“A writer is congenitally unable to tell the truth and that is why we call what he writes fiction.” ~
By Daginne Aignend
Pfft, I’m glad I’m home, as usual, I bought too much groceries from the local supermarket at the small village, and now I have to carry them all inside my cottage.
While I store my shopping, something flapped, and I see a piece of paper swirling down out of my bag. Curious I unfold it, and I see it’s a very detailed drawing of a wolf, flickering teeth, and some fluid is dripping out of its mouth, is it blood? And the most bizarre detail is that it looks like the wolf is smiling.
I decide to keep the drawing, intrigued by this odd image, and I put it behind the clean towels in one of my kitchen draws.
I love this little cottage, I really do. It’s my sanctuary after I found out the true nature of my beloved partner, Mitch, who revealed himself as a violent narcissist after being Mr. Charming in the beginning. I fled from his abusive manipulations and was lucky to find this adorable cottage on the edge of the forest. But today it feels like the house is slowly shrinking and tries to crush me. I have to get out of here.
The scent of trees and moss, I wander through little forests trails, deeply inhaling the aroma of the woods, when I suddenly notice the sun is already setting. I must have been walking for hours. The trees are dark silhouettes who surround me, my fantasy is running wild, their grotesque branches are reaching out for me. I hear them communicate with each other how to entrap me by whispering sinister words. Something cracked, and I panicked.
Running, stumbling, falling, it happened in a split second. I try to catch my breath when I hear a sound, a vague snorting. I lift my head.
Fierce amber eyes are looking back at me, glittering teeth as the creature growls maliciously. I crawl backward, prepared and waiting for the attack. Something whimpers weak, I squint, and I see a little wolf cub who’s crawling out of the protection of its mother, and I see a trail of blood. The she-wolf is badly injured, she desperately tries to protect her cub with her last resources. It was obvious she wouldn’t make it much longer.
I’m no longer frightened, just deeply touched by this tragedy. In a hunch, I roll on my back to show my submissiveness, and I wait. The silence is getting on my nerves as I suddenly hear a soft whining, the little cub is licking its mother. The she-wolf didn’t survive. Without further thinking, I grabbed the cub and took the little one home with me.
It’s two years later now, and I have cherished, nourished, and deeply loved the little wolf, who’s grown into a slender female. I called her Viva because she was enjoying her life to the fullest. One day she disappeared, and I guess she went back to the woods, and I hoped she found another wolf companion. It’s the natural way things go, and I always knew she would leave me one day, but I missed my little Viva terribly, and I prayed, though I’m not really religious, that my wolfie was happy.
‘Show yourself, you treacherous bitch’ Mitch is banging on my door, and it seems that he lost it. I’m concerned about this behavior but I hope I can talk some sense into him and open the door. Mitch is standing there and looks at me with haggard, bloodshot eyes. ‘Mitch, let’s talk about this, I’m sure we can work something out’ my voice trembles a little but I manage to stay calm, trying to cool him down. ‘You, filthy slut, do you think you can get away with this! Leave me just like that, I’m gonna make you regret what you did to me! The rage in his voice drives me back, now I’m getting really frightened. I don’t know where the knife came from as Mitch is coming towards me. I try to scream but somehow my voice doesn’t function anymore.
A flash, a snarl, a bundle of dark fur when the wolf rips Mitch his throat. The wolf is looking at me, I see it’s my Viva, blood dripping
Daginne Aignend is a pseudonym for the Dutch writer, poetess, and photographic artist Inge Wesdijk.
She likes hard rock music and fantasy books. She is a vegetarian and spends a lot of time with her animals.
Daginne posted some of her poems on her Facebook page and on her fun project website www.daginne.com, she’s also the co-editor of Degenerate Literature, a poetry, flash fiction, and arts E-zine
She has been published in many Poetry Review Magazines, in the bilingual anthology (English/Farsi), ‘Where Are You From?’ and in the Contemporary Poet’s Group anthology ‘Dandelion in a Vase of Roses’. Three poems are translated in Serbian and published in the Literary Review Belgrado.
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