The Wolves

There were only two people in his life he failed to counsel. 

The man was practically a genius in his field, honestly. He was praised by a countless number of people. There was something about him that just made him a wonderful person to open up yourself to, to tell him of your woes and the worries in life that either you can't talk about to anyone, or because no one else seems to be able to help you with it. It was well wondered if he could ever fail at what he did best.

The first was his wife. She had been viciously abused in the past, yet had managed to stay standing, somehow. However, the years withered her strength away, the sleeping dogs would not lie, and as she slowed, the wolves crept closer ever so slowly. Of course, she couldn't know that at first. They'd been too far away. As they came near, she could hear the faintest of howls, just at the bare edge of hearing, almost inaudible. The howls drew closer, grew clearer. A chill gradually seeped in, freezing. Next came the padding of their feet on the ground, and she kept slowing down. She could hear low growls coming nearer, the sound of their heavy breathing. And finally, as she lay, tired and worn out, they lunged.

That was the most painful bit, apart from realising that she was gone forever. All those years of comforting others, of helping them solve their problems and he never properly noticed. He had tackled the others' wolves, all their demons, even though they were not with him. And she, the one person who stuck by him, and he somehow, God help him, somehow, he just never noticed the ones behind her. And now she and wolves are long gone, and where was he? 

He heard their howling, now. It got louder as they drifted closer and no one could help him the way he helped others. His wolves were so much faster, so much stronger; the cold, so much more numbing, biting deep. 

Tonight, he sat down on the edge of the rooftop, looking out at the city lights. The view was utterly beautiful, breathtaking, stars and comets on the ground instead of the sky. Somehow, he missed that too, but it was understandable. He heard the padding of their feet as he finally slowed, unable to move his heavy feet any further. Their growls drew closer and closer; he could almost smell their breath. He closed his eyes before they lunged and, at the same time, pushed himself off. 

There were only two people in his life he failed to counsel. The first one was his wife. 

The second one was himself. 

Rasheed Khan is a hug monster making good music but terrible puns and jokes where he's probably the only one laughing. Ask him how to pronounce his name at aarcvard@gmail.com