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The (Un)real Wolf
The (Un)real Wolf
Published by Druidic
The (Un)real Wolf

The (Un)real Wolf

The fire of Life coursed through its veins, rippled like flowing electricity through the muscles of its sleek, powerful frame. All vestiges of former identity, all vestiges of humanity, had been consumed by that purging flame of Change, and now it knew only the Pure—the freedom and exhilarating enhancement of desire, desire without reflection or restraint, with all impurities shed now, all the collective inhibitions men call Sanity gone; now only Hunger, the Pure's true companion, remained--that voracious need to devour the warm flesh of prey, to consume utterly even as The Change had consumed its human identity.

Nostrils wide and quivering, drawing in hungrily the scents travelling the night wind, every muscle alive with the vibrant awareness of the vast sensual world surrounding, the beast loped beneath the star-flecked sky and toward the shadows where the great forest beckoned. Within seconds, it found that which it sought, the scent of one approaching, a lone man--the solitary Enemy who had fired the bullet that had struck the wolf in its left flank. A tracker, an old and experienced one, seasoned and wary. Yet with simple animal cunning, the beast was leading him--luring one who was now prey--to an inescapable death. The wolf's Hunger howled.

As the Other slowly and cautiously approached the forest's shadowy margins, the wolf felt, for the first time, a wrongness in the scheme of things. It felt an inconceivable thing, an emotion which no beast could ever feel; subtle at first, yes, but rapidly growing. What was it? Was it fear? Not an honest fear, no, but a fear only a man, not a beast, would recognize; a fear born from a sense of terrifying wrongness...a horrible sense of ...unreality. Suddenly, the world seemed to ripple like water about the wolf. There was a weakness in the fields and trees and sky and ruddy moon--as if all were dissolving like smoke or mist before its eyes. ( The wolf felt like an animal asleep and dreaming.) The unnatural fear grew in the animal's consciousness and the darkness seemed to churn and convulse with fantastical terrors. The animal had no ability to grasp what was happening to it, any more than an animal could possibly understand the properties of a silver bullet... or how a sluggish infection could crawl through a bloodstream and eventually poison the unsuspecting victim.

The wolf had barely felt the sting of the hunter’s projectile.

The wolf was dying. It whimpered in fear then howled in defiance. The vast sensual world it loved was slipping away, becoming less substantial than a tattered memory or a fading dream. Above the stars gleamed coldly and even the ruddy moon seemed oblivious to the agony of its child.

Soon, even the unreal fear that was symptomatic of the bullet that had poisoned it--as well as the pure Hunger that had been the beast's life--all would be gone, leaving only an aching animal sadness. With confusion, with fear, and perhaps in the final moments, with the acceptance and surrender of an animal, the wolf would be devoured by the terrible jaws of the unreal and incomprehensible. Perhaps, it died then like an animal dies--or, perhaps, it died as a man. Perhaps, in the end, it made no difference.
6 Thanks From:
cannibal cop (07-13-2017), DarkView (07-30-2017), miguel1984 (07-13-2017), Mr. Veech (07-13-2017), njhorror (07-13-2017), Zaharoff (07-13-2017)


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