The Awakening

A Young Monster’s First Taste of Power

For this week’s

Macabre Monday

prompt, I ventured into the shadowy corners of junior high, where feeling like an outsider can stir up more than just teenage angst.

This flash fiction piece tells the story of Timmy, a kid who just wants to be invisible—until an unexpected discovery changes everything. And for those wondering, “How much of L.G. is in Timmy?” - let’s just say, writing this felt surprisingly familiar. Get ready for a glimpse into what happens when a bullied boy’s deepest desires manifest in the most monstrous ways.

Timmy hated his name. He was almost thirteen, an October baby, which meant he was usually a year younger than everyone else in his junior high class. “Timmy” sounded like a cartoon character, or worse, a baby. He preferred Tim, but no one seemed to care what he preferred. His ex-jock dad, whose voice boomed like a frustrated coach, often reminded Timmy that he wasn’t “enough”—not big enough, not strong enough, certainly not interested in sports enough. Timmy was small for his age, gangly, and more comfortable with a book than a ball. This, combined with his age, made him a prime target for the older, meaner kids.

Then there was Amy. Amy, with her bright smile and hair that bounced when she laughed. Timmy’s stomach did flip-flops every time she looked in his general direction, which wasn’t often. She wouldn’t know he existed, let alone consider “stooping so low” as to be seen with a nerd like him.

One Tuesday afternoon, the usual gauntlet of shoves and taunts behind him, Timmy decided to take his favorite shortcut home. It wound through the last remaining patch of woods, a wild sliver of green squeezed between suburban sprawl and the old train tracks. The air was cooler here, damp with the scent of decaying leaves and earth. He shuffled along, kicking at loose stones, until his foot nudged something solid and oddly shaped. He bent down, expecting another peculiar rock, but his fingers closed around something hard, curved, and surprisingly sharp.

It was a claw. Dark, ridged, with a wicked point. “A wolf?” he whispered, a shiver running down his spine despite the late afternoon warmth. “Are there still wolves in these woods?” The thought was terrifying, yet exhilarating. A thrill he couldn’t name pulsed through him. He felt drawn to it, a strange, undeniable magnetism. This wasn’t just a rock, like the ones mom used to yell at him about finding under his dresser, clogging the vacuum cleaner; it felt ancient, powerful. He tucked it into his pocket, the point occasionally pricking his leg, a constant reminder of his find.

Back in his room, he placed the claw on his dresser, right next to the dust-covered football his dad had given him, a silent accusation of Timmy’s failures.

That night, the dream came. He was in the school hallway, but everything was sharper, the colors more vivid. He felt… larger. Stronger. And… furrier? He looked down at his hands, and instead of his usual pale, thin fingers, there were paws tipped with long, gleaming claws, just like the one on his dresser. He saw Amy, laughing, her arm linked with Mark “The Mauler” Miller, one of his chief tormentors. Amy glanced up, her eyes meeting his. Her expression changed, a slow, knowing wink transforming her face. An electric current, unlike anything Timmy had ever felt, surged through him, making his new claws twitch.

He envisioned it clearly: tearing Mark Miller into pieces, feeling the warm, sticky flesh beneath his claws, the raw power of it. He lunged forward, but something held him back, an invisible leash. His power wasn’t fully developed; he was a budding monster, able only to observe, just out of reach of his prize. Amy blew him a kiss - a playful, dark promise.

He woke with a gasp, heart hammering. The dream lingered, a potent aftertaste of raw power and forbidden desire. The next morning, Timmy walked with a new spring in his step, an underlying hum of strength he couldn’t explain, nor did he want to. At school, things were back to normal. Amy ignored him. Mark Miller shoved him against his locker. Timmy ran, but this time, he didn’t feel weak. He let the dream wash over him, longing for its return. He longed to sleep, to visit that world again.

That night, he pulled the claw from his dresser. With a quiet certainty…

He slipped it under his pillow.