Wolf_Chapter 1

         Nothing could be compared to those few seconds when she first saw them, the eyes.
         Her eyes held the new set of lamp like, blue-gray ones, which held a curiosity Amy couldn’t comprehend.  This was a curious meeting.  He had waited a long time to meet this human girl, and hoped that he could make his point clear…if only he could figure out what it was he wanted exactly.  He was bored of watching every night.  Tired of protecting this flimsy piece of flesh, as a guardian and nothing more…
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         It was the usual evening.  I rushed through the last hours of the day, praying for the sun to set sooner.  Then I waited.  I waited even longer for my mom to turn off her TV in the living room, and to go to her own room for the night.  When I finally heard her snores, I grabbed my flashlight and book and headed to the basement doors.  I slipped out as quiet as a dropped feather and I knew I was free.  I could hear my heart pound with delight.  There wasn’t anyone to yell in my ear that it was bedtime.  No one to stair at me and say I was too distant.  Just me, my thoughts, and the cool night sky to calm my nerves and refresh my soul in a way that sleep never managed to.  Crickets chirped.  Cars grumbled on the nearby highway.  Frogs croaked.  A stream trickled and spit.  Music sounded distantly.  And the…whatever it was…that lived in the thick oak tree at the bottom of my yard’s hill scratched its way up and down as usual.  I smiled, knowing no better time of day…or should I say night…than this.
         But halfway through a paragraph in my book, something changed.  The…whatever it was…stopped clawing, and a noticeable amount of frogs stopped croaking.  I looked up.  A shadow, dark and large, was lumbering up the hill, towards me.  I froze, wondering what I could do.  Before I thought of anything good, I saw them…the eyes.
         I jumped to my feet, but I didn’t notice myself standing.  I “Oh!”ed loudly - I don’t scream - and watched as the eyes moved closer.  I hyperventilated.  My knees shook.  Then the figure moved out from under the shadow of the tree and into the moonlight cast by a shrinking half moon.  A large, wolf-like dog was staring timidly up at me.
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         “Oh!”  The sound hurt his ears, even though it wasn’t that loud.  Maybe it was just the thought that he had scared her that hurt.  He hadn’t meant to scare her, although he had expected it.
         ‘No, I just want to see you,’ he thought, furiously willing her to understand. ‘I want to meet you.  I don’t bite…much.’ He grinned at his internal joke.
         The girl, Amy, jerked in surprise and fell to the ground.  He dropped his grin;  she had thought it was a threat.
         ‘Less threatening.’  He said to himself, ‘Make her see I’m not hurtin’ anyone tonight.’
         Trying hard but failing to be nonchalant (wanted to look cool), He flopped down next to the warm indent in the grass where Amy had been laying.  It took about five minutes of frozen poses and slowly settling breath, then, Amy moved, very slowly so as not to startle the dog into snapping at her.
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         Stupid! Stupid…stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid!  I was chanting to myself as I inched, and literally inched inch by inch, towards this strange dog.  I was attempting to find a logical reason for this.  The dog would be as high as my chest if we were standing side by side; and his massive paws didn’t seem too inviting.  But I wanted to see it, this dog.  I wanted to touch it.  Stupid!
         He turned his head, and I could see his eyes again.  I was scared, and I began to babble…
         “I-I don’t really taste that good, you know.”  My voice felt decayed, faint but squeaky.
         The dog raised a canine brow (is that normal for a dog?).  To my surprise, I knew what it meant, or at least I guessed what I thought it meant, “Oh? And how would you know?”
         “I mean it, mosquitoes don’t even like me…But at least I never have to wear repellant in the summer.  I heard it gives you cancer.” Am I talking to a dog?  A dangerously gigantic one at that.  Am I crazier than I thought I was?
         The dog raised it’s shackles once more.  I stiffened, but this time I noticed that this gesture was more of a grimace, a kind of doggy smile.  He stopped…smiling?…quickly.
         “Sorry,” I looked down, finally trusting this dog enough to turn my eyes away, “But…I don’t know what to do.”  Again I wondered who I was talking to, surely not this dog.
         He gazed searchingly at me, and I kept my head down.
         “I‘m going to bed.”  I stood to leave, and the dog whined. “Go home.”
         He whined again.
         “Its not like I wont be here tomorrow, go home.”  I pointed off in the direction he came.
         He disappeared.
         I sighed.
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         The TV was shouting the 6:00 news to an empty kitchen as Amy cooked dinner the next evening.  Sunday had gone so fast, she felt a bit depressed.  Amy was making stir fry for herself and her mother, in case her mom actually came home in time for dinner.  Amy took a spatula and stirred the veggie mix.  Her mind wasn’t on the now burning rice, nor was it following the news reporters’ constant babbling.
         “…the Prime Minister of England has asked president Howard for his support…”
         No, her mind wasn’t listening.  She was contemplating her odd dream.  She usually hated dreaming, mostly because she had nightmares almost every night, but the night before had been a pleasant dream if not a strange one.
         “…following the withdraw of American troops in Iraqi and South America…”
         Amy flipped a seared pancake onto her plate.  And it was so real. she thought, Usually dreams seem more…unrealistic? stupid?…once you wake up and drink some coffee.  I can remember the dream as well, if not better, now than I did this morning.
         “…and political disarray in China has spread doubts in the minds of Americans…”
         Maybe she was just overcomplicating things.  Yes, the dream was detailed and realistic (maybe a little insane); but the dream really had not been any more vivid than her nightmares.  She just made a point to forget those.  She wanted this dream to be real because it was a good dream.
         “…What do you have to say about the political war in Europe, Jeff?…”
         “Politics.”  she murmured, hearing one word out of the million that rang from the TV.  “China‘s still stupid enough to say communism‘s going to make peace.”  World peace, China’s emperor/dictator claimed, was only achievable by equality.
         Amy flicked the TV’s switch; she was in the mood for cartoons and all these politics were making her head feel heavy.  She stopped at the first cartoon channel she found and went to turn the burner off on the stove.  When she turned to the TV again, she saw the large face of a cartoon wolf.  It was the story of the three little pigs, and the wolf had just disguised himself as a sheep in a basket.  Of course it was obvious.  And the pig didn’t fall for it.
         In the end, the wolf never got the pigs, which was sad, in a way.  Amy had always thought it was unfair for the wolf, or Tom (like in Tom and Jerry).  These characters work so hard to get what they want, but are never satisfied.
         Amy sighed…I wonder if the dog will be there tomorrow night?
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         “Amy?  Amy, wake up.  The bell rang.”  It was an irritated voice that challenged her peaceful nap.
         “I‘m coming, I’m coming.”  I flapped a hand in the air towards the voice and lifted my face off of my other arm.  It was too soon.  I was reliving my dream about the dog and enjoying every minute of it.  I decided, when the dog failed to show up the night before, that the whole experience had been a dream.  It nearly killed me (exaggeration) to admit it, though.
         At any rate, fourth period was over, and it was lunch time.
         The lunchroom, the lunch table where I sit, my lunch: nothing out of the ordinary.  Nothing unexpected.  But ever since the dog arrived two nights ago-and I kept having to remind myself that it was just a dream-I had been feeling odd.  I was listening to the conversations.  They seemed like the conversations yesterday.  People my age didn’t put much effort into finding interesting topics to talk about.  It’s all gossip, or inside jokes that don’t seem to ever get old.  I never enjoyed talking about things that lose its meaning in only weeks time.  Listening is fine because I could always make fun of them in my head.  I just sit there and smile, and my companions don’t notice.  Or they do, but they don’t tell me that.
         “Amy.”
         The senior girl that sat next to me during lunch turned her attention on me.  She looked like she had just been laughing hard, because her freckled cheeks looked red tinted.
         “What.”
         She leaned over, “Tim asked me to tell you to turn on your cell phone.”
         “Umm, why?”
         She rolled her eyes sarcastically, “Well, maybe he wants to text you.”
         That’s not what I meant but, whatever.
         “I know, but what’s wrong?  He doesn‘t usually text me during school.”
         “I don’t know, just do it.”  And she went back to the group conversation.
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         I had always thought texting was a bother, just an annoying way for people to sneak gossips in the middle of class.  And finding the right letters was annoying in itself.  So I left lunch early and hid out in the back stairwell by the emergency doors so I could have a nice chat with my best friend, Tim.  I loved this spot.  Sometimes I would skip lunch or a study hall and read here, which was almost as peaceful as my backyard at midnight.
         I pushed “1” for speed dial, and waited for Tim to answer his phone.
         “Hello?”
         “Hi, Tim, what’s wrong?”
         “Nothing in particular.”
         That raised my suspicions.  I had known Tim for years, ever since he had fought off some bratty girls who were bullying me in elementary school.  From then on he had been my best friend, and in my eyes, my big brother.  He and his father moved into my neighborhood, and I got to play with him even when he graduated to middle school.  In other words, I knew Tim well.  He was a quiet man (responsible yet a little spontaneous at times), but it wasn’t usual for him to do something without a reason.  Maybe I was blowing things out of proportion again, like the dog incident.
         “So, you just wanted to say hi?  That’s odd.”  I said, trying to sound sarcastic.
         “I wanted to take you somewhere after school.  Would you meet me at the elementary building‘s playground?”
         “Depends.  Why?”
         “I just want to hang out today.”
         I sighed and tried to visualize my planner, making sure my homework load wouldn’t be overwhelming.  “I guess we could go somewhere.”
         “Good.”
         And he hung up.
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         It was cold, but with my hands tucked snugly into my jacket sleeves, they couldn’t feel the bitter metal chains of the swing.  I had my arms wrapped around the chains as well, and I was swaying slightly as the wind pushed my swing.  Tim was late.  And I was waiting.  The wait would only last a bit longer because I wasn’t planning on waiting more than a few more minutes.  Tim had a bad habit of being late, a flaw that we both shared.  Maybe it was a personality type, we did have similar personalities.
         I was examining the sky, as I always do when I get bored, when I heard footsteps behind me.  I didn’t bother to turn around.
         “You‘re late.”  I said, nose still pointed upward at the spot where the dirty clouds revealed barely a pinprick of light from the hidden sun.
         “You‘re early.  I never said what time to meet me.”  He took a swing next to mine.
         “And that means you can make your date wait for hours?” I said, knowing that there had never been any romantic feelings between the two of us.
         “Minutes.” he corrected. “And my date decided to wait.  I didn‘t force her.”
         “I didn‘t want you to get mad, and it felt like hours.”
         There was a pause in our conversation as Tim examined the clouds as well.
         “We should go.  Come on.”  he slung my bag over his shoulder and started off towards the parking lot.  I trotted alongside of him.
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         “Where do you want to go?”  Tim pulled out onto the main road in front of the school.
         There was a lot to do in a town like this one.  It was only about twenty minutes from Washington D.C. and these suburbs were about as bustling as DC itself.  But Amy didn’t like crowded areas, unless she was left alone.  When she was alone, she enjoyed watching the different kinds of people living the only moments of their lives that she would probably get to see.  But it was draining after a while.  All these people kept her from being able to do things the way she liked.  Like reading outside.  She would read more during the day, but there were a lot of people who would stare at her (mostly immigrants that, granted, didn‘t realize that staring was rude).  She liked watching people, but she didn’t stare.
         Amy thought about what she might like to do, “I really don‘t know.  It would be nice if we went somewhere that wasn‘t crowded.”
         “Library?”  he said.
         She laughed.  It was a joke of theirs.  The library was never crowded because people didn’t like to read, at least that was Tim and Amy’s theory.
         “No?” he said.
         “Nope, I‘m not in the mood.” Reading reminded Amy of the dog.
         “Why?  Did something happen…” he paused, “…at school?”
         “School?”  she tried sounding casual; Amy didn’t want to have to explain to him that she was crazy. “No, nothing out of the ordinary.”
         There was a few minutes of silence as Tim turned onto a road that lead to Amy‘s favorite restaurant.
         He sighed. “I hate it when you lie to me.  Are you still having nightmares?”
         He sounded like a father scolding a child.  Amy was used to this.  She liked the way he took care of her, which made up for her own father’s absence in her life.
         “No, actually.  I had a good dream last night.  I was outside reading like I always do, and a big dog came and sat with me.”
         “So that’s all?”
         Amy was surprised.  What was all this about?
         “Tim, what’s wrong?”
         Tim sighed yet again, “The debates in Europe are heating up.  America hasn‘t exactly taken a side, but both sides are worried that we’re going to choose an ally soon.”  He pulled up in front of the restaurant, and turned his strong-jawed face towards Amy. “You say your parents are pretty important people in the government?”
         “Umm, yeah…you know my dad’s always out of the country.  We used to joke that he was a spy, remember?”  He had always been busy working in the CIA, and lately Amy’s mom had been getting home later than usual as well.  Both of Amy’s parents worked in the government.  Her fathers job with the CIA required him to keep his occupation a secrete, but according to Amy’s father, this secrete was normal for the job.
         Tim, who never showed many facial expressions, narrowed his eyes. “You do realize that political wars don’t usually stay in the formal political debates.”
         Amy stopped to ponder for a few seconds. “You mean, you think someone‘s going to nuke us soon?”
         “No one will use nuclear warfare.  It wouldn‘t be smart to bomb a country whose allies have equally powerful bombs to use on you in return.  No one wants a nuclear war.”
         “Then you think they‘re going to declare war?  You know, build up an army and stuff.”
         “No.  Everyone nowadays is so bent on peace that to openly declare war would make the world your enemy.  Not unless you had loyal allies.  That isn‘t the case in politics today.”
         “What then?”  She was getting tired of the guessing game.  Tim was the one who loved history and politics, not Amy.  No, Amy was a dreamer.
         “If they need to get something done, like quieting an opponent, they‘ll use spies and assassins that are especially trained to avoid detection.”
         “But the government would know if our leaders started dying, wouldn‘t it be obvious?”
         “Yes, but finding who is doing it would be different.  If you do find them, you’d need to declare war.  A war right now would be dangerous.”
         Amy rolled my eyes, “So you think America would send assassins too?”
         Tim nodded, “They‘d have to.”
         Amy remembered what had started this conversation, and asked, “You‘re worried that I‘m going to be murdered?”  And She started laughing without waiting for his response.
         Tim raised his voice defensively, whereas before he had been speaking in a hushed tone. “Your dad could be one of those assassins.”
         Amy laughed harder.
         He smiled too.  One of his rare, kindly smiles that always made Amy happy.
         “Not likely, my dad‘s not much of a fighter.”
         “You should be careful anyway.” his voice was serious, his face still smiled yet.
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         She’s here again.  This woman with her book.  The girl who smells like snow.
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         I read without reading.  The words flew through my mind, yet I wasn’t processing any of them.  The night air was different as the season changed from a chilly autumn to a bare winter, but I was enjoying the smells of coming winter all the same.  I was unusually unfocused tonight because of the…worries?…that my thoughts kept bringing to the surface.  No, I wasn’t worried about Tim’s words.  At least I thought I wasn’t.
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         I can hear her heart.  And she smells different.  She smells worried tonight.
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         I had had another nightmare the night before.  My nightmares were always different, although the main themes were the same.
         I would be running from something, yet I would never know what.  I would be running through crowds of people in the middle of a city.  I would scream for someone to help me, but most people ignored me and those who did notice me looked at me with a disgusted glare that made my skin crawl.  The strange thing was, I could see all the people’s faces clearly, which goes against the usual dream phenomena.  Usually you can’t see faces, as I‘m told.
         The nightmare would always have me running around for hours until I find a dark ally.  The ally would be crowded as well.  I would enter it out of curiosity.  A man whose face I couldn’t see would laugh and people around me would start dying.  I don’t know why, but I would always wake from my dream feeling guilty, as if it was my fault those people died.
         These dreams were getting worse, to the point that I almost couldn’t sleep at night.
         I felt demented, like I was secretly an insane mass murderer.  Secretly, meaning I hadn’t really told anyone my dreams yet.  Yes, I told people that I had nightmares, but when I explained to them the finer details of the dream, I conveniently forgot to tell them about the deaths.  There were also other variations of the dream in which I would carry a gun and fire at the people around me in the streets, but I skipped mentioning those altogether.
         Tonight, I wasn’t feeling particularly insane, but Tim’s words about assassins had inadvertently touched something in the part of mind that held my nightmares.  I needed someone to confide in, someone who wouldn’t worry about my insanity, or tell me I was being overdramatic.
         There was a soft crunch that startled my out of my reverie.  I hadn’t realized how quiet the air seemed until this noise disturbed it.  It wasn’t immediately obvious to me what had made the noise, although, had I not been distracted, I could have guessed what was approaching from the bottom of the hill.
         “You again.” I shifted herself, letting the open book fall from my lap. “You‘re supposed to be a dream.”  I surprised myself by not being surprised.
         The dog came from out of the shadows with a questioning look in his extraordinary eyes.  I took it to mean, “What do you mean?”
         “I‘m not crazy,” I tried assuring myself in a whisper, but failed, “I mean that I hoped I was dreaming, because I don‘t want to be crazy.”
         The dog coughed, covering one of his growling laughs.  This is too strange;  and this dog is too…Human.
         The dog rolled his eyes, “Maybe you are crazy.  Who’em I to say I’m not a figment of your imagination?”
         “Shut up, you‘re supposed to comfort me.”
         I was hurt by this, even if it was obviously a joke.  Maybe I’m crazy.  My nightmares made me wonder more than this dog did.  People who are insane see things that destroy them.  Like the crazy old Japanese-American lady that used to live a few houses down from my house.  She was convinced beyond reason that the Americans were trying to kill her.  She made several attempts to get to Japan, illegally, before she finally shut herself in her house.  After about two weeks, neighbors began worrying, thinking she might’ve died.  They called the police.  The police tried getting into her house, finally attempting the garage.  When they looked in through the garage window, they found that the old lady had hooked some kind of electric up to a gas tank.  She had obviously made a bomb.  Definitely destructive.
         I couldn’t help myself.  I felt my throat burning, and a few tears dripped solemnly down my cold cheek.  I covered my face with my jacket sleeved arms, so I couldn’t see the dog.
         I felt a wet nose touch my ear, and I could almost hear words of concern coming from him. “Are you ok?”
         “No, I‘m not.”
         “What’s wrong?”
         “I think I might be crazy.”
         “You know I was jokin‘, stupid.”
         “That’s got nothing to do with it.”  Well, only partly to do with it.
         “Then why do you think you‘re crazy?”
         I didn’t answer, but for some reason I wanted to.  I never wanted to tell anyone before, but this was different.  It was ok to tell him.
         So, after a pause, I told him…everything.