<span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>"How I Became A Werewolf - Part 2/4"</strong></span><br/><br/>INT. DINGY MOTEL ROOM – NIGHT<br/><br/>An ink drawing of a WOLF standing on a mountaintop, framed by frothy stars, is held up before the camera.  JANE, unseen, hums, “Isn’t She Lovely.”<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Pretty, hm?  A work characteristic of the late-modern ‘Heavy Metal’ magazine school.</div><br/>JANE leans back into her chair, looking at the picture.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Or maybe schmaltzy, roadside Indian Reservation Mannerist.</div><br/>JANE sets the drawing on her side table.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Little did I know, when the artist passed it to me in Female Sexuality class, that it was drawn by a psycho-lesbionic lycanthrope.</div><br/>JANE broods, then begins jabbing her finger at the camera.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>And that’s the thing, Dear Reader – you never know about werewolves.  They are shape-shifters by their very nature.  As in, “to shift the shape of.”  To make different.  Even if every fucking piece of the puzzle that is one sweet young adult’s life is fitting into place.</div><br/>JANE flails.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>They will come along and fuck.  Things.  Right the fuck up!</div><br/>JANE grabs a bottle of Smart Water with a shaky hand.  She drinks, then slouches.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>No, I didn’t think Sonja was hitting on me.  I thought she wanted to just be friends.  Or needed help with her homework.  There were no invitations to acupuncture massage or tickets to Lilith Faire involved.</div><br/>JANE twiddles her finger next to her head.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Yeah, okay, she talked some crazy Moonie-ass shit about spirit worlds and the Goddess Luna over the weeks we got to know one another.  But what else is new on the Berkeley quad?</div><br/>She huffs and calms.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Lattes.  Late night art films.  Long walks talking Heidegger.  There was nothing more to it.</div><br/>JANE’s eyebrow suddenly shoots up.  She glares accusingly at the camera and jabs her finger.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Yeah, I know those are all “L words” – don’t give me that look!  I thought it was completely innocent!</div><br/>She sighs.  Her head droops.  She shows a photo of a fluffy gold HAMSTER to the camera.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>This was my real best bud.  Drama Queen.  He was a he, though.</div><br/>JANE cradles the photo.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>DQ was my sounding board.  I blogged all over his little whiskery face.  He’d been there for me when they drummed me out of Mensa.  Right through graduation, when I thought I had meningitis.  </div><br/>JANE sighs.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Abe and Vera listened to fuck-all that didn’t have to do with saving the planet, but Drama Queen was my savior.</div><br/>JANE puts the photo in her lap and stares grimly at the camera.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>One night, I miss classes.  I’m feeling antsy pants.  More twitchy than crampy.</div><br/>Her hands do a little shuffle.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>So I light some Yankee candles, I put on a Joseph Arthur CD, I get some sympathy from Drama Queen.  Once he hits his habitrail, I take a shower.</div><br/>She looks at her feet.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>I come out, wrapped in a towel, and she’s right there.  Sonja, my study buddy and then-favorite stalker.  Just standing there.  Smiling.</div><br/>JANE frowns acidly.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>I ask her, “WTF,” and she’s like, “It’s about time for your change.”</div><br/>Her lips purse.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Next thing I know, I’m pinned to the bed.  She’s on top of me.  And I can feel every stitch of that towel slowly slipping off of me.  And my heart is like wham-wham-wham against her weight.  And everything smells like her.</div><br/>JANE swallows.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>And she smells good.</div><br/>She glares daggers at the camera.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>I fought her off.  Sorry, boys.  I fought really, really hard.</div><br/>JANE shakes her head.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE <br/>And it is less-than-pleasant, fighting naked, I assure you.  But I freaked out, and somehow I got her off of me, and got her out of my room.</div><br/>Her hands hang.  She tears up.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>I was so sure something was going to happen – my body was on fire – and I was so scared because I didn’t know what it would be.  I locked my door and I knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop her if she wanted in.  Everything felt like a fucking joke compared to how strong she had been, pinning me down.</div><br/>JANE frowns with a trembling lip.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>I felt like my whole life had been a fucking joke.  All that hard work, and I had been so unprepared when I needed most to be ready.  I felt helpless.</div><br/>She sneers.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Then I saw what she’d done.</div><br/>She glares.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>Drama Queen.  Not moving.  His wheel broken right off its hinge.</div><br/>JANE growls like a wolf the size of a VW mini-bus.<br/><br/><div align="center">JANE<br/>She’d killed my hamster.</div><br/>JANE snaps off the camera.<br/>