Of werewolves and Zombies

By benzo369

Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood God! I am sitting at the bus stop of some forsaken neighborhood for so long and it is boring listening to TransEurope Express by Kraftwerk:

Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Wain-wain-wain-wain, Wa-wain.

My ears perk up to the sound of the words’ hypnotic sounds and, well…
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press… what the hell, if they don’t let werewolves on the bus fuck it cuz I’m getting on as easily as a teenage punk in the throws of teenagerdom, because it’s like so beautiful and frustrating and ain’t nobody telling this werewolf where and when he’s getting on a bus and ain’t nobody telling me how I should behave once on the f’n bus and I ain’t the only creepy crawly looking mother on the bus am I? Bunch of fucking weirdoes with me, well there is a Zombie or two (can’t get nowhere with out the eyes of a zombie track you) and at the front of the bus is a witch with blonde hair she certainly ain’t no run-of-the-mill witch, so what kind of witch is she…
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press … didn’t take to kindly to my werewolf appearance and slammed her broom in to my dustpan; so what a werewolf won’t get the love of a dear ol’ witch, it just isn’t necessary – not when you are riding the psychedelic highway like this paws in the offing – paws on the bus! – then there are the ghouls on the back of the bus laughing in their ghostly voices: “hahahahahaha,” and of course I am pissed off so I move on back there and ask them a little question that might have resonated properly in their empty spiritualism: “do you fancy a werewolf meal,” to which they haven’t got the clearest idea what the hell I am saying so I explain it in more existential form: and they are so off the bus, running…………………………………………………………………………………
My lips are numb. The bus driver, a man who can control and tear us apart as he aspires, cries out loud: “either you are on wolf man or you are most certainly off!”
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Go ahead, try to tear us apart – try to break my heart, BUUUUSSSMANN…

The world keeps on spinning but that spin is boring. It just keeps on doing the same thing, hour after hour, day after day. Here I am watching the world spin away and keeping time until the bus catches up.

NOPE! It’s time to move.
There is a sign on the road: SUCKER, TRY LUCK
NO SUGAR ADDED

I crawl along a road and there are more people trying to understand why I got off the bus, why I have fangs, why I am werewolf.

“You could be anything, why a wolf?” they ask.
“You could travel anywhere you want when you are on the bus,” I howl.

I feel like a werewolf could do anything if he wanted could go anywhere if he wanted and I am here in the city where dogs sleep with men in a weird animalistic joy and what do I do to stem the whole scourge of animalistic joy? Nothing. I’ve got nothing. But I don’t sleep with men. Not this dog.

“You could be anything, why a wolf?” they ask.
“A vampire, why not? A ghost, why not? A zombie… no.”

Never an f’n zombie, they just follow along and that’s not what you want to be doing when you are on the bus or off the bus. It’s got to be all about you, my good man. The whole trip is a voyage through existence and nobody thinks of werewolves nowadays, certainly not thinking they exist, certainly no thinking they eat and certainly not ever thinking that we can’t be anything else but werewolves, and they really don’t think we exist. But there we are.

More werewolves have joined in and why not, they want on the bus too cuz it’s freaking fantastic there but we are here waiting for the bus at another of one of those bus stops in a forsaken city block waiting…

“Have you ever seen the moon?” Wilcox asks.
“No way, brother,” Lycaon answers.
NO-WAY-BROTHER! Liar. He has seen the moon and if you are getting on this bus you had better see the moon, too Lycaon.
“Have you seen the movie?” Michael asks but what the hell could he know cuz he ain’t really a werewolf but a were-fox and I say as much to the small man to kill the time, while Wilcox and Lycaon keep on arguing the rights of moon. Me, I’m just howling.

A man in a dark coat walks past the rest of the pack and heads right to me, his hand out on an offering: “Are you ok, puppy? Whoooooose a gooooooood lillllllll dogggggggg?” his words stretch out like time, making our co-existence on this planet very… boring.

So Michael does something about it.

“Hey, hey. I want to live. I believe and I want to live!” the man cries out loud. This sends me in to a fit of laughter and Michael – maybe he is a real werewolf after all – lets him go, rolling on the grey-grey SEE-ment sidewalk. Selfishly I hope the man in the dark jacket would rub my belly. But he just runs………A………………………………………………………………………………………………………. ………………WAY…………………………………………..The thing is time is running and running and there is no bus catching it.

Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Wain-wain-wain-wain, Wa-wain.

But we get on the slow bus and sink in to our chairs and the ghouls aren’t there, and neither is that blonde witch with the broom, but the zombies… they never really go anywhere, do they. But I can’t stand the zombies and I go to pick a fight with one of them, for I am the devil in fur cloth and I am the one they do not want to be on the bus with, cuz everyone is allowed on the bus with exception of the zombies didn’t they read the sign: SUCKER, TRY LUCK
NO SUGAR ADDED
The bus driver stops the bus and asks if we’re all right but the zombies as always have nothing to say so I go up to the bus driver and ask him: “either you are on, bus man, or you are certainly off this thing.”

“You are wrong, wolf man,” he shouts. But he is off and there is no one on the wheel so guess it’s me. Well I’m driving the bus now – even if I’m unwelcomed – and howling out the driver side window while I’m speeding one million kilometers-per-second blowing day-glow paint off the side thinking – always thinking – what a great place to hide and think. I begin to reflect on my life as a creature as the dimming moon hides the simmering prey from my night of lysergic lunatic lycanthropy on this bus baby, the No. 10 Joy. How long has it been anyways? How long has it been since I last saw a reason to march out and eat? How long has it been since I walked up Lucifer’s Path and kissed the devil’s pale moon sky? How long has it been since I dropped tonight’s hit? It’s all been far too long.

The dogs in the back are howling answers but fuck them too. Michael, who is so much more like a were-fox than werewolf, though he protests, yells at me to stop for were-chicks.

“But we don’t need any fowl on this bus, they’ll just crap on it,” I shout looking backwards.

Lycaon is yelling at the Zombies and Wilcox is laughing at the Zombies and Michael is afraid of the Zombies but these Zombies are on our bus now, they go where we want and where the hell are we going, by the way?

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Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Trans –EU—RO EX-Press
Not for long. A zombie is out on the road and he is standing in front of the bus and staring at me. He hates werewolves, it is so clear to me that this zombie hates werewolves, WHAT-A-DICK. He gets on the bus and tells me that we werewolves are certainly off the bus in a BIG way. But he doesn’t call us werewolves. He calls us: “gentlemen,” if he only knew what we are, so time to get existential on his ass and I pull out my fangs and bite in to a zombie. Michael, that were-fox, wants off and so we all are off. That f’n were-fox. I am never again on the bus with a were-fox.

The next morning I am transformed back in to human. But that zombie knew from my bite what kind of danger I am. He’s got me behind bars with all my werewolf friends.

“Did he turn?” a werewolf named Chad asks.
I nod my head. “I ain’t ever gonna know, my good man. He pulled us off the bus that is sure. But whether or not a werewolf can turn a zombie in to a werewolf is unknown. Whether or not a zombie can turn a werewolf in to a zombie is unknown.”
“I think you get to choose,” a voice cries from the back of the cell.

But I can’t think of that now just as I can’t ignore that time itself keeps stretching. And the bus won’t ever catch it because it is so boring.