A Whiff of Brimstone

"Hi, my name is Ryan, and I'm a werewolf."

[Group: "Hi, Ryan."]

"This has been a rough week for me. Most of the time I do okay, I guess. It's been months since I've even thought about taking a little nip. But this past week, I got hit with a double-whammy. Thursday night was the dark of the Moon, of course, which always gets me down to start with, and then Friday, well —

"Look, I don't like to admit it. It's this whole hyper mucho mega-macho thing, I think, because I've yet to meet another werewolf who will admit it. And it really does peeve me, because I still remember how much I used to love the Fourth of July when I was a kid: the sparklers, the snakes, the bottle-rockets, the ladyfingers; sitting on the blanket in the park by the lake with my parents, watching the summer night sky explode in fireworks. But now...

"I tell people it's the smell of the brimstone — the sulfur. Everyone understands that. People with ALPS, everyone knows they have extremely heightened senses of smell, and all sorts of common things can provoke unpleasant reactions.

"Except the truth is, it's the sound. I can't understand why. On an intellectual level, I know exactly what that sound is, and I know it's mostly harmless. But on some deep, visceral, primordial level, the sound of firecrackers exploding scares the screaming bejeebers out of me, and makes me want to — oh, I don't know. Dig a hole and hide under the refrigerator, or something. New Year's Eve, Cinco de Mayo, the Fourth of July: I've spent entire nights hiding under my bed, curled up in fetal position, wincing every time a firecracker pops in the distance and begging God to make it rain so that the fireworks will stop.

"If it was just one night, I think I could handle it. But the little bastards down the street never settle for just one night, do they? No, they start up sniping with bottle-rockets and Black Cats about a week in advance, and by the 3rd they've hauled out the serious artillery and are keeping up a steady barrage of heavy mortars and screamers. Then there's the Fourth itself, with the ordnance going off pretty much nonstop from dawn 'til two or three the next morning, followed by the 5th, when all the local morons go into use it or lose it mode and try to burn up everything they've got left over. So by the time we get around to the 6th —

"Well, let's just say it wasn't bad enough yet to warrant calling my sponsor, but I was definitely way overdue for this meeting. And I have to tell you, I really like it here, with you folks. I feel safe. I feel understood. I feel —

"Hey, what's that smell? Can't you all smell it? It smells like —

"SCOTT! So help me God, if you so much as touch that lit match to that fuse in here I will rip your worthless gizzard out and serve it as an appetizer! Are we clear on this point?

"Now, where was I? Oh yes, well — why thank you, yes I would like another cup of coffee. Decaf please, I'm trying to learn to relax."