It was the middle of the night. I was walking alone, down a grey tarmac road. It was absolutely deserted. Tall streetlights filled the mist with a dull glow around me. I had my heavy backpack filled with laptop and folders of lecture notes, and my baggy black hoodie passed down from a brother of mine. The buzz of my spinning mind spaced me out as I made the walk from the twenty-four hour study space back to my dorms. My eyes pleaded for rest, and my blood tingled at the cold touch of winter penertrating my skin. But there was something else, something different about that night.

It started as a little niggle. A nag.

It was a frustration, borne of something lacking. There was something missing, something long stored away. Like a dragon yawning after a thousand year slumber, something reared its head within me.

Something clumbered up my spine and sat on my shoulders, hunching them over. My expression hardened. My steps lengthened and swaggered. The feeling grew, swelling, spreading through my muscles. My breaths, while even, became calculatedly lengthened, elongated to accommodate the expanding of my body in space. My eyes pierced straight before me; my pacing became dominant and my mindset hardened.

I was only aware of my state after having being consumed. Something physical, powerful, had awoken. It was a feeling I hadn't felt since the bullying days, where if you didn't exude a certain aura, you'd be surrounded by idiots picking a fight. They knew better than to fight with me. I'd made sure of that.

I wasn't threatened. No... but the alpha male had taken over. And without provocation, here comes the dilemma.

I always contained a strong desire to be the toughest. My physical prowess was something which I measured my worth against. I curbed my less savoury tendencies which came along with such standards and desires by being addicted to sports. I was competative, strong, and disciplined.

But this feeling was unrestrained.

I wanted... to fight.

There was no-one around. The scent of dew on the grass around me was fresh in the cold night. And here I was, entertaining this alpha male, as it has always been the case. I began to play around with my kickboxing. No-one was watching, no-one was reciprocating. But I was imagining it all.

It was a worthy adversery. One who wanted to hurt me. So I didn't feel bad when I imagined turning around the attack on him and beating his . I'd become excited. It was a thrill to excert my dominion again.

But my imagination is corrupt. I had this ghost of blood on my hands, and I wanted to feel it. Roll the wetness between my fingers, the blood coat my palms, the sheen running cold like sweat on my skin. I would wear blood with the pride of warpaint in battle, whether or not it was my own. Injury was trophy. I wanted to let go of it all.

I had kept the alpha bound by chains after being meticulously trained and maintained back in those school days. There was no place for him here, but sometimes he comes forth from the shadows of my memories. And tonight he's yearning.

Yearning to reign supreme again.