FREE SHORT STORY - The Coming of the Wolves
The Coming of the Wolves
Karen Lofgren
The horizon line is aglow with the end of the day. Long shadows cast themselves over the forest. Soon it will be dark.
With a shawl wrapped around my shoulders, I stumble through the trees, my breath visible in the air. It is the dead of winter, with at least four feet of snow covering the ground, impeding my progress.
Where were they?
I was home. Not in the bustle of the city, or even in my own house, a small cabin nearby. No, I only felt at home here. In the forest.
But even better, I loved hearing them.
The wolves. Gorgeous, intelligent, affectionate creatures. Humankind cannot hold a candle to them. The songs they sing to each other every night are as beautiful as their fur. A haunting melody, echoing through the trees until the very end of time.
I come to a frozen river, autumn leaves still visible under the ice. I touch the hard surface with my boot carefully, before deciding it is safe. I put my full weight on the ice, but my foot slides out from under me, and I barely catch myself. I stand to my full height again, my muscles aching. I’m not as young as I used to be.
Grace, beauty, and resourcefulness. Just like a wolf. Qualities I no longer possess.
No children have been a part of my life, and my parents are long dead and buried. There was no one who would miss me.
Wolves mate for life. Many people believe they actually fall in love.
I fell in love with a man once. I thought we were happy together, but he betrayed me, and our relationship ended. I never married.
All I wanted in life was to be a shape-changer, like so many other young women in the land, so I could take the form of a wolf and live as one until the end of my days. But I was not born a shape-changer. It took many long years for the hard truth to sink in.
I brush a hand through my gray hair. In the end, this is how I wanted it to be.
Ah, there they are.
A pack is near. With no underbrush to conceal them, I can see their dark shapes moving in circles around me. They are shy, fearful. Humans have made them that way. Proud predators, brought to their knees before us. How unfair the world is.
They continue to circle, unsure what to make of me. I spread my arms, welcoming them, but none draw near. Knowing I will need to draw them in, I pull the knife from my coat pocket. It’s small, but it will get the job done.
Like a wolf that has reached the end of its life, I have ventured out into the wilderness to die, even though I have no pack mates to burden. The wolves will go for my throat first, to make sure I am dead before they begin their feast. My body will be torn apart and eaten. My intestines will decorate the ground in an exotic pattern, and only my bones will remain once my carcass has been picked clean. It will be painful, and brutal, but that is the way of nature. That is the way things should be.
The wolves will not approach me, so I will go to them.
I barely feel the pain as the knife slices open my numb skin.
The smell of the blood entices them. I fall to my stomach, my face looking to the side. Some of the more hungry ones pounce forth, and come to me. Their pack will not starve this winter. Not tonight, anyway.
I watch on, embracing my end.
The blood is beautiful against the snow.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment