Wolf

The hatred bursts and you pack a
suitcase full of drab clothes and contraceptive
pills. You've got to leave the town where the
sun forgot to fall on you, perhaps you'll never
come back. You run through the dying forest -
the seedless walnut trees scrape your bare shoulders
as you flee the lupine slavers. Run! The full moon
is rising and your footprints stain the leaf-litter and loam;
a pathway to the soul you left open.

A scream explodes from your heart as you stumble;
you were young, but you feel your skin wrinkle and
age as you hit the ground. And you're sat again in
a little house in the sun-less town; the wolf circles
your body as you lose all control. Oh! You tried to run, but
the forest is gone now, there's nowhere to hide and your
legs don't work anymore. A fitting punishment for escapism,
and at least you can't leave footprints in the mud. You carry
the walnut shells as a final act of defiance.

Not a sound is made as they feast on your flesh again; your
lips are dry and no respectful carrion would cry. You douse the
flaming incense sticks; try to waft the scent from the hallways
as you're re-inhabited and the slavery begins again. Don't
dream of fire! The walnuts are fragile and your hope doesn't
deserve to die. Don't try to flee; the love you make is just
a casting call for death – you plant your seeds in the soft soil.
The pain engulfs you as the wolf invades again; but life
goes on as the seeds begin to grow