“No…” I groan. Doubled over in pain, I scurry frantically for the ladies’ restroom. “Not now. Not here!” But it’s no use. The transformation has begun. The beast within, liberated from its bonds, is now free to wreak its horrific path of destruction, all while wearing my skin. It is me. And for a time, I am it – a monster.
I knew it was coming. All the signs were there – erratic, dangerous mood swings, acne outbreaks on par with life-choking algae blooms, immeasurable fatigue, and an uncontrollable sprouting of hair in places not normally furry. Ever since the tender age of 11 when my mother welcomed me into the pack, I have experienced the pain, humiliation, and utter helplessness of my metamorphosis into a savage fiend every single lunar month.
There was a time that it was manageable. At great expense, I was able to obtain medication for my condition. If taken every day, the pills would weaken the beast to the point that when it awoke each month, I had the strength to cage the monster. It still raged within me, but it had no power to do more than slaver madly from its confines. I remained human.
But those days have long since past. Although not afflicted with my malady, those in power decided that the use of this miraculous medication was morally objectionable. In 2012, they succeeded in outlawing it. And so I am now – once again – completely at the mercy of the creature which I am doomed to become each and every month for the rest of my life.
Haggard from the pain, I returned to the boardroom from which I had, moments ago, hastily fled. Noting my appearance, a man snickered, “What’s wrong? Got your period?” A wave of mean-spirited tittering coursed through the room, further agitating the furious beast within.
The ensuing massacre occurred only in my beleaguered mind. This time.