Pain slashed through my body as the wolves pulled us to the ground. I heard my friends as their screams met mine, sharp teeth biting down into soft skin of our limbs. But the worse sound, a horrid sound, was the wolves as they tore my friends apart.
All I could think after they had they had left was why did they leave me alive? I realized later they had left me to come back and eat me, one of the doctors said that I was lucky to be in that wolf pack's area, because normally they dragged food back to a place where it's safe until they're hungry again.
Forcing my swore and pain ridden body form of the ground and half staggered, half dragged my self to the roadside, I didn't have enough energy to flag down a car, so I simply collapsed at the roadside. I would have prayed for help, but I had passed out from loss of blood.
When they found me, it took two blood transfusions and four operations before I was considered stable, but to the surprise of everybody, I was well enough to go home only three weeks later, although I was forced into agreeing to the doctors terms of bed rest.
I think the thing that hurt the most was that for the next month, I was recognized everywhere we went. Living in a big city was like that; the rouge wolf attack in a park that was surrounded by a city was a big thing and led to weeks of terror, and hunting them.
After a time, when they couldn't find anything; they put it down to some nutter hacking at the bodies, me passing out from trauma and then wild dogs feeding but because of trauma my mind but the dogs and the nutter together. No one believed me, no one except my dad who knew how headstrong I was.
I noticed early on that I was starting to feel strange. I was getting angry really easily. I was eating steak rare when before the attack I was a vegetarian. My pain tolerance levels where higher and I felt so much stronger.
The doctors put it down to stress, something about my mind finally coping with the attack. My dad was worried and took as long of work as he could, and when he went back to work they sent him to New York for a week. It was good timing really, other wise who would have know what could have happened to him.
It was a full moon and I'd gone down to the cellar for a bottle of red wine. Suddenly an excruciating pain rippled down my spine. I screamed as my body contorted, twisting and turning to change shape. There was...I guess it could have been classed as a kind of cytoplasm. It stuck to the wine bottles, the racks and walls, a sticky mess that covered everything but me, and yet it must have come from me. I lay curled in a ball whining. I was a wolf. Part of me, the wolf part I think, wanted to get outside and feel the night air.
I struggled in that form for days. When I woke in my once again human form; I was naked and covered in that horrid sticky cytoplasm stuff. After showering and checking the day/time, I quickly set to work cleaning the basement, and I had destroyed it; the vintage wines, the beams had scratches down them, and I didn't have any excuses, dad was going to be pissed.
He was back before I got home from college. He was in his office but shot out to greet me. "Hay dad, how was your business trip?" I asked in my most innocent voice, hoping to god he hadn't seen the cellar, which was in a much better state.
I had cleaned it threw the night. I couldn't disguise the scratch marks so I didn't even try, but with the spilled vintage wines cleaned up, the cytoplasm washed away, and any serving wine put in to its correct places, it was looking almost normal.
"Boring as usual. How are you sweetie, you look tired?" He wasn't really asking, it was in his you look o.k. but need to take better care of yourself so I'm telling you off, voice.
My dad was a fifty-three year old widower. He and my mother had waited well into their marriage till they tried for kids, my dad was thirty-six and my mother twenty-seven when they had me. My mother had died in childbirth to my baby brother 15 years ago, he had been premature and hadn't survived the week. I was three at the time. But I didn't feel as if I'd missed out on not having a mother. My dad had always loved me, had always been there for me, even in second grade when I fell off the swings and he'd run out of an important meeting.
Dad was tall and healthy although in the last two years he'd put on a little weight round the middle. But other then some light crows feet and a little grey in he's once jet-black hair, he didn't have any signs of aging.
"I didn't get much sleep last night, "I said laughing it off "Completely forgot I had a essay due in today."
"O.K. I've got work to do, so how about we order a pizza?" he suggested.
