Sometimes he no longer craved meat. He just wanted an apple. But the others sneered, and he always succumbed, joining them tearing into flesh, greedily slurping the viscous, coppery blood. Once, he bit into someone who had just eaten a Granny Smith. It was the closest he would ever get.

Monica Shah is a writer, educator, bibliophile, poet, humanist, chocoholic, and dragon whisperer.