Hush, the Moon
Flash fiction pondering becoming one with a wolf pack
The mountains stood black and silent in the morning fog. Somewhere a wolf howled, and others answered it. Weak, distant voices.
I felt like joining them, sitting on a cold, wet rock. I thought I’d never get home. I was lost, and I desperately craved a way out of the woods and out of that eternal loneliness. I felt howling with the wolves would ease it all a little. And maybe end it too. I’d become one with them. I’d become their prey, their food, and, thus sacrificed, transform into them.
Had they eaten me, maybe I’d have retained some strange sentience, and conquered them from the inside, the human spirit — a ghost, really — taking them all over. They eat me, I eat them. Imagine that, becoming an entire pack of wolves.
It didn’t happen, obviously. Yet thinking about it gives me the creeps even now. It feels as though I was still there, among those black and silent mountains.
Hush! The Moon is rising —
