Epsilon [Werewolf]

Chapter 2 (✓)

My heart slammed against my ribcage. The cold-kiss air did little to comfort me in the wake of the crime I was committing, and thinking over all the possible punishments my mother could bestow didn't help with the cold sweat breaking out on my back. Still, I kept reminding myself of the reason I'd opened that latch in the first place, of why I was now walking these desolate streets alone. 

Maybe I would get caught, yes. Maybe I'd get grounded for the rest of my days. But at least I'd get to be a teenager, if only for one night. And Alia would, too. The thought alone spurred me onwards.

As I walked, my eyes drifted. The streetlamps spilt light like ichor upon the concrete, lighting the way in periodic patches. The disorganised symphony of crickets were an ominous backtrack of rumbling anticipation, the smell of pine and moisture setting me on edge. Not a single soul wandered those streets. Not so much as a car rumbled by on the road. Small as the town was, it strange to see it so desolate. In Maplewood, there was always some form of life.

Not tonight, though. 

I turned my gaze skyward. All traces of orange were gone, replaced instead by an inky black sea of twinkling stars. The brightness of the full moon struck me, and it was only then did I notice the faint silvery light coating every inch of the street. It was as though someone had struck a match and set the world aflame with muted silvers and glaring whites.

I walked further, the townhouses and streetlamps blurring in my peripheral. My stomach churned, and everything felt... wrong. To the eye, everything looked normal, but there was something off that I just couldn't put my finger on. Maybe it was just the anxiety of getting caught, or the eerie hush of the streets playing tricks with my head. Still, I picked up the pace.

Desperate for consolation, I glanced at the houses to my left. The light spilling through the windows was a comforting sight, and occasional flicker of a television reminding me that life was all about.

I was familiar with this part of town. Some would call it the poorer end, but I was proud to call it home. There was a kind of character to this street, something unlike the grand ambiance of the houses upon the hills. This part was humble, quiet, and I daresay mysterious. Thick curtains and overgrown shrubbery concealed the lives of men and women alike. On the hills, such a concept didn't exist. Everyone's lives were flaunted through the large-paned windows, displayed for the world to see. There were no secrets in the hills, no quiet. And though our town couldn't be any more divided, one thing remained constant. 

The forest. 

I couldn't help but glance to my right where the forest lay. I smiled, recalling the bright crockery days of my childhood, days where I had frolicked with the neighbourhood kids in the woods. Back then, I hadn't understood the disdainful glances thrown our way from the other adults when we'd return home covered in dirt and mucked by leaves. We were only kids having fun. To us, the financial divide didn't exist; we were just glad to have each other. 

But even that hadn't lasted. My mother had quickly prohibited me from entering the forest after a boy had claimed to have seen a wolf. Even as a mere ten-year-old, I'd known that wasn't true. Wolves didn't live in this section of California, let alone ones as big as the boy had described. Even so, my mother had bought the story all the same, and from then on, I'd spent the rest of my days on this end of town, studying in my room or going on occasional runs around the block. Everybody grew apart, and while those of us who remained became estranged to each other, some families just disappeared entirely. It was as though they'd never really existed in the first place. 

I squinted. Even now, I could see the pine trees swaying in the wind, their dark silhouettes shuddering and jerking. I'd entered the forest enough times to know of what lay behind that treeline, of the secret hollows and sun-bathed clearings. I smiled as the memories flooded back.