[Written by: Maaike van Walderve]

[This is based on the first game of werewolf that was played on Tuesday the 22nd of October]

Pov: an overdramatic hunter with poorly timed pride

I wake up to find my neighbour killed. Poor, poor [what’s her name]. A crimson haze covers our city as the news is spread. This is their first kill. They have thought this through. They know who I am. Why else would they kill someone this close to me. Mind-players. I am forced to wonder: is this an attack on my sanity or on my life? So, I gather my rivel with extra bullets in my socks and I think of my neighbour. Her future was as bright as the werewolves’ once I lay my eyes upon them. This is my calling. My bullet will be the decisive one. We have elected a mayor who stands with us; willing to send those monsters to the gallows upon suspicion. And I suspect him. At our daily town meeting, he speaks: “I felt her moving during the night”. I say: “Who would say such lunacy to her, unless you are it”. He also wanted to be mayor – how ridiculous, only suckers voted for him with his stupid speech about “caring for the town,” you only care for one thing: death. Thus, die! Send him to the gallows! And we did! Turns out, he wasn’t a werewolf, but still as bad. I suppose he was a werewolf once, in another lifetime; his wickedness shines through. The only sad thing about his death is that his boyfriend died with him; oh well, he probably had pretty bad judgement anyways.

Night falls again, and I go to bed with my rivel under my pillow of leaves; hunters never sleep indoors. In my sleep, teeth tear my abdomen and legs. But I wake up with enough strength for one last kill. This is a sign. If you had the power to take somebody to the grave with you, you are stupid not to take it. This is serving my town, this is what I was born for. However, I could never know who to kill, since my first suspect is already dead. And if I shoot without reason – as per the power that has been bestowed upon me – I might shoot a townsman without any villainous attributes. And this will cause the town to fall into chaos, since my last act will be in vain. And the town will fall asleep again with worry in their minds, having no one to protect them. And from heaven, I’ll see our mayor’s eyes open – that corrupt ass – and I’ll mouth: ‘YOU BITCH’, but it won’t be seen. My presence in the sky is like an magnified eye, it cannot be an invisible hand too. Nor will I have the ability to shout at the others that our mayor is betrayal moralised and use my lungs for good.

Knowing all this, and the influence my bullet holds, I aim my rivel. Memory flashes before me: of our mayor being voted in, my neighbour lying dead in her house next to mine, and my spirit awakened by the inevitability of my final kill. While looking into the eyes of our mayor, I shoot another townsman. Oh, the fragility of life; the corruption of power; the determination of pride.