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Wolves

written by: Dead Novels

@deadnovels

 

They come now. More frequently. Almost every night. Flashes, glimpses of a life. This life? Another life? How can I tell? It seems like memories of a past, memories of a future, memories of a memory? Why do they torture me so?

Alone now in the woods. It looks like twilight, the air is grey and damp. The green moss is racing away up the trees. The wolves. I can hear them now. I can see them flashing through the undergrowth. Flashes of grey through the damp, dark green of the woods. They are soundless, yet I can hear them, howling, shrieking, baying for blood, my blood, no one else’s, my blood. The grey almost glows as it hits the flashes of light snaking through the trees. My heart is racing, racing away from me. The shapes, they move, they change, the wolves are here. They are changing. I can feel no terror, yet my heart still races.

Where are the wolves? It’s changing. Where are the wolves? Looking around they are no longer there. Where are they now? I need to move, my body is calling out for flight. The dampness is pervading me. The light is darkening. The wolves have left, their presence I can still feel though. Like a pressure cooker waiting to explode. I’m in my bed, where are the wolves? The outdoors dampness is still surrounding me.

The sweat is nestling on my brow. Is it like this for everyone? Why does no one talk about the wolves? If we talk about them do they become real? Is there a code of silence? Should we give them life? Will that free my head? Sweating, now the sheets are getting damper, leaden with my fears.

Looking around the room is dark. I see the comforting shapes of my life lying around the room. They seem less real in this light, more like a mirage of a life led. The wolves come creeping back. I feel them nuzzling my back. Their hot breath tracing shapes on the nape of my neck, it’s causing my hair to rise. Should I look round? They can’t be there. I feel them though. That doesn’t mean they are real though. Does it? What will happen if I turn round? I should turn round. But what if they are there? I can hear a low growl, making my whole body tense. The air near my neck is getting warmer. They are real. Where can I hide? Where can I go? How do I escape? THEY ARE NOT REAL. I can feel them. You’re lying to yourself, go to sleep and in the morning you will see. This is not how I imagined going. This is not how I should be going. I should not be going. I don’t deserve to go. You wont be going, they are not real. I feel their presence, watching me, waiting for a sign of weakness, a chance to break through. It’s all in your head. How can you be sure? Trust me. What if you’re wrong? Well look around? I can’t. I JUST CAN’T! DO IT! No. Look around. Why, what will it achieve? JUST DO IT! No, they are there I know it. How do you know they are there? I am outside. You’re in your bed. No! I feel the air, I can smell the air. I am outside. YOU’RE IN YOUR BED! Look around. Stop IT! LOOK AROUND! LOOK AROUND NOW!

I look

 

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

How my depression and anxiety manifests itself.

Dead Novels

Dead Novels

Dead Novels is my way of dealing with society and life. I write about politics and how society is crumbling into a dystopia. Mostly in short forms of writing as the novel is too long for our society.
Dead Novels

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