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THE WOLF BOY by Colin Mackay, They were closing in on him and he couldn't run any faster, he just couldn't. It was broad, noisy daylight and there were people about, but they wouldn't do anything to help him, they never did. They just saw a bunch of kids mucking around, or at most one boy being chased by four boys, and they just walked by, because you couldn't interfere with kids these days, not unless you wanted the police to come calling. They didn't see a fugitive being chased by a lynch mob. Tommy had nowhere to run to, and when they caught him he didn't even fight. He was weak and gentle, wore glasses and thought that fighting was wrong. The ferocious glee in their faces scared him more than the pain of what they were going to do. When they dragged him into the waste land, he didn't scream for help because he was proud, and no one would have helped anyway. He didn't scream when they hit him either. He just kept asking, "Why? Why?" because he genuinely wanted to know. But they didn't tell him. They punched him, kicked him, spat and even pissed on him, but they didn't answer his question. When they were finished wiping their feet all over him, they walked away, laughing. It was broad, noisy daylight and there were people about but no one helped, no one cared, and the world went on just as though he didn't exist. Tommy was fumbling on the ground for his broken glasses when something showed an interest in him at last. He looked up, blinking through his tears. The dog's breath was warm, his eyes were gentle and understanding, and his hair was rough as a mat. Tommy tried to speak, but couldn't say anything. Unhappiness filled his throat like ammonia, it was cold and thick. All he managed was a loud gulp at which something cruel and vicious like a human would merely have laughed. The dog licked his face with a tongue like sandpaper. Tommy wasn't afraid, though the creature was enormous, the size of an Alsatian at least. Tommy closed his eyes, and his rapid, painful breathing slowed and became quiet and regular. Then he started, because the dog had nipped him on the lip. His mouth was already painful and bleeding, so he didn't really notice a little hurt that just lasted a second, but as he rubbed his face in bewilderment the dog turned and trotted off. Soon he had disappeared from sight among the piles of rubbish and long grass that covered the area. Tommy got to his feet and walked slowly home. Broad, noisy daylight. People on the pavement; zooming cars. He held a handkerchief over his nose until the bleeding stopped. His mouth, chin and throat were stained with blood; so were his hands and shirt. He weaved about a little because he was dizzy and his glasses were broken. No one paid any attention to him. People walked past, and the cars kept on zooming. A week passed. Tommy's parents wanted to get the cost of replacing his glasses, so the matter was taken up by the school. The school was very keen on taking up the matter of bullying. The way the school took up the matter of bullying was to call the victim into what was called the 1-2-1 Room which was painted bright yellow and hung with pictures of flowers and things. In the room was a teacher who said "Hi, I'm Steve," and then did several things: [1] Looked concerned: [2] Looked at his computer: [3] Talked for a bit, using the phrases "up-front", "hands-on", "outreach", "relationship", and "community": [4] Looked concerned again, and [5] looked at his computer ... again. This had happened several times to Tommy, because the bullies could never resist breaking his glasses. It gave them particular satisfaction to stamp on them. Every time this happened, his parents complained to the school so they could get a grant to buy him new glasses. Every time that happened, he got called to the 1-2-1 Room where a teacher said, "Hi, I'm Somebody-or-other", then looked concerned, talked about relationships, and looked at his computer. Another week passed. Tommy looked at the night sky through his new glasses, and, seeing that the moon was full, said, "Please don't let them pick on me again tomorrow. Please! I'll do anything you want. Anything!" He didn't have any real hope. His parents were sitting downstairs watching television. He had done his homework. He had no friends, and outside was where they got at him. So he stayed in his room and played with his computer for a bit, and listened to loud music. Then the mobile rang and it was his mother downstairs watching television telling him to get ready for bed, so he grunted and went off to brush his teeth. He was tired, and his body had been full of aches and pains all evening. He lay down, switched off the light, and softened the music a bit. Then tapped a number. "Night, mum, night, dad," he said to his parents who were still downstairs watching television. "Night," they said. He closed his eyes, then after a while switched the music off completely. The moon came and looked in the window. An hour passed. A second. His parents switched off the television and went to bed. A third ... Suddenly Tommy woke. There were pains shooting all over him. Panic! God, what's happening to me? There was cramp in his feet like he was wearing hard heavy shoes two sizes too small, and his legs had red-hot needles sticking in them. I'm paralysed! I'm having a stroke! I'm dying! He was so frightened that he cried out aloud. 'Help!' The howl that hit the ceiling wasn't human. Tommy froze. Then tried again. "Ooooowwwwwooooohhhhh!" His eyes turned huge and he raised his hands. Two paws covered in black fur confronted him. He tried to get out of bed, floundered, and fell onto the floor. The room was dark, except for some faint silver moonlight, but strangely his eyes seemed happy in the dark, though his thick glasses were sitting on the table above his head. Despite the sheets and torn pyjamas he could see what he had become. A wolf! Impossible! Tommy closed his eyes tightly. I'm dreaming. He shook his head. His long ears flapped. I'm dreaming! No you're not, a little quiet voice insisted somewhere inside him. I am! I'm dreaming! He ground his teeth, and the long front fangs jutted over his lips. He tried to pinch himself, but his arms didn't seem to work the way they used to, and his hands ...! He opened his eyes again, and, yes, he was still a wolf. He gave himself such a fright that he sprang to his feet and stood growling with his hair on end. Then he saw himself in the body-length mirror which was on the door of his wardrobe. The growl faded away and his hair lay down. Hey! He was big and handsome, heftier-looking than the biggest Alsatian, and with a long elegant snout, clever eyes, and ears like radar scanners. Under his coat he could feel muscles moving. Muscles? Tommy had no muscles, he was hopeless in the gym, fell off everything and got laughed at. He turned and looked at himself sideways. Of course, he couldn't see all of himself at once, because the mirror was vertical and this new body of his was horizontal, but what he did see was pretty good-looking. Hmm, in fact not bad at all. He could get used to himself with a handsome, muscular body - even if the tail was a bit bizarre. But then he found he could control it, he could lift it and flourish it, and ... and he needed to pee. The toilet was downstairs. He trotted to the door and - damn it, he couldn't get hold of the handle. He scrabbled at it with his claws, and then tried it with his teeth, but it wouldn't move. And he needed to pee badly. Really badly. Eventually, using his teeth, he got the bed sheets and torn pyjamas into a pile with the mattress protector underneath them and let go there. Then he padded over to the window and stood up on his hind legs to look out. Oh, he wanted to be out there! His ears were picking up so much stuff they were twitching. Not only could he hear his parents snoring downstairs, he could hear the neighbours on both sides and over the road as well - even the ones who didn't snore, just breathed deeply. He could hear clocks ticking, refrigerators clicking through their cycles, dogs and cats in their baskets. And in the open under the stars there was so much going on! He nudged the window with his nose. I could break this, he thought, I could break it to pieces and land in the garden. All copyrights reserved |