1039
The Wolf and the Writer. By Rayle Seek
StandUnited
Slowly but surely Lucky crept up behind me, unaware I was writing. He then proceded to pounce onto me, in the process, knocking down my Golden Harvest Bread. Lucky isn't a person, he is a wolf. Yes I know, I'm insane to have tamed a wolf. But I've trained him well, and hes been my best friend and companion for 20 years. Im a writer, Im 30 years old, and am still going strong. What gives me my inspiration is Lucky. Without him, some of the many ideas would not have app appeared. Without Lucky, I am nothing. I remember it like it was just this morning. As a young boy, I was walking around in Winterfell, watching the snow fall gently. The snow was soft, can voered the ground like a blanket. With slow strides, and idled through the winter wonderland, admiring the beauty. I found something, moving underneath the snow. It was breathing heavily. To my suprise, it was a wolf! A wolf, with smooth white fur. It allowed him to blend in with the snow, so no one would be able to see him. I walked over to this wolf, to now hear is soft whimpering. I searched him, until I saw his leg, covered in a red substance. Looking closly, I found that it was blood, covering bite marks. He had proubly got into a fight with maybe his bretheren, and ended up losing. I tried picking him up but he kept growling at me. Knowing that I wouldn't get him to let me help, I grabbed one of my pieces of cooked pork. I gave it to him, and he instantly wagged his tail furiously. Slowly, and gently, I picked him up and carried him to my hut. When I was 6, my father and mother both died. There was a raid in our town, Fire, swords clashing everywhere, it was gruesome. In the process, both my Father and Mother were stabbed in the chest. I ran away, no where to go, no where to live, nothing to do. I then established this little hut, and got a job as a writer, yes, a writer at 10 years old. I did well. Pretty well. Very Well. 20,000 minas under a week. I could have made a mansion! But, I made a small hut, since it was only me and Lucky who would live there. Most of my money was spent on bookcases, carpet, torches, food, beds, chests, and weapons. Everything needed for me to survive. Then I started to buy many books, to start writing. Over the years, Lucky grew more and more attached to me. I actually had started my own life. Don't get me wrong, I missed my parents, but I have to admit, I was doing well without them. So here I write, I've established a home, a friend, a life. Soon, I become a renouned writer. With Lucky by my side, my inspiration skyrocketed. Until that dreaful, dreaful day.. I came home to find Lucky gnawing on his bone faster than usual. Something was obviously wrong, but I was stupid to not look into it. The next morning I woke up, only to see my best buddy, and companion, my best friend. Lifeless, fully pale, not one inch of life on him. It was devastating...truely devastating. Without my best buddy, how would I be able to write anymore? I was depressed. So very depressed. Every minute seemed like 8 years. I couldn't handle it. I've decided to kill myself, my life could not go on. The Knife to my chest now, and im going to............(book ends mysteriously) Never to be continued...