Daddy Robert says my grandparents are werewolves. He says I met them once after he and Daddy Marco brought me home. Says they snarled and snapped and sprayed spittle all over the paella Daddy Marco made for dinner. I was only little, but I think I remember their yellow eyes and red hats. How they growled from the doorway that nature was nature. Daddy Robert says it’s not their fault that they howl at the moon. He says they were good people until they got bit. Says it could happen to anyone. Says, he worries it might happen to me.
Keith J. Powell writes fiction, CNF, reviews, and plays. He is a founding editor of Your Impossible Voice and occasionally tweets @KeithJ_Powell. He has recent or forthcoming work in Rejection Letters, Cloves Literary, The Ekphrastic Review, Bending Genres, and New Flash Fiction Review.
The Centifictionist 
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