A microstorysketchylittlething I wrote a while ago. ♥
He’s a sheep in wolf’s clothing. His approach is buoyed by a bravado that I’d never see if he were naked.
That smile. That grin. Delicious.
We’ll meet later tonight. There’ll be no shepherd—human or celestial—to watch over me, so when he arrives, it’ll be perfectly moonless. He’ll be perfectly helpless, too. I’ll be the only witness to his precious futility. I can smell his childish motivation all the way in the now. It’s as adorable as my sons’ pretensions to hunt birds, because I know that they enjoy the sounds of struggle more than failure or success.
What realigns my spine with anticipation is that none—not one—of the sheep will see all that black blood spilling all over his costume.
I’ll only have defended myself—that’s what I’ll say!—so when I cast off the costume over my costume, no one will know any different. I imagine that in my enthusiasm, I’ll end up losing a tooth in the effort. Or will it be his tooth? No matter—I’ll reclaim it without any remorse. It’s my nature.
If only we could play this game forever… but it will end tonight. I’ll sense the fear of the wolf’s approach in those around me. It smells just like a churchyard…
For when it’s over, my patience will have run as thin as the wool I’ve applied to conceal my weapons, to my need to survive outside captivity.