Cyber Hobo

Emerald eyes glint dully in the soft moonlight. He can’t help but sit at the entrance to his cave and watch the silver orb rising into the sky each and every night. As it gets higher and higher, he pulls his head further into the cave, not wanting his burned, scarred face to be visible this night.

He used to be a proud wolf, with midnight fur and eyes that shone with strength. Yes, he had had his share of scars before, but none like this. Now he was something else, something broken and wretched. His fur was all but gone, seared away in whatever conflagration that had covered his body with thick scar tissue. Here and there a forlorn patch of black fur somehow survived between the knotted tissue. His ears were tattered nubs, most of their shape having been lost to the flames, his eyes no longer shone with strength, they were simply dull and dead. He was little more than a walking corpse at this point, struggling to hold onto the flimsy scraps of life that were left to him.

He whined pathetically and closed his eyes, the light from the moon getting to be too much for him. He was dying, he knew that much, his heart was just as broken as his body and the poison from the slowly rotting organ was seeping into the rest of his body, corrupting and destroying.

He felt the moonlight on his face and swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. Unable to shift out of the light without getting up anymore, he slowly rose to his feet, his legs shaking painfully, and hobbled deeper into the cave, pain shooting through his body. The hard stones at the entrance of the cave had opened up some of the scars on his chest, letting hot blood leak down his legs. As he wandered aimlessly to the back of the cave, he left bloody paw prints in his wake. It had happened before and it would happen again. He rose every evening to watch the moon come up, even though it caused him more than just physical pain.

Eventually he came to the filthy, pathetic den at the back of the cave and flopped down onto the soiled furs that served as his bed. There was more than a little dried blood on them already and the leaking wounds on his chest only added another layer as he curled into a ball, his scarred, hairless tail snaking over his muzzle. He tried to resist the call of sleep, but his body was tired and eventually he slipped into unconsciousness, fear of the dreams that would come making his body tremble.

In his dreams he ran through the forest atop his mountain home, in his dreams he was whole and unmarred by the seeping burns. The dreams were pleasant for a time but then… then they shifted into something more akin to memories. He had just made a kill, a mountain goat, a species common here. He had just settled down to feed, his muzzle full of hot blood that steamed gently in the cool evening air.  That was when she had appeared. Her coat was as white as moonlight and shimmering just the same. He was shocked, surprised, he had never seen another wolf before. He didn’t even know how he had ended up on top of the mountain in the first place. Only that there was no way down.

She was beautiful. He had sat there, stunned, as he watched her get closer and closer. instinct kicked in then and he carefully pulled the goat’s heart out and placed it on the ground next to him. A clear invitation for her to join him at his feast. She approached carefully and lay down next to him, her snowy flank touching his midnight paw as she leaned down and licked the bloody organ.

The scarred wolf sat up quickly, coughing up blood onto the furs. The dreams always came, no matter what he did. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood on the furs. It never got any better at all. He cursed himself again and again, cursed his foolishness, cursed his naivete and his inexperience. There was nothing left for him anymore, nothing but memories and shadows. He longed for death to sneak up on him and take the pain away and yet… it never did, he just clung on for dear life, unable to let go, unable to throw himself off of the mountain, too scared to take his own life. He was a coward, he knew it. If he had any strength he would just do it, release himself from the pain of his broken body.

He hobbled over to the natural basin in the corner of the den, where water dripping from the top of the cave collected, and drank as much as his scorched throat would allow. When he lifted his head he watched drops of blood swirling lazily in the water. He was close now, nature would do what his cowardice could not. There was no use for a creature that had no purpose in life.