The wolf - A short story.

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The Wolf.


There’s a silent cry that some couldn’t hear at night. Could it possibly be my imagination kicking in vividly screaming for diving attention. Or, could it be the thirst for appearance and your imagination running wild. To and from point a and b. As an appearance to a lonely wolf, crying for attention. He’d sometimes go hunting for dinner on occasion for surviving on a daily basis. This would be one lonely wolf. In a forest lost and dazed. Looking half stunned and looking for a friend to bend and mend with.

The wolf who looked half tired and half dazed also was looking for attention. Any one to make friends with.  Nothing could be heard miles and miles away from far distance.

It was just him and the snow. How did he get this far. He’d wiggle his tail back and forth if he caught a bird or anything else in between. Birds don’t talk. They tweet. He thought to himself. They don’t talk. Neither does he. What was he thinking. He thought to himself.

As he cried out loud, ( Almost like a real wolf would. ) From hunger, the area would clear off with a silent cry at night. The birds would hide away as a cast away in tree’s between hidden canvass and leaves and branches and bushes. Beautiful view though. He thought.


“ Who am I ? “ He taught. A wolf? He giggled to himself. “ Neh. No way. “ I’m just like everyone else. Special. “

So as he started to walk around with his front paw bending his front half of the paw like almost a cat would when he’s in “ awh. “ with his owner petting him. He would take one foot and step on the snow then the left one. Simultaneously. Left, right, then  back left and back right. Visa versa.

And then he’d walk and walk and walk towards what he thought was a pond. No a lake? A  river?

“ Oh my. “ How long have I been thirsty. “ And boy, don’t eat yellow snow. “ Number one rule of the day.  
He quickly took a quick smell test first to see if it stank. Off course. And if it was fresh and safe enough to drink. Nothing sharp or any of that kind would exist in the river or lake.

And he dug in with his tongue. Great. What is happening. He thought to himself. What on Earth? Why me? His tongue got stuck in the ice. “ Dough, I fell for it again. “

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