History of a Curse (Oz-centric ficlet, PG-13)
Title: History of a Curse
Author: frk_werewolf
Fandom: Buffyverse
paranormal25 Prompt: #20 Retro-cognition ( table)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 602
Summary: Oz, like most werewolves, doesn't know how their kind was born. He's about to find out, though.
Clearing your mind in preparation for meditating was a simple task, one that Oz had become accustomed to. After three years of using his gift for keeping a calm mind to control the wolf, Oz was pretty sure he was one of the best. Nothing ever went wrong, if he didn't count that episode in Sunnydale with Tara and Willow.
Of course, being someone that spent the majority of his life on the Hellmouth, Oz should have known that by saying nothing went wrong, something would then do just that.
It wasn't like a vision. Oz had seen plenty of people experience those. There was no pain, no blinding light, or the fear that his head was going to implode. It was like a dream, only not. A movie screen in his head, in a sense.
A forest. Not that strange of a sight, if he was honest with himself. The young man in clothing dating back to the 400s, however, was a bit strange. It had to be Europe, possibly Germany, though Oz couldn't say for certainty. The man was walking through the forest, brown eyes skimming the tree line and occasionally lifting up to see the full moon.
Oz smelled blood in the air, though he didn't know its source. The man obviously didn't see him and, when he tried to touch the leaves of a tree blocking his sight, his fingers passed right through it.
The man continued to walk and Oz followed, though not in the literal sense. His body didn't seem to be moving, but the scenery was certainly changing. The man began to hurry, his head twisting to look at some unknown thing in fear. Oz felt, more than heard, the wolf howl in the distance.
A flash filled his vision and suddenly the man was on the ground, blood pouring out of a wound in his chest. A wolf stood over him, lapping at the torn flesh. The wolf looked up, eyes glowing amber, and growled.
Things sped up and Oz's surroundings seemed to become wavy and disoriented. Another forest, another full moon, and this time the man stood beneath its glow. Oz watched with sudden understanding as hair sprouted from the man's skin. This was how it all began; this man had started the lycanthrope chain.
Howling filled the hair and the scent of blood filled Oz's nostrils. He could sense fear and dangerous, the emotions literally tainting the air around him. The man, now in wolf form, was running through the forest, between the trees and across a beaten down path. Up ahead, Oz could hear the sound of laughter.
Children? Oz tried to cry out, tried to say or do something that would save their lives, but every attempt to affect this world he was in was useless. The wolf erupted from the trees, bearing down on the small group of children. Oz could feel the blood, sliding off of his skin and onto the ground. Screaming filled his ears and Oz tried to block the sight before him.
"Shit, man, you okay?"
Oz blinked, momentarily startled, before his eyes focused on an older man dressed in some sort of uniform. "Huh?"
"You were staring off into space like you'd seen a ghost or something," The man informed him.
"Oh," Oz slowly pushed himself off the ground and stood.
"You can't be in here, you know." Oz glanced at the tag on the officer's uniform. Park Ranger, apparently.
"Right. Private forest." Oz nodded his understanding and bent to pick up his backpack. This was the last time he meditated in the middle of the woodlands of Germany.
Author: frk_werewolf
Fandom: Buffyverse
paranormal25 Prompt: #20 Retro-cognition ( table)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 602
Summary: Oz, like most werewolves, doesn't know how their kind was born. He's about to find out, though.
Clearing your mind in preparation for meditating was a simple task, one that Oz had become accustomed to. After three years of using his gift for keeping a calm mind to control the wolf, Oz was pretty sure he was one of the best. Nothing ever went wrong, if he didn't count that episode in Sunnydale with Tara and Willow.
Of course, being someone that spent the majority of his life on the Hellmouth, Oz should have known that by saying nothing went wrong, something would then do just that.
It wasn't like a vision. Oz had seen plenty of people experience those. There was no pain, no blinding light, or the fear that his head was going to implode. It was like a dream, only not. A movie screen in his head, in a sense.
A forest. Not that strange of a sight, if he was honest with himself. The young man in clothing dating back to the 400s, however, was a bit strange. It had to be Europe, possibly Germany, though Oz couldn't say for certainty. The man was walking through the forest, brown eyes skimming the tree line and occasionally lifting up to see the full moon.
Oz smelled blood in the air, though he didn't know its source. The man obviously didn't see him and, when he tried to touch the leaves of a tree blocking his sight, his fingers passed right through it.
The man continued to walk and Oz followed, though not in the literal sense. His body didn't seem to be moving, but the scenery was certainly changing. The man began to hurry, his head twisting to look at some unknown thing in fear. Oz felt, more than heard, the wolf howl in the distance.
A flash filled his vision and suddenly the man was on the ground, blood pouring out of a wound in his chest. A wolf stood over him, lapping at the torn flesh. The wolf looked up, eyes glowing amber, and growled.
Things sped up and Oz's surroundings seemed to become wavy and disoriented. Another forest, another full moon, and this time the man stood beneath its glow. Oz watched with sudden understanding as hair sprouted from the man's skin. This was how it all began; this man had started the lycanthrope chain.
Howling filled the hair and the scent of blood filled Oz's nostrils. He could sense fear and dangerous, the emotions literally tainting the air around him. The man, now in wolf form, was running through the forest, between the trees and across a beaten down path. Up ahead, Oz could hear the sound of laughter.
Children? Oz tried to cry out, tried to say or do something that would save their lives, but every attempt to affect this world he was in was useless. The wolf erupted from the trees, bearing down on the small group of children. Oz could feel the blood, sliding off of his skin and onto the ground. Screaming filled his ears and Oz tried to block the sight before him.
"Shit, man, you okay?"
Oz blinked, momentarily startled, before his eyes focused on an older man dressed in some sort of uniform. "Huh?"
"You were staring off into space like you'd seen a ghost or something," The man informed him.
"Oh," Oz slowly pushed himself off the ground and stood.
"You can't be in here, you know." Oz glanced at the tag on the officer's uniform. Park Ranger, apparently.
"Right. Private forest." Oz nodded his understanding and bent to pick up his backpack. This was the last time he meditated in the middle of the woodlands of Germany.