“I Am Not a Wolf”
Dec 12, 2019The sheep are done grazing and have gone home for the night. The meadow is empty and quiet. The sun sets behind the last standing skyscraper. I am sitting alone on a bench, massaging my frozen fingers.
On a bench across from me, a homeless man sleeps, shivering, mumbling. The ragged H&M bag on the ground next to him contains his whole life. Someone left a Tupperware of last night’s leftovers next to him. One meal to get him through the night. One meal to get him through the memories of his former life.
He dreams of the wife who once loved him and the children who greeted him with smiles at the end of the long day. Dinner smelled delicious. His glass of whiskey tasted good in his mouth. They talked about their days and dreamed of their perfect futures together as a family.
One glass of whiskey too many and that perfect future dissolved into an imperfect present. His wife couldn’t take it anymore. He became a danger to her and the kids. He became a danger to himself and she wasn’t going to watch him self-destruct anymore. Her broken heart could only be mended with him out of her life. So he took his bottle and left.
He grazes in the meadow with the other sheep throughout the day, soaking in as much of the sun as he can. A long time ago, he read somewhere that the sun is good for his body and brain. He hoped it would fix him. But it didn’t. To all the other sheep, he looks like a wolf. They keep their distance from him for fear of having their peaceful lives stolen from them.
“I am not a wolf!” he shouts at them. “I am just like you!”
They stare at him with wide eyes as they hurry past him and whisper in each other’s ears how nice it is to not be like him.
“I was like you,” he cries. The other sheep head to their warm homes. He heads to the cold comfort of his bench. He falls back into his dreams, hoping some wolf will snatch him up. Its teeth tearing through his flesh must be better than this. His flowing blood would keep his body warm while his life drains away.