searching in the wind and crying in the dark a voice is heard howling at the pain inside that it cannot escape. No one, not even brethren, knows the torment it holds and what it will take to ease the suffering. No one truly cares either as the sound of twisted torment goes on so long that it is a deafening interference at this point. Agonizing crunches of mineral and metal as the bones begin to give way the weight of the soul. The poor damned creature wonders if the beasts of the wood can hear with their keen senses the breaking of ribs and legs and neck and spine. It is amusing even that this should be of concern but it is a method in the madness that will save our subject's sanity for years to come.
The wonderment of death has always fascinated me and it has always piqued my interest to find a communication with animals that I have. I have often wondered what they can truly hear and what they cannot, but I do know the subtle swish of two quiet fingers will beckon a beloved from a great distance when a full out loud holler cannot even bring forth my own offspring from her room when the whole house is quiet. I am devoted in my love to these animals, and even the ones I fear, I fully understand and adore. I respect their power and their choices in whom to allow and not allow to be a part of their lives. I offer no restraints to them except in rare cases where I deem it necessary for their fight or flight thoughts would put them in grave danger. My passion has been the distraction of my own pain and it is no wonder of my curious nature or the curious nature of those like myself. My own daughter suffers her own universe and though her physical pain is not the caliber of my own, I know her mental anguish is akin. I feel for her plight but am no more in love with her than say a stranger for her world to me is strange and my fondness for her is one of kinship and nothing more. I see her through until it is her time to take her own reigns and then her choices are her own.
So it would be of no significance to me to what she fears or dislikes and the reason why and my curiosity ends there. I have been thorough in her upbringing and given her so much more than my peers have given their own children. I still need a focus and for the most part sex gives me the perfect distraction to the pain I must endure. I grow tired but still require no more than five hours sleep as my biologicals wake me promptly whether I am ready or not. It's a game, really, to see what will give out first, my psyche or my being. A race if you will between sanity and mobility and neither seems to be letting up as I evolve, rather devolve, into something I don't want to be. Don't get me wrong. I am who I am supposed to be and what I was intended to be, but I am as unsure of where I am headed as the rest of the pack and with my insight it just seems so wrong. I no longer listen when I should or hear what is made to hear and am lost. A lamb in wolf's clothes and feeling so entirely out of place on the rock at moonlight's hour. All other wolfen accept me and fear me and I fear myself. Is there no one out there like me? Is there no one out there my equal who is afraid of themselves and looking for me? I am lost and getting more so and want the comfort of humanity to save what is left of what I am. And, for that, I abhor myself in my own perverted neediness. Desolate and codependent and unwilling specimen. When will this end and I be released from this prison?~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.
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