by Mason Sabre
“Look at him,” Braces called out. “He dares to stare at you. Show him what we do.” He grabbed Fat boy and thrust him forwards.
The boys all started to chant. “Terry, Terry, Terry …” Fat boy’s face twisted with forced hate and anger. His pudgy fists clenched. Skateboard and Stick boy thrust the boy forwards and let go of him, giving Fat boy no choice but to fight or have the boy land on him. The two of them went down. Someone kicked the boy so that he was forced to get off Fat boy. Fat boy stood up again. He brought his foot against the boy’s gut. He brought it back, once, twice, three times. He was grinning now and screaming with his rage. The boys chanted on and on. “Terry, Terry, Terry ...” they jibed.
The boy could do nothing but curl his arms around his head and bring his knees up. Blood squirted out of his nose. The copper taste filled his mouth. His stomach ached. He was going to vomit. Parts of himself moved and realigned and his mind floated away. All of them were kicking him now. He couldn’t even feel their blows any longer. Everywhere was bruised and hurting.
The boy didn’t think. They were one now - boy and wolf. He was in a partially shifted form, hands deformed paws with claws. One snatched out, fast. It connected with cloth and flesh. Guttural screams pierced the air. The boy didn’t let go. He dug deeper, thrusting his hand up and out. He wrapped his clawed fingers around something soft, warm and wet, and then he pulled with everything he had in him. He let out a feral scream of his own. Blood spurted all over him, covering his face, going into his mouth and igniting the hunger that he had denied for so long.
The boy was beyond it now. The wolf had emerged fully. His nostrils flared as he rolled onto his side. Hunger so deep drove his mind to the brink of madness, and he brought his hand to his mouth and bit down onto what he was holding. Desperation made him force flesh and tissue into his mouth. Pushing each part in until he was almost choking. He pushed in more than he could ever dare to chew, but his mouth changed shape, the large teeth now forcing his mouth open. His bones pushed out, forming a wolf’s snout. He could hear screams and cries, but he could no longer feel the blows against him. He rose up - half boy, half wolf. His bag was on the ground and next to him lay Fat boy ... his stomach torn open, his arms and legs twitching.
Almost retching, the boy snatched up his bag and ran.
SEVEN
Maybe death would be better than running. Maybe it would be better than living. He was dead. To his father and his family. He was dead to everyone who knew him. Could the dead die? He wished he could. He wished it with every part of himself.
He knelt where he had fallen. No one was following. No one could keep up ... but they would come soon enough. His hands were hands once more. His face was his. All he could taste and smell was blood, his hands sticky with it. His hair was wet and stuck to his head. He lay there in the dirt, not caring. He lowered himself, let himself lay face down in the dirt. A twig stuck into the side of his cheek, but he didn’t care. The sounds of the screams echoed in his head. They morphed in with the bang of the car, his memories forming one torturous sound.
Was this his payment for what he had done? He had not only killed his mother, but now he had killed a boy as well. A young boy who probably didn’t deserve to die. He wept for what he had done and what he had become. He wept until he retched, his stomach convulsing as his thoughts swam. He thought about the feel of the boy’s flesh in his mouth, and his body gave a heave. He coughed and spluttered, but nothing came up. He swallowed desperately, unsure whether to just let it all come out.
He felt stronger than before. Not in an awake sense of the word. Not because he had eaten, but because his wolf had fed. Everything about him was sharper now. He could hear sounds clearer than before. He could smell scents mingling in the air, and he was sure that if he focused enough, he would be able to distinguish them.
He inhaled slowly, controlling his breathing, hoping that it would calm his stomach and his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to let his mind drift away to somewhere that was much safer. Some place where his mother was still alive and he had not just eaten … He gagged once more at the thought. He tried to push the thoughts from his mind and focus farther back, on a time that seemed so long ago now. A time when he was happy. He let his mind sink into the dark depths of oblivion. He let his soul find peace.
The oddest sensation filled him, as if he was floating again. The ground seemed to no longer be pressing against his chest, and the twig was gone. His legs hung down … His eyes shot open, confusion and fear making it hard to focus. Down? He jerked and readied himself for round two. As the haze around his vision cleared, he found himself suddenly staring into the eyes of a strange man. The man peered down at him. He was speaking, but the words blurred into one and he couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. Panic surged through every inch of his body. He arched his back to force the man to drop him. The man tried to keep a grip on him, but the boy fought until he fell in a crumpled heap on the ground.
It took a second to realise that he had escaped the stranger’s hold. He scrambled away on his hands and knees, dragging himself in a desperate crawl. He didn’t know where to, but he just had to get away.
“Stop,” the man shouted, trying to grab his arms and legs. “It isn’t safe. Stop, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Let me go,” the boy yelled.
The man immediately stopped and took a step back, holding his hands up in a non-aggressive gesture. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay?”
“Where were you taking me?”
“I live just up the way.” He pointed to a path between the trees that the boy hadn't noticed before. “I was just taking you back to my house.”
“What for?”
“To help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” the boy protested. “Leave me alone.” He stood, but the world tilted. “Give me … my ...” He held out his hand, but the words he wanted to say didn’t come. Head dizzy and swaying on his feet, he caught himself on one of the trees. He wanted to ask for his bag, but his words hung heavy in his mind. “Give me …”
“Let me take you back to my house,” the man said gently. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” he ground out, but even as he spoke the words, his body was sliding down the tree trunk, and he was powerless to stop it. His legs buckled and he was unable to fight them. He reached out, trying to find something to steady himself on, but all he managed to grasp was empty air. The man’s hands slid under his arms once more and he tried to swing away, but it was no use. He felt himself being lifted just as darkness swamped the edges of his vision yet again.
***
The room was dark and silent. The warm rays of sunshine didn’t reach through the window, and the sound of the birds singing their morning songs didn’t resonate around the room. The boy blinked slowly, his eyes heavy and his fuzzy mind sluggishly gaining consciousness. He tried to lift an arm up to his face, but it seemed to weigh a ton. His eyes closed again, but not before catching sight of two men in the corner watching him. He opened his mouth to speak, but then he was lost again on the path between sleep and consciousness.
The next time he opened his eyes, it was dark outside. The door to the room stood slightly ajar and a faint glow spilled in. The boy rolled onto his side slowly, fighting the dizziness in his head. His things were piled in the corner. His tatty shoes and torn clothes. His bag. On top of that was his notebook. That was tatty now, too. He felt clean, though. He pulled the sheet back enough to see that he was wearing an oversized t-shirt that wasn’t his. His hands were clean, too. The blood was gone and someone had clipped his fingernails. He touched his hand to his face, but the cuts and marks were all mostly gone, except for the one across his forehead and through his eyebrow.
He tried to sit up in the bed, expecting to be riddled with aches and pains, but he wasn’t. He heard footsteps not too far away and scrambled back in the bed, pushing himself into the corner. There was a light knock on the door and then familiar ey
es peered in.
“You’re awake.” The stranger smiled. He pushed the door open and entered carrying a tray with a plate on it. The smell of the food and the sight of the glass made the boy’s stomach churn with hunger. “I brought you something to eat. It’ll be easier now that you can feed yourself.”
“Feed myself?” His voice came out hoarse, and he hastily coughed to clear it. His throat was parched and dry, burning him.
“You were half starved,” the man said. “You can't go that long without food. You are wolf.” The boy tensed as he approached with the tray. “I’m just giving you this. I’m not going to hurt you. You’ve been here almost a week now.” The man laid the tray tentatively on the edge of the bed, not coming too close.
Not taking his eyes from the man, the boy fingered the tray towards himself slowly and cautiously. The man wasn’t that much older than himself. Maybe a late teenager himself - or early twenties at most. He had brown hair and blue eyes that seemed kind. “I’ve been here a week?” the boy whispered.
“Pretty much.” He gave him a warm smile. "Eat, though. Then we can talk. Eat slowly.”
The boy pulled the tray to his lap. The aroma of fresh meat was intoxicating.
“It’s just rabbit. It’s what we’re allowed to hunt here.”
It was rabbit? He stared down at the raw meat. It wasn’t cooked, but it was cut and prepared. A few weeks ago, the boy would have found it disgusting, but today, staring down at the raw meat, he could not deny the way his mouth watered at the sight. Yet he was afraid to take it and eat it. Would the man think he was a monster, too?
“You can eat it. You need to.”
The boy picked up the meat. It was warm and wet, and something told him that it was fresh. Just like before, outside the shop, he felt his teeth moving. Something feral rose inside and became one with him. He brought the meat to his mouth, all the while his eyes trained on the man, watching him with uncertainty and mistrust. The man moved the boy’s belongings from the chair onto the edge of the bed and then sat down. As he ravenously bit down and chewed on the meat with relish, his brain tried to tell him he should be repulsed. But nothing had ever tasted so good. He devoured the food, not stopping until it was all gone and the plate clean.
“Better?” the man asked.
Eagerly, the boy nodded.
“I’ll bring you some more in an hour or so. You have to let this settle first.” The boy’s mouth watered again with the thought of more.
“My name’s Cade,” the man said after a moment. “What’s yours?”
The boy’s head started to swim as the meat settled in his stomach. “My name?”
The man nodded. “What is your name?”
The boy searched around with half closed eyes until his eyes fell on his book, where it sat on the edge of the bed. “Phoenix,” he eventually whispered. “My name is Phoenix.”
Thank you so much for reading. Please feel free to drop me an email or visit me on Facebook.
Mason
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