Sunrise

             I’m waiting to catch the sun; for the fire it brings to take my years of aching suffering. Closing my eyes, I snuggle further into the soft blankets that line my chair, I sigh. Only the softest pillows, those covered in luscious fabrics, made it onto the large seat. They don’t make them like this anymore; many of the brocades were dyed, embroidered in ways lost to time. I paid handsomely for these items, so I could use them to decorate the place upon which I would eventually pass.

             The chair itself was the last thing I had commissioned. I had another, just like it, when I was still young in years. Despite having moved to countless places, I still think of that place as my ‘old home’. It was the first home I bought myself, decorated to my liking over the years. All of it superbly ornate; silk brocade, heavy velvets with gold embroidery, delicately carved furniture. The chair in my old home was just like this one. Placed deep in covered gardens where I could bask in the moonlight. At that time, I did not yet miss the phantom warmth of the sun. When the fire took my home it was not anything fanciful I missed, it was the chair. How fitting, that it will burn once more.

             The sun is slow to rise. The light in the distance, a mere promise of what is to come. Stretching my mouth open, my jaw clicks. I raise a hand, careful to not cut myself on gnarled talons. Using my knuckles, I rub my jaw trying to relish the feeling. It only slightly alleviates the deep ache, my constant companion. Letting my hand drop I sink further into my seat.

             The others would liken us to stealthy beasts of the night. They would be none too pleased if I told them I think we are more like hamsters. Kept in a cage of night, always having to gnaw and scratch lest our teeth grow out, hands unusable because the talons thickened, curling into unruly shapes. I’ve passed the point of casual maintenance. My skin sticks to me, already greying where it begins to die. My mouth hasn’t closed for months. It aches as my teeth press together, not closing all the way. My jaw is permanently half open; the muscles there burning as they stretch in an unnatural angle.

             Had I kept gnawing on bones like I was supposed to my teeth would be fine. Femurs were my favorite - the marrow was richest there. For nearly a century, however, it’s been a cow or lamb bone. Too many of my friends I’ve lost when the hunters caught them feasting, animals were easier to procure. Easier to explain too. I “made” a giant roast every Sunday – for my huge extended family of course, which would explain the large cut of meat.

I would take my time, hiding away with the leg to methodically strip the flesh with my teeth. The meat was useless; chewy, tough, unappetizing. The bone though, my mouth waters at the thought of it. It was easy enough to crack open. I liked to sink my teeth into it and suck the marrow out through the tiny holes. Sometimes, I chewed on it as the marrow gushed out. If I was among company then I had to take my time lest they think me uncouth in my behavior. I do still have manners.

              At this point it’s been almost a year. I would have to yank all my teeth out and wait for them to grow back if I wanted them to be normal. My talons too, I would have to reshape. I’ve seen it before, the nail is sawed off then sanded until it resembles something human. It’s not so bad to keep them usable, just time consuming. Granted, if I just used them to rip open bone, I wouldn’t have to do maintenance at all.

             The only other time my condition has been this bad was when a constable locked me in a dungeon. Those days are better off not remembered. A shiver runs through me as I recall the pain of fixing my teeth then. Only the front teeth. Like everyone else in there, my front teeth had grown but the back teeth had remained decent. It was simply not efficient to gnaw on the bone of a rat with front teeth. I stuck them far into my mouth to grind at the bones.

Running my tongue across the back of my teeth I let the feeling ground me. I could still make it. I’ve seen others come back from worse, years locked up leads to all sorts of maladies. Watching the sun rise through half lidded eyes strengthens my resolve. Pulling the blanket further up I watch the first hints of the sun breaching the horizon. In my thin weakened state, I fight the urge to hide from the sun. It is an innate fear, one I am actively fighting as I push my blanket down.

             I sit in my most ornate clothing, body laden with heavy jewels. They will remain behind, unlike popular media depicts we don’t actually burst into flames. It is much less flashy; we burn like a campfire’s embers. From the inside out, we heat up until all that’s left behind is ash. I have seen it countless times - mostly at the hands of hunters. My friends tied to posts, trying to squirm away as the sheet of sunlight makes its way down the sides of buildings, lighting them. After, the humans sieve through the ash to pocket any valuables. Like panning for gold in a river. As if we deserve no dignity.

             It likely seems that way, finding a body after a feeding can’t be pleasant. I do not find the mess pleasant either but it is how things are. I can no more deny my own instincts than a wolf can deny the call of the moon. It has been a long time since I transitioned to eating only cattle and the like. It is nowhere near as satisfying but it has kept me alive until now. How humans eat the flesh of such creatures, I no longer remember.

             The light washes over the tall buildings, a sight I have never seen. It brings a different sort of calm seeing the sights when the city wakes. At night, the lights of the city blot out the sky. It makes me miss the countryside with its star filled skies, but after some time in the country I miss the city, or the sea, or the cold rolling hills that line the highlands. It’s one of the few good things about the change: we gain so much time.

             I’ve had and still have many friends; some returned to the earth, others returned as ash, and some remain with me. We gather, every so often, finding comfort in our sameness. We cannot be together too long, not everyone is as neat an eater as me. There are only so many “wild animal attacks” people will believe. My friends…they know what I’m doing. They were made aware, years ago, of what I planned. They do not judge me for it, instead they gifted me the jewels I now wear. Tonight, they shall come and collect my ashes; the jewels will return to them, the ashes will return to the land where my old home once stood.

             Closing my eyes think of all I have seen; back when carriages and horses reigned, to the caravans, to the nights I spent deep in the opioid dens trading silver for deep, long drinks from an addict’s neck. Things were different then; it was easier in many ways yet modern comforts, too, are welcome.

             At last, I feel a prickle behind closed lids. The light is upon me, I feel it deep in my bones. For a moment I relish the feeling, breathing deeply I can almost imagine I am back on the open plains. As the heat builds, I force myself not to flee. Every fiber of my being shudders under the heat. It soothes me, I can see the light through my lids, feel the heat upon them. I cannot help opening them.

             When I was human the dark frightened me, I could not see. Now, I relish the second before the sun blinds me. The light is so bright I can almost fool myself into thinking I am back in that darling house of mine. I know my friends will take care of my memory for no one else will know I existed. The fire laps under my skin. Right before it consumes me, I think back to all the years I’ve lived and regret nothing as the sun takes my aching from me.