Wednesday, 11 April 2012

Wolf

by John Xero


“What’s the time, Mr Wolf?”

So goes the invocation. Children chant it, their innocent tongues taunting with wicked words. What is the time? How long I have been imprisoned below, barely alive, while they play?

A scraped knee, a snagged shin, a scratch... Tiny, sweet offerings of blood, just enough to keep me aware but sluggish, delirious.

Then last night, a full moon, and a murder. Delicious panic and pain and pooling blood, a whole life seeping deep down, nourishing me, revitalising me, reviving me.

Now I wait. And soon, the children will return. Soon, it will be dinner time.






10 comments:

  1. What's the time Mr. Wolf? Dinner time! Screeeeeeeam!

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  2. I'm curious how Mr. Wolf feeds on a scraped knee or a scratch. Does he hunt down and devoured the injured? Does he cause them before he turns at the full moon?

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    Replies
    1. It's the miniscule traces of blood left on the playground floor... And the pain that comes with it...

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  3. It's lucky for them that kids fall over a lot!

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    Replies
    1. Lucky... or planned? ;)

      Thanks, Pete. =)

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  4. This reminds me of my flash "Feast" from back in (I think) January. Supper tiiiiiiiime!

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    Replies
    1. I'll have to go look that up, Larry. =)

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  5. I remember playing the game as a child, we used to creep up on the Mr wolf, and then we had to "Freeze" when the child playing the wolf turned around to tell us the time.

    There just HAD to be something darker behind the game, didn't there?

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    Replies
    1. There usually is, Steve. Think of the sanitisation of the Grimms' tales... But we writers like to look for a little darkness in the light, just as much as we look for a little light in the shadows... ;)

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