The cycle repeats. It keeps me clutched in a hold so tight, not even breath escapes.

I can not begin to describe the feeling of shedding. To explain it as if a jacket is being shucked from your shoulders would be too plain.

No, this is like a feeling of fresh air. For just a brief moment, the cycle releases her grip. Only for a moment.

I can smell, taste, touch, and see myself in my image. No other voice in my head. Just me.

After nights of torment, my microscopic cabin is inviting. The door swings to pardon my distraught frame.

Wood groans underneath my steps. My bed and some rest are the only consuming thoughts.

When I wake, I bask in the freedom of newness. I take precious moments to lie completely still.

"Maybe I'll fish today," I mutter, enjoying the sound of my voice in the quiet home. So I do. I gather my supplies and head to the creek that lies nestled at the bottom of the hill where my cabin is placed. The trees surrounding bend with the breeze, and birds flit from tree branch to tree branch.

If it weren't so peaceful, the noise would be overwhelming. From the chirping to the water bubbling, even the sound of my own feet crunching leaves. It's not loud in comparison, rather the opposite. It sounds muffled compared to how I could hear...before.

4 days later

It starts as small pricks, like tiny needles tapping on the membrane of my skin. I watched the soup I had concocted as it began to bubble, almost reminding me of the way my flesh felt. Low simmering. Nothing painful, but annoying nonetheless. It disrupts my peace. I can't enjoy the flavors melding together in my mouth; the prickling is insistent. The small smile of an orb, glimmering from behind the night's clouds is the first promise of what's to come.

4 days more

Prickling shifts into itching. No matter how hard I scratch, it's just underneath the surface. Thankfully, I keep myself isolated on this mountain. Otherwise, people might label me as an addict. No words would describe my defense.

"I am not an addict, I am...Well, I am not an addict." Perfect, sounds believable. So, I fill the void of time with simplistic hobbies. Fishing, gathering, splitting wood, and patching up my shell of a home.

Most of my hobbies are purely for survival. The only thing I partake in that is not "productive" is swimming. I enjoy the feeling of the cool mountain water clothing me. It washes away my inner thoughts, and for just a moment, I forget the need to scratch. Tonight, however, the water did not calm my anxiety. The water provided a clear reflection of the glowing half above it.

4 days after that

Oh, it burns. I wish I were dead. The water does nothing as I submerge myself in it. Something that brought me comfort a mere 4 days prior numbed my exterior now. The cycle was reaching its peak. The dread pooled in the base of my stomach, twisting and knotting till I had lost all appetite. Something dangerous going into the peak. I needed to eat, to try at least. Maybe if I were full... this go around wouldn't be so bad.

Who was I kidding? I tried that every month... and every month the hunger persisted. No matter how much I gorged myself, it was never enough. It would never be enough. The threat of the next few days hung heavy in the sky; she was almost full.

5 days of hell

During the peak, I only barely remember. I remember just enough to haunt me for the rest of the phases. I remember the blood, I remember the screaming. I remember the look of terror in my victim's eyes, and the way I pleaded with my monster to end this nightmare. I remember the excruciating pain as my fingers split into long, hairy limbs. I know my smell is stronger and that I am faster. The ultimate predator.

They really should put a no-hiking sign on these trails.

4 days to grieve

I never ate much once I fully returned, why would I? I had 5 days of stuffing myself with unsuspecting hikers.

"Come for the trails, stay cause you're dead!" Yeah, that's why I would never make it in advertising. Not catchy enough. I had no control over the beast that lay resting in me. I didn't ask to be turned. So why must I carry the guilt? I asked myself this every time after the peak, looking up into the moon that wasn't quite so full.

4 days of replenish

After days of tormenting myself with grief, I mustered up just enough energy to pull myself together. I needed to fish, I needed to bathe, and I needed to clean up this mess. Body after body, I dragged them deep into the woods surrounding my home. They would join the many other graves I had laid.

My body shook with exertion, still not fully recovered. Although the monster lay dormant, the toll it took on me would last. But...I couldn't leave them here, not in the state they were in. This was a national park after all. Just like the symbol in the clouds, I felt half alive. Half a person.

4 days to prepare

The new cycle approached. I liked to prepare as these were my only few days I felt like myself and not like a disease. I wanted all the wood chopped, all the meals stocked up for, every corpse addressed. I wanted nothing to disturb my peace, not even surviving. I wonder if this time they would go looking for the missing hikers. Or if they would put up more "beware of bears" signs.

Beware of bears...if only the nightmare were so simple. If only some bear mace would deter what was to come with the next lunar cycle.