Tara :Wolf Chronicles

Chapter One :An Icy Nightmere

Thalia:

September, 2011

For the last six months, I had dreams, of myself dying in morbid and disturbing ways but always in a scary winter plateau but this time it was unbearable. This dream I was in the middle of nowhere surrounded by an endless white blanket of snow and an unequally white sky. A loud, shrill howl echoed, three miles from my right and three huge, grey shaggy wolves with glowing orbs of amber eyes, growled at me. I snapped my head to them and screamed.

In a blink, they lunged at me at lightning speed as I bolted and ran but I was too late. One pinned me down with his large paw and the rest surrounded me. For a mere second, I was blinded by the howl of the wind, the bitter chill of the cold and the snow that showered me in flakes. Frosty air exhaled from my cold, brown lips as I pleaded with them.

I stared at his cold, fiery eyes and pleaded, 'Please, don't kill me.'

They circled around me and bared their yellowed canines at me then they lunged. White hot pain reached my ankle as it pierced its teeth into it as I screamed. They tore into my flesh and pulled at it. One yanked my arm as the bones popped. I was being eaten alive as crimson seeped into the powdery snow as my screams echoed through the endless void as snow showered on me. Their teeth dug into my flesh as tears streamed down my cheeks.

***

I sat upright, breathing ragged and fast as I darted my eyes towards my window. My heart hammered my chest as I was drenched in sweat. I trembled and scrambled out of the bed. I padded towards my window, my room still dark as I stared at the lightening sky. My alarm clock blinking at dawn.

5:30am.

I sighed heavily. Luckily, this was the latest I have ever woken up from a nightmare. I debated whether to document it in my dream journal by my nightstand or sketch. The pounding in my heart started to subside. I approached my bulletin board at the left pale blue wall. It was decorated by my sketches and drawings from over the years. Still life and portraits were my niche but ever since my nightmares they had started to fade only to be replaced by morbid sketches and death doodles like skulls and grave stones. I shuddered, grabbed my art supplies from my drawer and drew as I squeezed my eyes shut only to be transported.

The wolves.

The teeth.

They tore into my flesh.

The blood.

My screams.

My eyes flickered open as I moved back and stared wide-eyed my drawing.

It was a girl, about thirteen, being eaten alive by gigantic wolves. Without realizing I took a crimson Copic marker to colour the blood. The open wounds, the gashes and the blood sank into the snow, one teeth locked at her wrist, another at the other and one that tore onto her stomach. Involuntary, my hands went to my stomach. A tear streamed down my face and stained the A4 landscape paper and smudged my charcoal and shading pencils.

I wept.

I used my elbow and my fingers to wipe my tears and I did not care if my hands were smudged.

I plopped on my bed, turned on my back and tried to take away the image but it kept coming back. I rolled again and stared at the wooden ceiling and sleep left me. I patiently waited for the streaks of orange and slowly for the sun's early rays.

Before I knew it .It was six am, I rolled off my bed, swung my feet to the side of the bed and slipped on my slippers. I yawned and stretched as I went to my bathroom. I turned on the shower as steam spewed from the glass as I stripped off my clothes. Fog relished the walls as I tried not to cry again as the hot water burned my flesh like a chicken getting boiled.