A White Wolf

What if...?

The Truth

 

Canis lupus; a powerful creature as old as time, living through legends and myths throughout the world- the mythical creature haunting children and women, waiting to swallow them whole mercilessly. A number of lies stalk this animal, stabbing it with hate and death as a simple blood lusting monster. Lies told through stories and riddles, masking the animal with an image covered in blackness. Such a beautiful beast learned to be a black deity, humans make the mistake of pushing them back into the darkness of their homes-never to come out again. They live as one, a family they protect and cherish as they are watched by an unknown god of their own; they speak of tongue a two-walker would never understand, and emotions that beat through hearts like all creatures day and night.

A human would never understand a world of a Canis lupus, nor its brothers and sisters. They see through all seven sins; enjoying themselves as the world hangs on their enlarged, fat fingers. They see nothing of a natural world, a world belonging to a cycle of life. They live for themselves and only themselves; greed is a hazardous thing. Few brothers and sisters see this and become trapped within the darkness. Nothing is helped to get away from the seven sins- you must help yourself out.

Understanding a world is grim, trifling, and misgiving of tricks. Seeing past all troubles, you find beauty in the unknown world through another set of eyes; eyes that once belong to you. I was once a Canis lupus- a white wolf.

 

Folklore

 

Lies, so many recurring actions of verbal speech caused my lost family to become killed and hunted by what I have become now; tales and myths and legends about us that only creates pain and misery for my kind- and others beyond that. I remember each of those tales as now stand on two legs, listening to those lies about what I once was. It only brings sadness about me, and learning why they did this only angers me about their stupidity and unknowledgeable minds about stories of just plain fiction. Humans are slaves to themselves and what they make of themselves; they only create death and hate in their wake.

I remember a time long ago, when the air is crisp and young; memory is rather vague, yet I still feel the breeze of snow. The tales my kind told of humans are rather similar to how humans tell tales of wolves- killing, blood thirsty monsters that roam the night air, searching for a quick meal. Those are how we portray the black leakers- humans whose darkness leaks out of their skin to join the anger in their eyes.

Some humans were nothing like them though; they were some full of kindness, and speak like we do, but, of different tongue. Once in a blue moon we would hunt as one, taking down prey to share among each other…that happened long ago though, and that kind died and turned on some of us as black leakers took over lands.

Some myths never go away, only adding with mountains of lies on top of lies. Pain is added and so is death; we made our myths to protect us from some humans- humans made their myths to kill us all.

 

Dreams

 

A memory from long ago will appear in my sleep, making me remember who I use to be. Such simple things dreams are, taking you to a fantasy world or a place long forgotten- simple worlds belonging to the mind of one’s self.

A dream I had once was in the forest far away from any human, a place where they would simply freeze. The trees stood tall among me, trapping the falling snow in their branches and the rest fall to cover me easily. I was alone, standing on thick snow that grazes over the land as my paw prints disappeared forever. I stared far about me, searching as my white fur wisp about me, for anything worth a decent meal. My silver- green eyes lingered on tracks known to me; they dart in and out of trees, yet the scent is strong in the air. I walked slowly to my prey, my hunger showing in the eyes...

Similar dreams had happened before, and I was always alone. I had a pack when I was young, but left to make a world for myself the artic life. I don’t remember what happened after so many years of lonesomeness...so vague in the mind of a human.

I never knew that wolves could have such eyes; it could be rare or even common, but it seems I use to have such eyes. Silvery-green eyes changed to the eyes I have now: yellow-green. People who know of dreams say that seeing a white wolf means victory and protection from the blackest minds. A pathfinder is what shamans call them, helping them find the light within the darkness. Maybe such darkness lives in me, wandering about in the cracks of skin, waiting for me to turn into a black leaker. I would never turn into such a monster, even if I live in such a skin.

 

Beauty

 

For a creature so abused and hated, it is still an animal of grace and splendor. Not many may understand the beauty of the Canis lupus, but they wouldn’t understand the beauty of themselves if they don’t understand beauty on general. Living as a human made me notice this beauty of my past self, how much I flow over the snow as if I flew, and how my eyes glimmered under stars. I wouldn’t be surprised if humans envy such an animal; envy their natural ways of movement.

Even as a human, I envy them myself; how they would never truly understand this world I live in, and feel the hate and constant confusion we bring onto another. They have the beauty of not understanding our continuing tongue, and how nonchalant life must be to become successful to what you wish to be. How depressing a human life is, yet so many worship it as a god in the sky- the gods of my people must hang their heads low for the human kind.

Seeing what I was and feel the air similar to the past makes me remember the white wolf I use to be, and how beautiful I was among the trees. It must have been wondrous walking without knowing how you look to others. Beauty is what I use to be called by strangers walking among me on two legs.

 

Memory

 

Ambiguous, nebulous, and vague is how I remember my inner self; hidden messages would uncover from time to time, returning me to a place of snow and trees. A moon would be my candle and the stars my stories to read night after night of staring; my voice would keep my company, and the trees would be my family; the wind and snow are my friends during the day. So much memory has been lost since those days, living as a human cost me them. A foolish choice I have clearly made.

When seeing a picture belonging to my dreams, I simply smile. I know my lost brothers and sisters are there; they wouldn’t make a mistake of changing like I have. A memory would flash by and die just as fast as lightning in the bright sky of how I lived among the lost things of my life.

I do miss such a life of freedom, running with the wind and singing to my luminescent moon. I belong here now, along with many others who made the mistake of changing to a two-leger; we are not alone in this world. I look at all this technology, seeing how these humans evolved through generations; they have changed as I have. It’s been so long since I have seen a black leaker; those monsters have reduced and are dying like we once were. My kind is flourishing as others are dying- living a human life made me understand this more clearly now.

I live now in a small town in the United States; its winters remind me of my true home. I like it here- peaceful and less unneeded emotions linger in the air. It makes me smile, remembering the days as a white wolf.