This was written in the summer of 1995, probably to impress a girl. I think it worked ;).

The broken impressions of a night filled with people flashed and cracked into his consciousness. Whirling, dazzling, dazing, Mardi Gras ! A time of lights and noises, of senses and impressions of harmony and anarchy. Of this and that and light and dark and bright and dull. And he’s here, dulled into a drunken zombihood by the hypnotic carnival.
A layer away from self, removed from his actions by a void of ecstatic unconscious. He rolled with a suggestive milling of the crowd, here crushed, there free to move and turn in an orbit of his making. Joining and climbing mounds of others intent on this revere of spectacle. Till he rolls and rolls and rolls and breaks free of the crowds of monsters. Costume rent and torn, mind a maelstrom of delight. And runs for life so dear and falls collapses and in still. The ally quietened as the carnival passed, shedding its costume of light for grateful dark. Leaving its load of noise at the door of silence. Growing dim and empty, save only for the splash of colour he afforded and the little noise that whimpered from his form.

Night descends, flashing his thick hot wings and settling upon the man. To silence him, to quench him, to kill him. Feeling its clawing possession he raises his head and cries aloud. “I am consumed by the night”, and falls to nothing amidst the alley and the dark.

Eventually he rose, reborn, and crept again out of his place of slumber. Walking now deserted streets he gathered straggling wits and began to retrieve the broken pieces of himself. Some he knew had changed, something deep inside sang a different song, and the confusion of the newness awoke in him a child long sleeping. Demanding to be heard and yearning for attention. But the sun was rising and his drunken night combined with something new to send him scurrying to his hotel room. To close the blinds and collapse drained of life into his bed.

He awoke at sundown, astonished by the utter and complete drowsiness which had overcome hid body the night before. He began to dress, and in doing so gazed momentarily into the full-length mirror of the hotels bathroom.
For a moment..nothing, then he stopped. The features of a stranger had gazed stoically at him from the glass. Turning he confirmed the room was empty, save for himself, and returned his attention to the mirror. The same stranger looked back, but now he could see clearly that it was not another mans reflection, but his own. Now that looked he recognised some of himself in the features revealed, it was his own face but altered. The colour of his hair was not black as it had always been, but a startling blond, not to be mistaken for a dye; natural. There were other alterations, less obvious but no less frightening. His cheekbones had risen what he estimated to be an inch, and his chin had squared and enlarged. In addition both his incisors were longer than before, so prominent that his appearance was predatory, even wolf like.

Another man might have been driven mad, or terrified to the point of no return, he conjectured. But he had always prided himself on his ability to remain calm in a crisis, to consider his options before he took an action. To those who did not know him well he no doubt seemed cold, detached or aloof, but the few he permitted to understand him knew better. He did let himself go infrequently and on occasion, but he rigorously controlled these moments of release. Timing them so that when he did concede control his concession could be total and absolute. And so he held his composure, and coldly, detachedly, and rationally he considered the changed in his appearance. In the main they were to the good, but he disliked the new aggression he could see in those brown eyes turned blue. Obviously, he stipulated, it was incredible, terrifying even to find these differences in himself. But they were there, so logically they must have an explanation. Advanced conjecture at this point was useless, but on fist impression there seemed two distinct possibilities. One, he was insane and his perception of this metamorphosis was some vile projection of the id. This seemed the most likely answer, since it did not defy any knowledge he currently held. But it struck him that the very rationality of this proposal meant it must be wrong, since if he could still think, consider with astute logic and based on education common sense, he must be sane.

That left one other possibility. A fantastic one, he had to admit, but one in which he would prefer to put his faith. This was the chance, minute though it might be, that he had, somehow, impossibly, incredibly, become something strange and new. Beyond his current knowledge or understanding. A creature, for somehow he could tell he was no longer fully human, who might possess any number of strange characteristics, abilities or powers, now at his (if he could still retain himself) control. After this revelation he dressed quickly, sliding into his expensive clothes with and ease and a fit he would have envied previously.

The door was half open, and he had begun to leave, but for the second time, something stopped him. The curtains were pulled back on the rooms tiny balcony and sunset dimmed moonlight caressed the room, weighing it down with a soft blanket; and thickening the air it touched.
He turned and strode purposefully toward the balcony. Reaching the small rail he climbed up and stood, so that he balanced on the balls of his feet, swaying slightly thirty yards above the street. Below him a dozen shifting forms observed his actions with worldly indifference.
Pausing for moments of idle observation on their way. He spread his arms for balance, and raised his head to stare at the moon. Then, with but a moment of further consideration, he leaped, and rose up into the airstreams.