Chatting with Armstrong
By James Rowle XI
It's that time of month again. No, not the time of month where normally moral, upstanding citizens turn into raging, terrible, awesome killing-machines. This is the time of month where you, the reader, get to read my insane ramblings and the confused answers of my victims. Though not all my insane ramblings are as pointless as one might think, except those about aliens, they are pretty much pointless.
One of my more recent less-pointless? Non-pointless? Or is it un-pointless? Either way, one such dis-pointless rambling is in this very article. The very subtle, and seemingly misplaced line about the killing machines. Yes, this week I'm going to interview a living breathing werewolf. Or at least I assume it's living and breathing, the dementors weren't very clear on this point. Why must I interview a werewolf? Simple, who knows more about the moon then those who's lives revolve entirely around it?
Anyway, I shall be interviewing a very friendly chap who goes by the name, Stan Armstrong. He's not a very well-known werewolf so let me explain some facts about him. Mr. Armstrong is a thirty-three year old man, born and bred in London. He never had any official magical schooling, mainly being taught everything he knew by his older sister. At age twenty-five he was discovered to have an illegal black market stall in Knockturn Alley selling stolen cookies. Due to his 'condition' he was charged with twenty-five years in Azkaban. Anyway, too my interview with him which coincidentally happened on the evening of the full moon:
Q- Question
A- Answer
Q- Hello Mr. Armstrong, thank you for agreeing to this interview. Firstly, may I ask how you became a werewolf?
A- It's a pleasure to talk to you. It's a terribly sad and horrific story, filled with much misery and tears. Basically on the night of my seventh birthday I decided I wanted a pet doggie, so I went out to find one. Sneaked right out the house and into the surrounding streets, and wouldn't you know it, I found one. A great big ugly one that I called 'Cheesy'.
[Here I just had to interrupt.]
Q- Cheesy?
A- Ah, right, well the Moon is made of cheese right? So Cheesy. Anyway, back to my story. How was I to know the bloody thing was a werewolf all hyped up on Wolfsbane? So obviously the poor bloke inside the beast acts nice and that's cos he can control himself. Now, I wouldn't be telling this awesome story if it weren't for a bit of bad luck, would I?
[I nod emphatically.]
A- So this bloke had just happened to take a dodgy batch of the wolfsbane. Lost his mind with minutes to spare till dawn. Next thing I know, I'm bleeding heavily from a bite on my shoulder, and I got a crying teenager standing over me acting as if the world has ended.
Q- Fascinating, I would say I'm sorry but you don't seem to upset about it?
A- Nah, I don't really remember what it's like to not be a werewolf, so why get upset at who I am? I like myself just fine. [He gives me a mischievous grin.]
Q- Okay, back on topic, what can you tell me about the moon and space?
A- The moon is a great symbol, and conductor, of magic. You want something impressive to happen? Match your ritual to a Lunar cycle. Have a potion to brew? Pick your ingredients at a full moon. It's all basic stuff really. Why else do you think all those ancient dead magicians worshiped the sun and the moon?
[Fascinated, I went to ask more but then a burst of moonlight shined through the window into his cell. With a growl, and a pained moan, he started to transform. I turned away, not sure I could stomach watching such a transformation. Unfortunately, or fortunately as the case may be, I have been informed that even describing the sounds would make this article definitely not kid-friendly enough for this paper. After a few minutes I looked back to his cell to see him in his fully transformed state.]
Q- Ah, Mr. Armstrong? I think I might just leave now if that's right with you?
A- Grrrrrrrrrrrrr! Awhooooooooooooooooooooo! Awhooooooooo!
Taking that as a yes, I quickly vacated the prison and went on my way home. Completely filled with new knowledge about werewolves, the Moon, and the composition of the moon. Who ever knew it was made of cheese? Maybe I should fact-check that, though I very much doubted Stan would have lied to me.
Until next time readers.