Puppeteer
02-15-2015, 07:00 PM
Hey,
I rarely ever write although I used to as a child. This was meant to be a children story but it turned out to be something different.
Please judge and criticise, hope you enjoy it, thanks a bunch. (:
There once was a wolf who lived high up a mountain.
In hours of sunlight, the wolf watched the sheeps go about
their day. The sheeps were well aware of the wolf’s gaze upon
them and lived in fear of its gigantic teeth. They knew that when night fell
and lit only by its hanging moon; the wolf would come down from its steeple.
Half a day was spent lazing around
the green grass by the sheeps, that same half was spent roaming around rocky mountains
by the wolf. The other half was spent sleeping with one eye open by the sheeps
and that same half spent quietly watching them by the wolf; waiting for the
opportune moment that it would finally grind its jaw in their cloud like white
coats. And so night did fall.
The wolf zig-zagged its way to the spacious plains of the
earth and finally reached its destination; the sheep enclosure. A little forest
stood next to it. Its inanimate pines, the wolf thought, had always been its
closest friends. For they did not speak, nor make noise, nor think, nor feel.
There was not an ounce of judgment in them. These, he said, must truly be happy
to express so little.
With its gentle paws, the wolf took a few steps towards the
enclosure very careful not to break a twig. The wolf knew that if it was to
wake the sheeps, all would be lost and lose the chance use its bite. On the other hand, the sheeps counted on the twigs
like their human masters counted on their ear screeching devices when a stranger was too close
to home. The sheeps also knew that the wolf held trees and twigs in high
regard; that though they could not betray the wolf by themselves; the wolf could help them
do so by a single misplaced move.
But the twigs did not break and even if it did, the wind in
the imposing pines’ arms would muffle the sound. And so the wolf took its steps
towards the closest sheep. This was the punishment for every sheep that did not
follow the pack; they would have to sleep at the border of the group. ‘’Oh what
a drag, these sheeps thought, sometimes, we wish we were wolf, to be free to
roam the peaks of the earth, to be free and wild, away from the bustle of the
blinding grounded white clouds.’’
And so the wolf came close. Its drooling tongue and
stalagmite teeth, its fiery yet focused eyes, its pointy ears aware; wise like
ancient pyramids.
This was it, thought the wolf. Every day it sat on top of its
mountain watching the sheeps. Oh them that laugh and know not the loneliness of
the rocky mountains, them that play all day so care free, the naïve look in
their eyes, their clumsy walk. And I, I who swoon in dry typhoons, who cannot
accept acceptance yet suffer the pressure of belonging, crucified on my
mountain, prophet like I scream the same words ‘’Why hast thou forsaken me ?’’.
A bite inside their fur is all I need. A taste of their blood, a touch inside
their souls, the wolf thought, would be just like when its paw touched
the surface of a lake, calmly disturbing the sleeping water.
And so the wolf slowly entered the enclosure. There it was,
the momentarily punished sheep. The wolf approached, spy like and unheard, its
mind in a storm of thrill, running, buzzing, exploding, imploding. And so it bit.
The sheep woke from its dream in horror as the wolf gazed down in its flesh.
The sheep watched its dripping blood on its perfect cloud suit, a river of life
set free in the spirit sea. In its manic trance, high on ecstatic rage, the
wolf suddenly found itself belonging. I am now part of you, screamed the wolf in its fury.
Every night you are part of us, said the sheep. It is you who chooses to go
back to your mountain for you only belong in the moment, you are blessed with
the present of your bite, yet your curse is past and future. As for I, it is
the present that is curse. I thank you for your bite for I waited upon it and
dreamed of it like every day you wait for the night. The wolf did not listen,
the wolf bit harder and harder as the other sheeps ran around the enclosure
with fear. The wolf now satisfied, raged with gladness and happiness, feeding
also from the scared and scarred looks from the rest. The punished sheep’s body
laid on the grass, but its good self now bound for the river Styx, a cruise upon Charon’s
boat. And the wolf, bringer of peace in all its splendour with a crown of fire in
the manners of Atilla, went back to the mountain, satisfied of its deed
and forgetting its deed, exiled by its own being, but fully ready to do so again tomorrow.
I rarely ever write although I used to as a child. This was meant to be a children story but it turned out to be something different.
Please judge and criticise, hope you enjoy it, thanks a bunch. (:
There once was a wolf who lived high up a mountain.
In hours of sunlight, the wolf watched the sheeps go about
their day. The sheeps were well aware of the wolf’s gaze upon
them and lived in fear of its gigantic teeth. They knew that when night fell
and lit only by its hanging moon; the wolf would come down from its steeple.
Half a day was spent lazing around
the green grass by the sheeps, that same half was spent roaming around rocky mountains
by the wolf. The other half was spent sleeping with one eye open by the sheeps
and that same half spent quietly watching them by the wolf; waiting for the
opportune moment that it would finally grind its jaw in their cloud like white
coats. And so night did fall.
The wolf zig-zagged its way to the spacious plains of the
earth and finally reached its destination; the sheep enclosure. A little forest
stood next to it. Its inanimate pines, the wolf thought, had always been its
closest friends. For they did not speak, nor make noise, nor think, nor feel.
There was not an ounce of judgment in them. These, he said, must truly be happy
to express so little.
With its gentle paws, the wolf took a few steps towards the
enclosure very careful not to break a twig. The wolf knew that if it was to
wake the sheeps, all would be lost and lose the chance use its bite. On the other hand, the sheeps counted on the twigs
like their human masters counted on their ear screeching devices when a stranger was too close
to home. The sheeps also knew that the wolf held trees and twigs in high
regard; that though they could not betray the wolf by themselves; the wolf could help them
do so by a single misplaced move.
But the twigs did not break and even if it did, the wind in
the imposing pines’ arms would muffle the sound. And so the wolf took its steps
towards the closest sheep. This was the punishment for every sheep that did not
follow the pack; they would have to sleep at the border of the group. ‘’Oh what
a drag, these sheeps thought, sometimes, we wish we were wolf, to be free to
roam the peaks of the earth, to be free and wild, away from the bustle of the
blinding grounded white clouds.’’
And so the wolf came close. Its drooling tongue and
stalagmite teeth, its fiery yet focused eyes, its pointy ears aware; wise like
ancient pyramids.
This was it, thought the wolf. Every day it sat on top of its
mountain watching the sheeps. Oh them that laugh and know not the loneliness of
the rocky mountains, them that play all day so care free, the naïve look in
their eyes, their clumsy walk. And I, I who swoon in dry typhoons, who cannot
accept acceptance yet suffer the pressure of belonging, crucified on my
mountain, prophet like I scream the same words ‘’Why hast thou forsaken me ?’’.
A bite inside their fur is all I need. A taste of their blood, a touch inside
their souls, the wolf thought, would be just like when its paw touched
the surface of a lake, calmly disturbing the sleeping water.
And so the wolf slowly entered the enclosure. There it was,
the momentarily punished sheep. The wolf approached, spy like and unheard, its
mind in a storm of thrill, running, buzzing, exploding, imploding. And so it bit.
The sheep woke from its dream in horror as the wolf gazed down in its flesh.
The sheep watched its dripping blood on its perfect cloud suit, a river of life
set free in the spirit sea. In its manic trance, high on ecstatic rage, the
wolf suddenly found itself belonging. I am now part of you, screamed the wolf in its fury.
Every night you are part of us, said the sheep. It is you who chooses to go
back to your mountain for you only belong in the moment, you are blessed with
the present of your bite, yet your curse is past and future. As for I, it is
the present that is curse. I thank you for your bite for I waited upon it and
dreamed of it like every day you wait for the night. The wolf did not listen,
the wolf bit harder and harder as the other sheeps ran around the enclosure
with fear. The wolf now satisfied, raged with gladness and happiness, feeding
also from the scared and scarred looks from the rest. The punished sheep’s body
laid on the grass, but its good self now bound for the river Styx, a cruise upon Charon’s
boat. And the wolf, bringer of peace in all its splendour with a crown of fire in
the manners of Atilla, went back to the mountain, satisfied of its deed
and forgetting its deed, exiled by its own being, but fully ready to do so again tomorrow.