Werewolf, the contemplating

Is it a blessing or a curse? Immortality... Yes, if it were not for that dark night so long, long ago, I would have been long dead by now. Death... Quiet. Peace. Rest. These words always come with another one - "no". I am supposed to be the hunter, but more often than not, I am the prey myself.
Fear.
Another strange word. Why be afraid when I know I cannot die?
Pain.
That is something immortality does not change, maybe only sharpens, empowers it.
Coward?
Maybe. Have you ever had your heart stabbed, your head crushed? Then do not call me a coward. When you've lived so long you cannot even remember how old you are, life loses all its charms. Death on the other hand, to be free of the pain, the fear...
But it is not easy to kill someone like me. Silver is no good, do not believe that rumour. I have been burned to death, drowned, dismembered, impaled, and killed in many, many other unpleasant ways. None of it worked; but it hurt like hell.
I do not die.
I do not live.
Hiding in sewers, always running from an angry mob, running from anyone and everyone, would you call that a life? I survive, biologically. But then again, mentioning any kind of science when talking about myself is... Ridiculous, at least. Let us say I exist. Day after day, year after year, century after century, I exist and fulfill my basic needs. I have tried death of starvation, but after a year without a food... I realized that is not the way either.
I have met probably every mage, shaman, parapsychologist, searching for death. Every single one of those that did not run from me instantly knew a way to kill a werewolf. Nothing. I have tried them all, and all their possible combinations. Nothing. Well, something, as a matter of fact - pain.
They say I have made a pact with the Devil. More likely the Devil made a pact with me, without asking. Or is it possible that I am the Devil himself?
Maybe. If that is so, I don't remember anymore.
Do I even have a name?
I used to be a... Thief. Yes. I was stealing. And I was good at it. Everytime somebody found the mark of the Raven on their door, they knew I own their valuables now.
Wait, that's it, that's what they used to call me! The Raven!
I was free as a wind, free as a bird, and I didn't want it ever to end.
Stupid me.
Everything ends, sooner or later. Everything but the pain.
Stupid me.
And then they once caught me, almost. I stayed in that town for far too long and apparently the people did not like my company. They had very good dogs. Extremely good even. They only turned away when they smelled the wolves...
I have no idea how many there were of them. I do not remember. Terrible pain. They tore me apart, seriously wounded me, but the biggest of them all just sat there. Untill I killed one of the pack, that is. He looked at me, and the others backed away. Then he jumped. Heavy, so heavy...
Pain...
And then there was nothing.
The next night was full moon...
Pain. Hunger. Always hunger, always pain. No rest, no peace. Emptiness. Monotony. Curse.

I used to count them. Each month, a change. Always at night. Always pain. The flesh regrouping, tearing, shifting. Bones bendning and breaking. Entrails changing. Consciousness weakening. And then it is all...
So far away.
I do not think, no. I cannot. I am not a man. I am not a wolf. I am nothing.
Hunger.
I do not want to kill.
I have to.
The blood quenches the thirst, the flesh satisfies the hunger. Animal. Human. Any sort.
Hunger. Flesh. Screams. Terror. Hunger. Kill.
Morning...

Pain. Changing. Confusion. The body is shifting. Consciousness returning. Pain. Exhaustion.
I counted a thousand, then I stopped. There were more, countless more. In the morning, the memory is clouded. But they are getting clearer with every change, with every coming change I can control myself a little bit more.
First, I could force myself to blink. Then turn my head. After years of training, I could make a step.
Today, I can even postpone the change. For a minute, maybe two.
But the hunger is strong. Irresistible. I must hunt.
And when the prey is near... The consciousness is slipping away.
And in the morning, there is blood everywhere. Sometimes fur. Sometimes hair.
Sometimes more.
Ages ago, I could live far away from men. For a time. But I am always drawn to them, to the cities. But at least for a time...
Nowadays, they are everywhere. Everywhere.
I live on the edges. In the sewers, in the slums, anywhere, where someone can disappear in the night without drawing too much attention. Where bloody trails are not uncommon.
But they always find me, sooner or later. And then...
It used to be pitchforks, scythes, hammers, axes. Now, its guns. Rifles.
Not that it makes much of a difference. Pain is pain.
And there is no escape, no salvation. No death. It isn't coming.
Only for a little while.
Until the Moon rises.