I do not own Smallville.
Anticipation
He can sense when it wants to gain control of his body. Muscles begin to ache and every limb hurts, an unquenchable hunger engulfing his being, a fire burning in his brain that commands nourishment. Some nights he succeeds in holding it in abeyance, raw, bloody steak and ground beef clutched tightly in his hands, red dribbling down his chin, chunks of slick, rubbery, copper flavored meat slithering down into his stomach, revulsion and primal hunger washing over him in equal waves.
Other times, it can't be contained within him any longer, and devastation is released upon an unsuspecting world.
Trepidation
It dreams of Chloe. In the dark hours of the night his subconscious is never his, it runs rampant through what pleasant moments he has left. It takes her, claws and elongated fingers digging into sweet, pristine flesh. It does what it wants to her, until she screams, high pitched and shrill; nails on a chalkboard, wind whistling through branches. Bones break and splinter, and blood erupts in a warm, wet mist, then it feasts and offers oozing, hunks of red, human meat to Chloe, smearing her pink mouth with crimson that washes away when tears stream down her face.
Disorientation
When it wreaks havoc, Davis looses himself completely. His consciousness retreats to the farthest, darkest corner of their collected minds. Wonderful, warm darkness, floating, another tangent of time, where it's just him and Chloe and the world is perfect. Another life, pleasant fantasies run rampant, a bride that's his, blond haired, green eyed children, a family; blithe and content for the first time in his existence. But soon enough it finishes and he's wrenched back into awareness; agony as teeth and skin and claws revert back to normality, naked and shivering and laying in a warm, wet puddle of crimson.
Review if you read, please.
