DUSK WULF

Written in a darker time, but still valid, I feel.
[My apologies for the profanity; I'd better make sure the Vicar doesn't read this...]



Bad wulf. 
Bastard wulf. 
Big, bad, bastard wulf. 
Call him The Dusk Wulf. 
I see Him.
He sees me. 
He is me.
And we are all together? 
Maybe.

Surly, sinister, salivating.
His growl is low, and deep.
Hungry. Angry. Threatening.
He can't huff and puff.
But...?
He'll destroy my home -- from the inside.
Again.

Come on, Dusk Wulf... do it.
What are you waiting for?
Chew up my sofa.
Piss on my carpet.
Hump my leg.
Shit on my bed.
Like you always do.
Do it now.

I loathe Him.
Ultra fucking hatred.
But my anger?
It's got nowhere to go.
As ever.
So I close my eyes.
I count to ten.
Then I keep counting.
Eventually, I look again.

The Dusk Wulf has gone.
But you can see He's been here.
He's done it all.
Visual echoes of his destruction
Reverberate around the room.
The stink is Hell-ish.  
So what now?
I can only clean my home
Once again
And pray that He won't return.

 

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Author: Buffy Devane

Anxietist; Cheerleader; Captain Posh.

4 thoughts on “DUSK WULF”

    1. Thank you, Professor… yes, there’s a mutual feeding going on sometimes, I feel. [Sadly.] I suppose the good thing is that I’m sans wulf right now, which is why it’s easier to share my thoughts on him[!]

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