Young Writers Society

[Day five]

Swimming. My thoughts, my soul, swimming in a fog. A dark fog with light undertones, going through me as I went through it. It wasn't good, I wasn't supposed to swim. The triathlon had passed that part, and only running remained, and yet I was trapped in the fog, as it was trapped in me. Reverberating through my thoughts, from one end to the other, back and forth. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, back and fo...

“I think he's waking up.”

Out of the fog I was thrown, with my soul that had been painfully diluted, to the point where I didn't know where it ended and the fog began, retook its normal form. Dense, clear and light, back to normal, but not quite.

“It's about time.”

There were people in the room, people I did not feel comfortable with. Strangers, but not so strange after all. I had heard that second voice before, at my parents' door, in the restaurant, at my door. Sharp, alert and serious. A growl.

I kept myself in darkness, for I didn't want the wolves to know I was awake. For a moment longer it was best if I continued to play dead. Dead things weren't as interesting to chase. The swimming was over, and it was time to run. Wolves were better at running than swimming, but I had outrun them in the past. Over the years I had learned to despise the hunt, the escape, but I knew it was what had kept me alive.

I focused my unwilling muscles on the task ahead of me, to get up and run. I invited the light as I jerked upwards in one quick move. The end of the tunnel was near, but as I made my move something was holding me down. Something strong, using my own strength to hurt me. Like snakes they contorted once around my wrists, and once against the cold metal bars of the bed. The more I pulled the tighter they squeezed.

“Take it easy, Ryan. We're not going to hurt you, we just want to talk.” It was the first voice again, unlike the growling wolf it sounded warm and kind, but I knew better than to trust it. Wolves could howl, and beautiful as that sound may be, it did not mean that the creature making it would be the same. “You fell and hit your head, but you'll be alright.” She looked like a mouse, both in color and in shape, and her expression matched her voice. Maybe she wasn't a wolf after all.

“If you don't mind, we want to talk to him in private.” The mouse left, leaving only the hungry predators. This situation was starting to get to me. I was the chained up pray meant to finally satisfy their long starvation, and the mental image of being experimented on and killed was unsettling. My inner sanctum, consisting of that constant bad mood, was trembling, changing as fear forced its way in.

“We're sorry for having to chain you up like this, but we were afraid you'd bolt again. You probably understand what we want to talk about?” Male voice, falsely sweet, the definition of a wolf in sheep's clothing. They were both glaring at me with eyes that could be described as nothing but hungry.

The snakes rattled when I tried their strength. I knew I was supposed to say something, but their eyes... My head. It didn't work. It didn't work. “Let me go.” The voice didn't sound like mine, not at all, and still it was. My voice could sound happy, bored, angry, but never like this. Rattle, rattle, rattle. The snakes got louder and the wolves were suddenly over me, alerted by the noise. The mouse came back, her white coat like a tail behind her. My soul was being diluted again, and no matter how much I tried to keep it together it kept slipping through my fingers, until I couldn't find it any more.