The following post was origionally a comic book story idea, however being a werewolves have apparently been over done in comic books they don't want it. I saw an overview of what Marvel did with the werewolf scene and it seemed to me that the writing was sloppy and more of a way of throwing something out there to boost comic book sales. If anyone disagrees I invite you to correct me on this.
The long and the short of it is I made my story idea a poem as a way of saying pffftt, to the comic book industry, see what you think.



                                                                 Weeping Rain




The rain comes down in sheets,

Beneath a sooty

Rooftop a howl echoes.

It's meant for me.

I stand on a flat rooftop

Looking at the lamp lit streets below,

Fear pours into my belly,

Like an icy stream from the mountains,

My hands shake

Under my wet cloak:
I pour powder into my wheelock pistols,

Leaning my readied rifle on my knee,

Like a centurian preparing for war.

How I wish I had a friend.

A woman's scream sounds in the distance,

Not long now,

I tamp my wad and silver pellet,

Fasten my Wheelock pistols at either side,

Raising my rifle, cocking my hammer I wait,

A rock dove skitters in flight as I take aim,

In its direction,

The sound of animal-like sniffing from the alley
below,

My hand shakes,

A howl cuts through the air

Slicing through my nerves,

The rifle slips,

A thunderous reply from below,

I curse,

My ears ring,

Pulling my pistols I cock them and wait,

At the door,

A beam securly acrossed it in the rain,

I smell him before I see him,

Musky wet dog,

I say a silent prayer

Aiming my pistols,

The beam snaps at the first blow,

A wet snarl snaps at me,

From behind the splintered frame,

Wood showers at me

A giant wolf leaps at me,

The crack of the first shot splits the air,

The beast yelps,

Leaping into my chest,

I land hard,

Sucking for air and getting none,

I am a man smothering in thick wet blackness,

Snapping teeth and claws search for me,

My hand is twisted on itself, I can't feel it,

The second shot goes off,

The ringing now is very loud,

The weight of the beast lifts off me,

I reach out like a drowning man for shore,

A sharp pain shoots in my wrist,

I feel the pop

When something heavy lands on it,

I turn and look upon my fate,

Instead before my wild eyes

Like ice, the beast melts

 Into the form of a young man.

With my foot I roll him over,

A gathering pool of crimson surrounds us both,

My shirt is warm,

A metallic tang fills my nose,

He coughs and spits red,

I hold his hand with my good hand,

He tries to speak,

His eyes are blinded by the rain,

Mine with fever,

In a picture in my head,

Long ago,

I see a young boy, like him,

And a happier me,

We laugh,

The sun shines,

I kick the leaves beneath my feet,

The sun is bright on our faces,

I tossle his hair,

The rain is heavy,

He doesn't see my tears,

He squeezes my hand,

He cries out, and lets go,

My boy, my boy,

My dear sweet boy.