"Golden eyes filled with such animosity that it chilled the heart of the man who faced the beast, the beast which gnarled and gnashed its teeth. Golden eyes flashed with such hatred, such dislike, it seemed as if the devil had inhabited such a fine creature as this pure white wolf, which stared at the man who was shaking. Trembling in his very boots, he had no where to run, no where to hide, no weapons to guard himself with, and no way to survive. Snow white pause pattered softly against freshly fallen snow, circling its prey, biting at his heels causing him to jump from where he stood rooted to the floor.
The great white wolf, the bane of mankind. Home to the forest, and home to the fields. Animosity, its eyes read. Hatred and harsh brutality, that was all the man could see. Not the warmth of the yellow-amber coloured which he's so admired from the photographs that he'd been shown not four days earlier when he'd rushed towards Alaska. White boots crunched on the snow as he shifted position, slowly circling, ever watching. A great white expanse, a great white wolf, and a great white lie? How had they all combined to bring him here? Why would he let himself be duped into such a stupid venture as this? Like a curious lamb to the den of the wolf, so he had been led from the comfort of a toasty warm office in New York, to the bitterly cold wilds of the Alaskan wilderness. Was he near Anchorage? He couldn't remember, his tracks had been washed away by an ensuing snow storm. They had warned him, begged him, pleaded him to not go out alone.
Would Harry Clemens stay put? Of course not, his reporter's instinct had lead him to greatness among those in the New York newspapers. Time Magazine would kneel at his feet for an in depth study on wolves in their natural habitat. One man, alone away from the comforts of the modern world. One man wearing thick North Star winter gear, no snow shoes to speak of, nor knowledge of survival. Mr. Clemens was a dead man, tears froze to his face in the minus 30 degree weather. He could only pray to the Lord on high that this would be a quick death. A thud was heard and something shoved him into the ground face first, a warm feeling spread over him as darkness enveloped him, he was calm...oddly enough the pressure of teeth breaking through his flesh did nothing to cause him pain or discomfort. He slipped into eternity, that which he had wished to capture on paper had taken his life that day. No one would know what happened to dear Mr. Clemens, no one would know that he had been devoured by a lone wolf." The book shut with a dull thud of old, yellowed pages against each other. A small lump in the covers shifted, a yawn filtered past the thick blankets pulled up to the young one's chin. A mother's soft smile caused the child to close her eyes contentedly, a gently kiss to the forehead and the child groaned in mock annoyance.
"Mummy...don't please, I'm ten I can go to bed without a kiss goodnight." A small voice giggled, the mother's hand brushed against her forehead brushing soft blond bangs from her eyes.
"You may think that you do not wish to have a kiss goodnight," The mother's voice was soft, melodic and gently it was aiding the child in feeling tired, "But a mother knows that a story and a kiss good night go a long way to aid in hastening one known as the Sandman."
"Oh please..." A soft sigh escaped the coral pink lips of the child whose mussed blond hair lay scattered around the pillow, terribly pale it was apparent that this girl was indeed ill. More ill than she could ever be.
An almost sad smile passed over the mother's face as the hospital machine beeped softly beside them, there was a whirr as more liquid slipped through the IV attached to her wrist. "Go to sleep," She kissed her gently on the forehead again, each moment as precious as the next. "Do you wish to sleep with your hair piece on or off?" The sunken in eyes that gazed up at here were dull, pale skin was darkened by greying shadows at the mouth and eyes.
"No mum...it falls off and gets in my face..." Frail arms reached up wrapping around the neck of her mother. Hands so bony, one could count each individual bone. A living, skin clad skeleton. That's what became of little Rose Hollander, having suffered from headaches for a long time her mother finally took her to the hospital only to find that the tumour that was pressing on her head wasn't going to disappear.
"Alright, Rose.." The gentle, worn hand slipped the blond wig off the girl. Mrs. Hollander eyes were tired, tired but happy. Reading, that was something she and her daughter always had in common, particularly things with wolves in them.
A raspy breath escaped Rose as she drifted off to sleep, was dying a warm comfortable feeling that just washed over you? Maybe it was. A melody was being hummed in the dimly lit hospital room, she was lucky that the woman beside her had been moved to a different wing. She now had a whole room to herself to do what she pleased.
Tears dripped from the face of the worn out woman of about 25, Rose had been an 'unplanned child' a 'disgrace' the family. At the age of 14, she had met Mr. Hollander. The two had been drinking one night, when her parents were out, other than being completely alienated than her family life was good for 14 year old Annabelle Richardson and 15 year old Joe Hollander. Rose had been born while her mother was 15 years of age, two months after her birthday.
Joe had left the room, making another doughnut and coffee run that would stretch into the we hours of the morning. Annabelle brushed her fingers through her long, reddish brown hair. Brown eyes were almost grey with fear, fear and worry. The pastor came twice a day to check in on the dying child. It would be days now, days not weeks like the doctor had promised. Her legs no longer worked, that part of her was now dead. Her forehead pressed to her daughter's lap she let out a tired yawn, she set to praying clinging to a faith which seemed to grow stronger each day she found she needed her God.
"Why?" That was the question on everyone's mind, and it was unanswered. She had been a happy, grade A student, she was enrolled in a sport, sang, danced. She was her parents' pride and joy. It seemed so unfair that someone so young and so full of life would eventually simply waste away to nothing.
The pretty pink skirt twirled about the girl's legs as she spun and spun then spun some more in the wide, then tight, circles she made along the field. Her blond hair eventually stopped moving as she did, resting over her small shoulders. She was healthy, she could dance, she could play and nothing could destroy her world. Rose's blue eyes twinkled gaily, her soft red mouth curled into a smile as she started to skip across a field.
This was her world, free of pain, free of fear and she could make it into anything she wanted. Imagine it, and so her mind made it. She stood still, face upturned towards the warm sun as she kept her eyes shut tightly, a wide grin plastered on her face. Someone was crying, she ran around trying to find the person until she realized something. It was her mother.
"Mummy..?" She paused, sitting up in bed staring at the crying woman there was a doctor beside her patting her shoulder, sunlight streamed in through the window causing her to smirk. "Oh please I had JUST fallen asleep." She turned back to her mother now standing with her arms crossed a frown on her face, "Do stop crying, see? I'm getting better I can stand!" She giggled and wrapped her arms around her and went to lean in before falling flat on her face. "Wha..." She blinked she was 'inside' her mother so to speak. "Wait...I'm not dead am I?" She turned quickly on her heel, there was her laying down on her back asleep. Her chest rose and fell, she stared in wonder, "If I'm alive then how am I here..." She frowned, her arms crossed as she walked over waving her hand over her body's eyes. A doctor held a clip board, she jumped up behind him to peer over his shoulder. Beside her name was Comatose.