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A blocked writer finds answers where he least expects.

At speed far exceeding that of a cheetah I took off, and soon found myself outside campus.

I raced down Sunnyside avenue, and made my way towards Bank Street, heading for Rideau. If anyone in a passing car or truck looked out their window, all they'd see is a blur zipping past them. I finally made my way to my favorite mall, then walked into the MacDonald's across the street. I stood in line, and when my turn came, I ordered myself a sandwich with fries and a coke. I paid and waited. Sometimes I get these late-night cravings for fast food. It's a good thing my wolf-man DNA keeps me fit at six-foot-one and 180 pounds, because otherwise, I'd be a fatty. I avoid the gym because I get worked up around female sweat. It's as close to having a pheromone as a human female can get.

The plump white chick behind the counter took her sweet time with my order, and I noticed that she served some skinny white guy who came after me. While my high-yellow ass was waiting. Naturally, I had something to say about that. Your order is coming up sir, she said sheepishly. I rolled my eyes and nodded. Finally she gave me my food and I walked out with it, not caring that everybody was staring at me. Frigging fast food workers. Always giving lousy service to minority customers, and they wonder why we get pissed off at them. I ran back to campus, and ate in my room. I went to bed soon after. When I woke the next day, my world was changed.

I went to my morning class, and then went back to my room. I was checking my favorite porn site, Spring Thomas. It hasn't been updated in a long time, and I've heard that the blonde-haired redneck chick who used to star in it quit working in porn but it's still got hours upon hours of steamy interracial content. A blonde chick with a southern accent hooking up with well-hung black men and occasionally black women. Kind of turns me on, and I don't apologize for it. So I sat in my room, jerking off while watching this sweet and very willing blonde-haired redneck woman with a southern accent getting stuffed in every orifice by a gang of black guys.

I heard a knock at my door and cursed out loud, for what man likes to be disturbed right when he's about to cum? I finished my business and cleaned myself up, then adjusted my clothes and went to the door. There was no one there. I sniffed the air and scented something peculiar. A scent I had never smelled before. I was about to head back into my room when I saw the note on the floor. I picked it up. "I know what you are." As I read those five words, next to which a wolf's head drawing lay ominously, my heart sank. What the fuck?

I left my room in a state of panic, wondering what I should do. I thought about calling my parents, but decided it would only worry them. I had to solve this problem myself. What would I do if and when I caught the culprit? I didn't know. I'm frigging eighteen years old and I've never even been in a real fight...wrestling with my brother and male cousins in the basement doesn't count. Still, I told myself that if it came down to taking a life and risking the survival of my entire race, I'd do whatever it takes. When the options are either survival or genocide, it's a clear choice.

I walked through campus, feeling angry, frustrated and more than a little lost.

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