My Wolves Can't Help Me Now

Chapter Five

Sang's perspective. 

The sun is bright in the sky, glaring into my window and wakes me up serving as my alarm clock. As soon as the sunlight fills my room I know it is time to start the day. I sit up in bed and swing my legs to the floor staring at the ground waiting for my body to wake up along with me. The window is open letting the wind carry the sound of the birds singing surround me. I walk over to the window and lean out just slightly enjoying one of nature's beauties. After a few minutes have passed I pull away, so I can get started on the morning chores. A sigh leaves my lips at the thought. Chin up Sang, it's only the kitchen. I tell myself. Heading down the stairs I make sure to avoid the creaky steps so I don't wake up Step Mother and Marie. Although, it is probably a wasted effort seeing as they are almost always knocked out cold until the afternoon.

Walking into the kitchen I see a pile of crumbs scattered on the floor and counters with a wrapper here and there. Looks like Marie had a midnight snack once more. First chore on the list is dishes. The sink is filled with them. It doesn't matter that I did them just last night, they keep coming and coming and coming. Marie and Step Mother are pigs. I turn the tap water on, grab the soap, and get going on the pile of dishes. If I don't do them no one will. I turn the radio on and hum along to the Highwayman. I turn it up, but not too loud as I do not want to risk waking Step Mother up.

Time passes by in a blur of soapy dishes  and wrinkled fingers. It was around eight in the morning when I was first hit with a dizzy spell that nearly sent me collapsing to the floor, just barely managing to grab the corner of the counter before I give the floor a hug. 

Sorry floor, not today. I stand up, straighten up the kitchen from the crumbs then grab some water, thinking I must not have had enough water lately. After a few sips I go to put my glass down, but it falls to the counter more than anything else as my hand could not bare to hold the weight of the glass at the end. It lands with a clink but otherwise remains intact. I think now's a good time to get started on lunch and leave my chores behind for a little while. I take out the slow cooker and round up the ingredients for cowboy stew. Once the vegetables and meat is all cut up I pour them in and turn the slow cooker on. I look at the time, nine o' five the clock reads. It should be done around eleven thirty giving me plenty of time to go climb a tree or two. Pulling my jacket on with my feet left bare I head out the back door with a skip to my step.

Finding the perfect tree to climb isn't always easy, but the great oak just seemed to call my name as I ventured further and further into the forest. Walking up to it I examine it's structure, location of the branches, and take a second look at the swaying limbs of the tree's to make sure they are safe to climb. They look sturdy enough so I grab the first branch then the second and third, finding my way around as I go. Eight minutes later I take a break resting my back against the tree bark, viewing the landscape from many feet above ground. I would say about nine maybe ten feet, could be more. Taking one last glance at the surrounding greenery I turn back around to continue on my way not planning to stop once more until I get to the top. The great views of the world can only be seen by great heights.

Reaching to the branch above my head I grab it to pull myself higher, the muscles in my arms screaming at me to stop but they can't stop me. No, not even the bruises littering my body can stop me, but my shoulder does. It doesn't sting and my vision isn't filtered into a red haze. I don't know how to say it, I just know that my shoulder hurts like no other. Muscles, ligaments, and my bones are burning bright hot. I hold onto the branch above me in a death grip, splinters dig into my hands, eyes stinging from the flakes of moss falling down, everything starts to move slowly with black dots covering every other square inch of my vision. Hands sore I realize my grip is slacking, my hands not moving how I command them to. Horror hits my heart hard as I let go and the ground gets closer and closer. I close my eyes, I cannot watch. My arms touch the ground first before my head follows suit and everything becomes lost to me.

The aches of my battered body are the first to bring me back to reality. Reaching my hands up to block the sun from blaring into my eyes I assess the damage done. Limbs strewn this way and that. My skin is bound to have more bruises than ever before. I start off with my legs. Wiggle my toes, check. Bend my knees, check. Feel along my legs, no blood, check. My arms follow and I continue on until I deem the rest of my body alive and in working order. The only thing is my skin once a pale color is now all kinds of ugly blacks, blues, and purples. Once done with my pat down I allow myself to take a deep breath and admire the beautiful place before me. The tall trees mix with the sky as birds chirp and ants crawl over my legs, lovely. I close my eyes as the pressure behind them becomes too much. A few minutes pass by before I hear Malcolm trotting over, snapping twigs at his feet as he comes. Malcolm is a wild wolf that lives deeper into the woods, but often comes out to see me when I go out into his woods. Malcolm is standing over me now, looking down at me as he tilts his head and a bark escapes his mouth. Even with my hands covering my ears they are still left ringing in the silence that follows. I glare at Malcolm.

"Not cool, Mal," I tell him. He just wags his tail. Malcom might be a wolf and an alpha at that, but he acts like no other wolves I've ever seen. Mal snorts then grabs the back of my shirt in his teeth and pulls, helping me to stand up.

"Thank you," I said, patting his big furry head. I start walking off knowing that the sun is further in the sky than it was earlier and that it is time to get home before Step Mother finds out I was gone.

"Sang! Sang! You whore, get over here!" Step Mother yells out. Too late. I walk faster, but it doesn't do much with the limp I have managed to acquire. Within seconds I am only a few feet away from Step Mother and in the next few seconds she is standing over me looking down as I swipe the blood away from my lip. Step Mother might be sick, but she has a mean right hook. She walks into the kitchen as I silently follow behind watching as she grabs the bag of rice and pours it on the floor.

"Kneel," she tells me. I do. The rice bites into my already bruised up knees drawing blood as I shift ever so often. Step Mother looks satisfied and leaves with a smirk plastered on her lips. A sigh of relief leaves my lips. Hours go by before my eye lids become too heavy and everything but a laugh is left behind.