Disclaimer: Not mine, of course!
A/N: Poor Remus. I was close to tears writing this, and that never happens, that's how much this short piece means to me. Probably the most personal piece I've posted so far.
He throws his head back, and cries silently as the pain rips though his body. It tears at his skin and muscles, throbbing and slashing.
He does not take his Wolfsbane potion anymore. It could be easier. He could endure less pain. That's what it says on the bottle. How can he endure less pain?
He could keep his own mind, keep his thoughts as he changes into this horrible monster.
The monster is merciless and horrific. The monster hurts him less.
The physical pain of the monster hurts less than the searing mental pain of life. At least as a werewolf, his thoughts are not confined to the loss of his best friends, his brothers, like they are during those solitary days, spent curled up alone.
He grips at his chest as his fingers are replaced with claws, sharp nails digging deep. Scarlet blood trickles in graceless torrents over his torso.
Somewhere, deep in the back of his barely conscious mind, he thinks that maybe if he claws at his shabby body enough, he can leave this cruel world, too.
Because this hurts less.