purpose of my addendum. The werewolf that I once was, in a past life, now chooses to awaken and emerge into my conscious self. Where will this take me in the long run? For one, I will expand this short tale into an extraordinary novel, as Damien further instructs me on the Way of the Wolves. For another, I will become a werewolf, and acquire all the wondrous attributes of this noble creature...including a keen sense of smell and hearing, and an unswerving devotion to those whom I love. So when you visit San Francisco, and on some full-moon night, way after everyone's gone to bed, you are awakened by the eerie howl of nothing that resembles a domesticated canine...know that it is me, Damien, prowling the city streets to protect my gay brothers and sisters who remain homeless in the cold night, huddled together for the warmth and companionship they sorely deserve. And if you are one to spit upon my people: BEWARE! TO BRIAN, WHEREVER YOU MAY BE: ------------------------------------------------- May green clover sprout in your steps, And may you always walk in God's Light. You are one of the Little People, You are one of Us, You are my beloved Brother; And there is nothing I won't do To guide you back to the Light Should darkness blind you on your Sacred Journey. Wherever I am, you have a home: A place of Joy, Light, and Love. Wherever you go, I walk beside you And scare the evil ones away. What is past is past, Forgiven and forgotten. Doors to better dimensions await you, And one of them is mine. I wish you the blessing of Our Creator, For with that one wish is born all others. Your best friend, Zeke P.S.: God bless you, little werewolf. And remember: the best speed is Godspeed. Please call me.