The wolf - A short story.
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...
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