In the daylight the city of Wolf Creek is a welcoming place. The sun lights the buildings, reflecting the beautiful sky off the hundreds of glass windows fit into the slightly whimsical buildings that stand numerous stories high. The suburban wonderland offers houses of all sizes to the people who can afford them. Jonathan Meyer's eyes open as dawn breaks through his curtains, lighting his small bedroom with a golden hue. He chose his home away from the suburbs and away from the city, at the mouth of the great wood that stretched for miles in all directions. His amber gold eyes blink as bits of his dreams fade and come back into focus. He takes a few more stolen seconds to retrace his steps through them. His small pink mouth, surrounded by coarse black hair opens slowly and his tongue licks at the dryness of his lips. He decides it was a good dream, it scared him, what he remembered of being lost in a wooded area. The feel of the soft dirt beneath his toes, his heart racing out of fear of never seeing another human being again. He would have to scribble it down before he left his bed, and reaching across the single person bed to the antique bedside table he grabbed a small moleskin notebook and his pen and set the images to the thick lined paper.
The shrill tone of the electronic clock broke the silence of the morning with it's intrusive tone, he rose naked from beneath the simple white sheet he chose to sleep under. His long thin bare feet padded across the cold hardwood floor of his bedroom to where it sat, strategically placed on the top of his chest of drawers on the other side of the room. Jonathan is a small man, as his father would say all chest and no legs which to him had never been entirely true. His head, a long cylinder of a skull with shaggy brown hair that grew into the thick beard that surrounded and hid his square jaw showed his European ancestry while his flat nose and large eyes showed his Native American blood as well. Outside of those two things he knew nothing of either of his parents. Or why year round his skin was as white as snow, coarse black hair grew down his chest and around his pale pink nipples to his small belly button and further into the small bush of pubic hair that surrounded his uncircumcised penis. He often frowned at himself whenever he caught a glimpse of himself naked for he was simply a small, hairy man with nothing out of the ordinary to entice anyone to ask him on a proper date.
As he moved to the bathroom and set about his morning routine he tried not to think of his life in Wolf Creek as lonely as it often felt. In the teacher's lounge while eating a cup of yogurt and reading Jane Austen he overheard his fellow teachers tell stories about the goings on of mornings with husbands, wives or children. As he brushed his teeth he looked at the second notch on the grafted to the wall toothbrush holder. He doubted anyone else besides him would ever put their tooth brush in the metal circle. Beneath the hot jets of water he washed himself, ignoring anything else but the satisfying feeling of the powerful jets of water pelting his skin and giving it a rosy pink tint. He leaned into the spray and felt his hair mat to his skull and wondered for the umpteenth time about playing hooky from work. He knew he wouldn't but it was a nice to pretend.
Moments later he was dressed in a button down light blue shirt and tan slacks with a thick leather belt. He wore a worn pair of loafers that made his coworkers scoff, but being a twenty seven year old English teacher left him little room to avoid their scrutiny. As he sipped his cup of black coffee, he looked out the kitchen window which was framed by tiny sculptures of Dutch children he had found at the Endless Lake Antiques store in town. The leaves of the trees were lush and a emerald green as they swayed. He smiled to himself, thoughts of dying alone forgotten as he imagined the stories he could write about the things he imagined happening under the cover of those leaves.
His dream came back to him suddenly, it wasn't as removed as he had thought as he remembered running. His heart laboring with exertion as he smashed through a thicket of thorny limbs that cut into his arms and legs, his soft skin being stabbed by thorn needles and rocks. What had I been running from," he wondered as he took a deep sip of the bitter steaming liquid. it's rich taste pulling him back from the memory. He sighed as he poured the remainder of his coffee into a long blue thermos and placed the bright red lid on and screwed it tight before grabbing his leather side bag and heading out the door. Once inside his late eighties model banana yellow station wagon he switched on the radio and one of his old tapes began to roll as he pulled out of his gravel driveway.
