The BEAST, a Feral Tale.

I am a monster pretty much in every possible definition of the term. If you needed a trigger warning, there it is. Of course I wasn't born so, no one ever is. We are made monsters by the crap life does to us. It's never fair, there is no justice. And the good guys do not win at the end because there are no good guys. I guess most people are grey. Some a lighter shade and others, the vast majority are oscillating between neutral grey and darker shades of it. I like that metaphor: it's clean, almost pretty. There's no prettiness in my life. It broke when I was thirteen and I have been making it everybody's problem since then. My name, my birth name is John Poe, one letter away from the name given to unidentified victims of homicides. I have given myself another name, cooler, a tad immature but I was young at the time and it stuck.  Before we do this, you have to accept that demons exist, not figuratively. Also not in the restrictive Christian sense of the terminology, demons have nothing to do with any of the imaginary deities humanity has created to placate its  inabilities to make sense of the brutality of the world we are on. They live in a universe one hair's breath from ours and if you are unlucky enough to find yourself in the liminal space theirs and ours touch, well, you get to meet them.