ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Jeremy Driggers didn't just love coyotes. He envied them. He wanted to be one, and gradually grew less and less guarded about it. He drew coyotes in his notebooks in class. He watched Warner Bros. cartoons and rooted against The Road Runner. He wrote letters to the editor defending coyotes going through garbage cans in suburbia.
Jeremy wasn't very outgoing in or out of class, so no one paid much mind to him or his coyotes. He wore coyote T-shirts to class and even put a tail hole through a pair of pants, but no one asked him about it. At night, rather than socialize, he would lie outside and stare at the sky, obsessing about being a coyote.
This continued from high school into college. Jeremy signed up for several clubs where he hoped to meet like-minded individuals, but they never came at it from the same angle. They cared about camping and hunting, or endangered species, or Native American culture. No one else expressed interest in becoming a coyote, so he wasn't about to volunteer it either.
The Internet wasn't much better. There, people wanted to talk about werewolves, which were boring, or therianthropy, which Jeremy wrote off as pagan religion he wanted no part in. He looked online every night he wasn't outside to look at the sky, but if anything, it was worse than offline, where at least he knew better than to get his hopes up.
Jeremy had a morning Statistics class where he, like others, had a hard time staying awake. Jaded, he took to drawing coyotes and werecoyotes in his notebook. He never nodded off again in class, but he became more lost than ever before in thought, and he began drawing more and more elaborate coyotes and werecoyotes until one day the class took notice.
"Young man, are you listening to me?" asked professor no-name.
"Ha ha! He's drawing wolves!" shouted an acne-ravaged blond fellow beside him.
"Werewolves!" laughed a redhead beside the blond fellow. "Lots and lots of them! Even naked werewolves!" This threw the entire row into fits of laughter.
"They're not wolves," Jeremy muttered. "They're coyotes."
"Oh, excuse me!" replied the redhead. "Naked werecoyotes!" he clarified, and now the entire section was laughing, some nervous, some not.
Jeremy felt himself grow hot. "I like coyotes. You g-g-got a problem with that?" he snapped without making eye contact.
Apparently the redhead did. "You like naked coyotes! Don't be ashamed, you're just a coyotephile!"
Someone who knew Jeremy's name joined in, singsong: "Driggers is a coyotephile! Driggers is a coyotephile!" Professor no-name tried to restore order, but no one noticed.
A girl with glasses walked over to Jeremy, and he softened, smiled. Someone willing to give benefit of the doubt!
"Werewolves, ha ha," she laughed, then stared deep into Jeremy's eyes. Love at first sight? She was sort of pretty.
"Hey, everyone, look!" she said, and almost poked Jeremy in the eye with her pointer finger. "Werewolf boy even looks like a werewolf! His eyebrows grow together!" It was true. You had to look for it to see it, but his eyebrows did barely connect, when he forgot to trim them.
Jeremy turned beet red. Fifty people shouted "Werewolf boy!" at him from every direction, and acne-ravaged blond fellow tugged at his notebook. Jeremy wrested it away from him, bent but untorn, as total strangers commented on whether the back of his neck and the backs of his hands were sufficiently hairy for a werewolf.
On the verge of tears, Jeremy spoke up once more. "Coyotes! Not wolves! I hate wolves! I hate werewolves! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
A custodian took advantage of the silence to point out Jeremy's fingers were all about the same length.
Now crying, Jeremy grabbed his backpack and ran from the classroom, never to return. Echoes of laughter remained in the background until he was outside. He would drop the class or switch to some other section, or switch to some other campus if that was what it took never to deal with that again.
That night after dinner, Jeremy walked limply to his room. He took off his jacket, shoes, socks, and shirt, replacing it with his favorite coyote shirt instead. He wasn't defeated, just demoralized. He sat down at his computer, wishing he could just turn into a coyote and not live vicariously through the Internet to roleplay so instead. He patted the hole in his pants, willing a coyote tail to push out through it. He knew better but didn't care.
He stole glances out the window at the sky as he surfed the Internet. He chatted with a few friends but didn't discuss his day at all. He didn't want to talk about it, just forget it ever had happened. That is, forget it ever had happened except to remember never to let his guard down again.
At moonrise, he wished the same as always to become a coyote. He hardly paid attention as his skin took on a greyish shadow. Or as his feet stretched out a little, then a little more. His ears slid up his head, and his nose and mouth grew a little closer together. He didn't react until his fingers were stubby enough and his fingernails sharp enough to interfere with typing.
"Dammit," he complained, and adjusted his pants and his chair to accommodate the beginning of a tail. He also adjusted his computer monitor because the brightness bothered his eyes, which warmed from brown to hazel to yellow.
He overcompensated, because at first all he could see in the monitor was his own reflection, covered from pointy ears to hind paws in the same fur as usual. His eyes welled up with tears again.
Blubbering, he sat down and demanded, "Why me? Why me? Coyotes! Not wolves! I hate wolves! I hate werewolves!" Then he went back online and barely tolerated the ramblings of people who had no idea how cliché werewolves are, and that werecoyotes are so much more interesting.
Jeremy wasn't very outgoing in or out of class, so no one paid much mind to him or his coyotes. He wore coyote T-shirts to class and even put a tail hole through a pair of pants, but no one asked him about it. At night, rather than socialize, he would lie outside and stare at the sky, obsessing about being a coyote.
This continued from high school into college. Jeremy signed up for several clubs where he hoped to meet like-minded individuals, but they never came at it from the same angle. They cared about camping and hunting, or endangered species, or Native American culture. No one else expressed interest in becoming a coyote, so he wasn't about to volunteer it either.
The Internet wasn't much better. There, people wanted to talk about werewolves, which were boring, or therianthropy, which Jeremy wrote off as pagan religion he wanted no part in. He looked online every night he wasn't outside to look at the sky, but if anything, it was worse than offline, where at least he knew better than to get his hopes up.
Jeremy had a morning Statistics class where he, like others, had a hard time staying awake. Jaded, he took to drawing coyotes and werecoyotes in his notebook. He never nodded off again in class, but he became more lost than ever before in thought, and he began drawing more and more elaborate coyotes and werecoyotes until one day the class took notice.
"Young man, are you listening to me?" asked professor no-name.
"Ha ha! He's drawing wolves!" shouted an acne-ravaged blond fellow beside him.
"Werewolves!" laughed a redhead beside the blond fellow. "Lots and lots of them! Even naked werewolves!" This threw the entire row into fits of laughter.
"They're not wolves," Jeremy muttered. "They're coyotes."
"Oh, excuse me!" replied the redhead. "Naked werecoyotes!" he clarified, and now the entire section was laughing, some nervous, some not.
Jeremy felt himself grow hot. "I like coyotes. You g-g-got a problem with that?" he snapped without making eye contact.
Apparently the redhead did. "You like naked coyotes! Don't be ashamed, you're just a coyotephile!"
Someone who knew Jeremy's name joined in, singsong: "Driggers is a coyotephile! Driggers is a coyotephile!" Professor no-name tried to restore order, but no one noticed.
A girl with glasses walked over to Jeremy, and he softened, smiled. Someone willing to give benefit of the doubt!
"Werewolves, ha ha," she laughed, then stared deep into Jeremy's eyes. Love at first sight? She was sort of pretty.
"Hey, everyone, look!" she said, and almost poked Jeremy in the eye with her pointer finger. "Werewolf boy even looks like a werewolf! His eyebrows grow together!" It was true. You had to look for it to see it, but his eyebrows did barely connect, when he forgot to trim them.
Jeremy turned beet red. Fifty people shouted "Werewolf boy!" at him from every direction, and acne-ravaged blond fellow tugged at his notebook. Jeremy wrested it away from him, bent but untorn, as total strangers commented on whether the back of his neck and the backs of his hands were sufficiently hairy for a werewolf.
On the verge of tears, Jeremy spoke up once more. "Coyotes! Not wolves! I hate wolves! I hate werewolves! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
A custodian took advantage of the silence to point out Jeremy's fingers were all about the same length.
Now crying, Jeremy grabbed his backpack and ran from the classroom, never to return. Echoes of laughter remained in the background until he was outside. He would drop the class or switch to some other section, or switch to some other campus if that was what it took never to deal with that again.
That night after dinner, Jeremy walked limply to his room. He took off his jacket, shoes, socks, and shirt, replacing it with his favorite coyote shirt instead. He wasn't defeated, just demoralized. He sat down at his computer, wishing he could just turn into a coyote and not live vicariously through the Internet to roleplay so instead. He patted the hole in his pants, willing a coyote tail to push out through it. He knew better but didn't care.
He stole glances out the window at the sky as he surfed the Internet. He chatted with a few friends but didn't discuss his day at all. He didn't want to talk about it, just forget it ever had happened. That is, forget it ever had happened except to remember never to let his guard down again.
At moonrise, he wished the same as always to become a coyote. He hardly paid attention as his skin took on a greyish shadow. Or as his feet stretched out a little, then a little more. His ears slid up his head, and his nose and mouth grew a little closer together. He didn't react until his fingers were stubby enough and his fingernails sharp enough to interfere with typing.
"Dammit," he complained, and adjusted his pants and his chair to accommodate the beginning of a tail. He also adjusted his computer monitor because the brightness bothered his eyes, which warmed from brown to hazel to yellow.
He overcompensated, because at first all he could see in the monitor was his own reflection, covered from pointy ears to hind paws in the same fur as usual. His eyes welled up with tears again.
Blubbering, he sat down and demanded, "Why me? Why me? Coyotes! Not wolves! I hate wolves! I hate werewolves!" Then he went back online and barely tolerated the ramblings of people who had no idea how cliché werewolves are, and that werecoyotes are so much more interesting.
Literature
The Gray Way
Joshua devoted a few moments of scrutiny to the brown and neon orange colored shape that wove in and out of view between the trees, moving farther away with each step. It paused to shake itself and readjust its jacket. He tapped the back of his friend's leg with the toe of his boot. "Say, do bigfeet ever wear clothing?"
Shane rose from the deer scrape he was examining and followed Joshua's gaze. "Nah. Bigfootses are just animals."
Joshua leaned against a tree and watched the figure disappear into the forest. "Too bad. Full moon tonight?"
"Tomorrow, I think."
"Just our luck. That buck is good as wolf chow."
Shane nodded. This was his firs
Literature
Werewolf Story Excerpt
Lance staggered out of the river. Duncan was safely draped over his shoulder. Lance gently poked him. Duncan responded by coughing up river water.
"You are an idiot," Duncan whispered hoarsely. Lance smiled as he carried his brother into the forest.
After an hour of wandering, they stopped at a boulder that was being strangled by the tree growing atop it. Lance felt that this place would make for a nice campsite.
Lance gently laid Duncan down on near where three tree roots merged together as they crept beneath the boulder. He set about making a circle of rocks to mark the pit for a fire. After he filled the circle with an arm
Literature
Wolf Brothers
He had always known he was different from the other wolves. And therein lay the key of his difference: knowing. When he looked into the eyes of his packmates, they did not flicker with the candlelights of souls behind them. The same complicated emotions that he himself felt, he could not sense coming from his brethren. In a way, he envied them. They all seemed so blissful, so content, even in moments of strife. Just being different was enough to weigh heavily upon him, and the fact that he could comprehend worry when the others could not became in and of itself a vicious cycle. Was there something wrong with him? Why did existence itself have
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
© 2010 - 2024 JoeyLiverwurst
Comments244
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
Overall
Vision
Originality
Technique
Impact
Really man, really? Do you have anything in common with the protagonist? Anyway, it was a very funny story, with a very interesting plot twist at the end. The only thing is, it might benefit from a little bit of lengthening of the rising action, and I was still a bit confused at the end. Anyway, other than that and potentially a few grammar mistakes (Don't ask me what they are, because I'm rubbish with grammar.), you're good to go. Also, I need some clarification: was he a werewolf trying to become a werecoyote, or a human who turned into a coyote and hated it, or a coyote who hates what he has become?