Kicking and Screaming
Sydney
If there was ever a time when I wished I could be somewhere else, be someone else even, now was surely it. What am I doing here? The crunch of my footsteps seem to signal my position as loud and clear as the thump of my heartbeat, each beat resonating from my hollow chest to my frozen jaw. My palms are sticky, my breath wet and my scent reeks of fear. I am being hunted by something unnatural and I know that it means to kill me.
Without cause the wind bites me, stripping me of my warmth and allowing the cold and majestic light of the full moon to dust the park. The howl of the wolf sends a chill colder than the devil’s freezer down my spine, confirming my fears and leaving me with no option but to run. I run into the wind, a foolish decision but it’s far too late to change course. If my bones don’t break, if my muscles don’t freeze, I could make it to the city.
I pick up pace, Thud Crunch – Thud Crunch – Thud Crunch, and my steps pick up volume. Persistently the wind lashes, burning my cheeks and blinding me with salty tears, but it’s all over. Swift canine footsteps, heavier than mine approach me from behind. As the beast leaps, I almost hear nothing at all and for a moment, time stops. In third person I see myself and come to understand the full seriousness of my present situation – an eight foot grey wolf with an iron jaw and razor teeth floats in mid-flight, poised inches from its kill – me. I can see the hairs on my neck standing to attention like soldiers going to war and the hairs on my neck can hear the tune of a faint Bowie track, being carried on the wind. What does that mean?
Time unfreezes and for a fraction of a second moves slowly, gearing up for the speed and ferocity to come. My body explodes as the wolf’s jaws sink deep into my neck, tearing my flesh, destroying my image, emancipating me from myself - but then I wake up - kicking and screaming. But it’s not over, because the wolf is in the hallway, pacing outside my door. I want nothing more than to scream for help but I can’t let it know I’m alive, maybe it’ll go away, maybe the door will prove too much for it and it’ll leave me be – fat chance. Frantically I search for a weapon, for anything that might protect me. I find my squash racket and swing as the wolf crashes through the door, kicking it, hitting it - trying desperately to keep its jaws from crushing my neck. I gasp as I struggle for breath and my muscles contract, refusing me the air that I need. But out of the corner of my eye I can see my bedroom door – my bedroom door, and suddenly, reality returns. My muscles release me from myself and I gulp air. Under the pressure and weight of the wolf on my chest, I gulp air again.
Slowly my surroundings begin to make sense to me. I am lying in bed, inside my house and I can see my desk in the corner. The full moon is outside and my window - unbroken, is frosty. The wolf has faded but its memory and weight remains, standing over me, waiting for its next chance to attack. It almost had me and it knows it, but I’m strong. I won the battle, and I reassure myself that I can win it again. Still gripped by fear I reach a trembling hand out towards the memory of the wolf standing over me. With the last of its energy it growls and with the last of mine I pass my hand in one fell sweep through it and then again and then again. It’s gone, I’m safe and the weight has lifted from my chest.
I lay back down and stare at the mould growing on the ceiling. I try to control my breathing and let my muscles relax. My body aches and the wet bed sheets stick to my skin. I know that the wolf is still out there, I know that it’s watching me, ever patient, waiting and ready to attack. My demons still hunt me and until I defeat them, they always will. It’s 4am and somehow, I go back to sleep.
Caleb
If there was ever a time when I wished I could be somewhere else, be someone else even, now was surely it. What am I doing here? The crunch of my footsteps seem to signal my position as loud and clear as the thump of my heartbeat, each beat resonating from my hollow chest to my frozen jaw. My palms are sticky, my breath wet and my scent reeks of fear. I am being hunted by something unnatural and I know that it means to kill me.Without cause the wind bites me, stripping me of my warmth and allowing the cold and majestic light of the full moon to dust the park. The howl of the wolf sends a chill colder than the devil’s freezer down my spine, confirming my fears and leaving me with no option but to run. I run into the wind, a foolish decision but it’s far too late to change course. If my bones don’t break, if my muscles don’t freeze, I could make it to the city.
I pick up pace, Thud Crunch – Thud Crunch – Thud Crunch, and my steps pick up volume. Persistently the wind lashes, burning my cheeks and blinding me with salty tears, but it’s all over. Swift canine footsteps, heavier than mine approach me from behind. As the beast leaps, I almost hear nothing at all and for a moment, time stops. In third person I see myself and come to understand the full seriousness of my present situation – an eight foot grey wolf with an iron jaw and razor teeth floats in mid-flight, poised inches from its kill – me. I can see the hairs on my neck standing to attention like soldiers going to war and the hairs on my neck can hear the tune of a faint Bowie track, being carried on the wind. What does that mean?
Time unfreezes and for a fraction of a second moves slowly, gearing up for the speed and ferocity to come. My body explodes as the wolf’s jaws sink deep into my neck, tearing my flesh, destroying my image, emancipating me from myself - but then I wake up - kicking and screaming. But it’s not over, because the wolf is in the hallway, pacing outside my door. I want nothing more than to scream for help but I can’t let it know I’m alive, maybe it’ll go away, maybe the door will prove too much for it and it’ll leave me be – fat chance. Frantically I search for a weapon, for anything that might protect me. I find my squash racket and swing as the wolf crashes through the door, kicking it, hitting it - trying desperately to keep its jaws from crushing my neck. I gasp as I struggle for breath and my muscles contract, refusing me the air that I need. But out of the corner of my eye I can see my bedroom door – my bedroom door, and suddenly, reality returns. My muscles release me from myself and I gulp air. Under the pressure and weight of the wolf on my chest, I gulp air again.
Slowly my surroundings begin to make sense to me. I am lying in bed, inside my house and I can see my desk in the corner. The full moon is outside and my window - unbroken, is frosty. The wolf has faded but its memory and weight remains, standing over me, waiting for its next chance to attack. It almost had me and it knows it, but I’m strong. I won the battle, and I reassure myself that I can win it again. Still gripped by fear I reach a trembling hand out towards the memory of the wolf standing over me. With the last of its energy it growls and with the last of mine I pass my hand in one fell sweep through it and then again and then again. It’s gone, I’m safe and the weight has lifted from my chest.
I lay back down and stare at the mould growing on the ceiling. I try to control my breathing and let my muscles relax. My body aches and the wet bed sheets stick to my skin. I know that the wolf is still out there, I know that it’s watching me, ever patient, waiting and ready to attack. My demons still hunt me and until I defeat them, they always will. It’s 4am and somehow, I go back to sleep.