The Wolves' Revenge
The Wolves' Revenge
Author: Sapphire

A bleak morning

The sky was bleak and cloudy this morning, lending the atmosphere a sorrowful and foreboding feel to it. It had been so for a few days, with the sky seeming heavily pregnant with rain, but yet, not a drop of water fell from the skies. Instead, the bleak look of the atmosphere increased day by day. At this time of the morning, there was not a single soul in sight, despite the fact that it was already a few minutes past seven, but that was probably because of the dull-looking weather.

Michael loved the weather though, just as he liked the fact that nobody was outside this morning. He did not like people and went out of his way not to have to deal with them, although this was mostly impossible, considering the fact that he lived right in the midst of them. The weather suited his mood ... cold, bleak, and lonely. This was the mood he had majorly been in since that awful day when it became his fate to be all alone in this world. The memory of that day was firmly etched in his brain and he doubted that he would ever forget it for as long as he lived. It was his lot to carry it about.

He must have been seven or eight years old then. He had been sleeping in his room in his family's large house, which was located in their community that was made up of humans when something woke him up sometime past midnight. His father, who was once human and had been turned by a bite from a notorious alpha, years and years ago, hated being a werewolf with a passion and made sure that his family lived a normal human life. Michael's older siblings learned how to suppress their werewolf instincts early on, and were able to blend in with the human community.

This particular night, or early morning, depending on how you looked at it, the silence was deafening. Even the frogs that lived in the creek some distance away from Michael's house, which were notorious for their cries every blessed night, were silent. Everywhere was still and quiet, and everything was so strange that for a moment, the little Michael lay there wide awake in bed, his young and alert mind knowing instantly that something was wrong ... very wrong, but not knowing what on earth it was. He was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been in his short years on earth, and thought of crying out for his mother and father, but somehow decided against it.

There was something inside this dark and still house ... something scary ... something that could harm and kill him. His young werewolf instincts made him know this as surely as he knew his own name. He must have lain there quietly listening to his own muffled and scared breath in the dark for more than seven minutes when he heard something move just outside his door. Although everything in him still wanted to cry out for his mom and dad, he kept as still and quiet as he possibly could, as whatever it was that was out there slowly turned the knob of his room door and stood in the doorway, looking into the room. It was a human, and it had evil intent. Michael could smell its hatred from where he sat in his bed towards the end of the room, but he merely sat there in his bed and they stared at each other in the dim moonlight. As he and the human watched themselves in the moonlight, Michael could hear more movement, signaling that this human was not alone. There were others like him with malicious intent, and they were all in this house.

"Well, well, well. What have we got here?" The man, the one who had first come into the room drawled, drawing closer to the bed where the little boy was still seated, frozen in fear.

"Why, it's a teeny little werewolf. What do you say we do with him?" The man asked, looking behind him to talk to someone.

"I say we cut off its little werewolf head or put our silver spear right into its tiny wolfy heart. It looks cute, but we must remember that cute little werewolves turn into big bad, ugly monsters that kill humans." Another man said from behind the first man, his tone mocking.

"I don't kill humans. My daddy said not to, that it's bad to do that." Little Michael told them. He was no longer so scared of these people who stood in his room and were talking about silver spears and other things, but he wished his mummy and daddy would come regardless.

"Is that so now, buddy? Come on, show me your fangs."

"I don't have fangs. I'm not a werewolf." Michael replied, belatedly remembering that his parents had warned him never to reveal what his family truly was to anyone as it could spell danger for them. It seemed these people already knew anyway, so it was not his fault. He just hoped that his mommy and daddy would not blame him for the fact that they knew.

"Is that so now, baby werewolf. I don't believe you." The second man said coming out from behind the first man and sneering down at Michael, who was becoming increasingly uncomfortable and was beginning to become scared again. There was something different about this second man, with his penetrating eyes. In a moment, he realized what it was. This man was a werewolf himself, but not like his mommy and daddy. This man was a very bad werewolf.

"I want my mommy and my daddy. You are bad men." He declared, starting to shimmy his way out of bed so he could go and report these bad men to his parents. They were strangers after all, and his parents had always taught him to be afraid of strangers. He did not get far. Before his small legs could swing down the bed, the second man produced something shiny with a sharp end, and poked Michael in the chest with it, drawing blood and immediately eliciting white-hot pain in the boy's chest. The pain wasn't from the fact that the object had torn part of the skin of the boy's chest. It was from something else. Michael opened his mouth wide and yelled as loudly as he could, partly because of the searing pain and partly in a bid to alert his parents to the presence of the intruders.

At his loud shout, the sound of running feet was heard, and within minutes, the door burst fully open, and a heavily pregnant woman came in with another man. Michael glanced at them in renewed fear. These were clearly not his parents. Despite his loud screams, his parents were nowhere to be found, and without anyone telling him anything, he knew in his young heart that something bad had happened to his parents.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? He's just a helpless kid, for chrissakes. Put that weapon down. Now!" The pregnant woman yelled angrily. The man did so reluctantly, muttering under his breath.

"He'll grow up to be worse than his parents. You'll see." He muttered.

"Let him grow up and become worse than them first. Then we'll take action." She finished, coming over to where Michael was shivering in fear on the bed.

"Don't worry, little one. No one's going to harm you. Not on my watch, they won't."

"I want my mummy and daddy." He repeated again. A look that he could not identify passed across the woman's face, and she made a signal to the men, who turned and followed her as she walked out the door, leaving Michael alone in a large house that was filled with the dead bodies of his loved ones.

That had been sixteen years ago, but the memory of that day remained with him, as fresh as ever. As usual, he found himself beginning to shift the way he always did whenever he thought about that day. The urge to kill something, especially those who had taken his loved ones from him was very great and kept becoming greater as the days passed. He usually tried his best not to think about it, and it had been really long since he last let himself go like this. He could not help it this time around. He needed to let out this rage that was in him somehow, and a very good way of doing that was to run wild in the thick forest.

Giving in to his urge to shift, he let nature take its course, and soon, his bones began cracking and rearranging as his body took on his wolf form. Within seconds, where there had been a handsome young man before, there was now a sad-looking wolf. The wolf let out a very loud, lonely howl, turned around, and bounded into the thick forest, disappearing into the thicket as though it had never been.

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