"Come out you
coward! You fucking yellow streaked pig! Come out and face
me! I’ll have yer! I’ll break you in pieces! I’ll huff and
I’ll puff …"
Yeah, whatever. Like always, I hid and he couldn’t find me. Track my progress, look at the towns I’ve lived in, the people I’ve been. My body grows older, but I’m unchanged, cocooned in some hiding place or another. I’ve seen so much and met so many, but no lessons can penetrate bricks. There was no need to be brave. There was always something to keep the wolf from the door.
Every hiding place I’d ever known was made of bricks. I started to feel trapped in a boring interior that never changed. The wolf was gone in the spring, so I boldly upgraded to a fresh perspective. The wooden walls weren’t as safe, but they smelt of spring trees. However, after a while, even they started to feel a little constraining …
The new bolt-hole I got in the summer was really pretty at first. Maybe a little unreliable, perhaps not hiding place material, but it smelt of grass and flowers, of blue sky fun. It had such a beautiful thatched roof. I couldn’t resist it. I loved making my bacon sandwiches in the sun filled kitchen.
Now it’s autumn and cold suddenly. Everything has changed with the season. The freezing air is seeping through the thatch and I can hear the wind moaning in the chimney. I feel spooked, sat here by myself. Perhaps I should go stay with a friend. The cold didn’t penetrate through bricks in this way and there’s a damp feeling. The central heating isn’t working and no matter how much I surround myself with duvet covers and cushions I’m still shivering. I’m lonely and vulnerable. What was that? Please tell me that was the wind. No, it was a howl and there’s the unmistakeable scratching at the door. He’s found me again.
Yeah, whatever. Like always, I hid and he couldn’t find me. Track my progress, look at the towns I’ve lived in, the people I’ve been. My body grows older, but I’m unchanged, cocooned in some hiding place or another. I’ve seen so much and met so many, but no lessons can penetrate bricks. There was no need to be brave. There was always something to keep the wolf from the door.
Every hiding place I’d ever known was made of bricks. I started to feel trapped in a boring interior that never changed. The wolf was gone in the spring, so I boldly upgraded to a fresh perspective. The wooden walls weren’t as safe, but they smelt of spring trees. However, after a while, even they started to feel a little constraining …
The new bolt-hole I got in the summer was really pretty at first. Maybe a little unreliable, perhaps not hiding place material, but it smelt of grass and flowers, of blue sky fun. It had such a beautiful thatched roof. I couldn’t resist it. I loved making my bacon sandwiches in the sun filled kitchen.
Now it’s autumn and cold suddenly. Everything has changed with the season. The freezing air is seeping through the thatch and I can hear the wind moaning in the chimney. I feel spooked, sat here by myself. Perhaps I should go stay with a friend. The cold didn’t penetrate through bricks in this way and there’s a damp feeling. The central heating isn’t working and no matter how much I surround myself with duvet covers and cushions I’m still shivering. I’m lonely and vulnerable. What was that? Please tell me that was the wind. No, it was a howl and there’s the unmistakeable scratching at the door. He’s found me again.
The walls of straw are shaking! I’ve dived beneath the duvet and peering out I can see him breaking through. That grey shaggy creature, his hungry red eyes and the saliva dripping from his jaws.
"Got fed up of bricks did yer? You stupid sow! I’ll tear your throat out!"
How I long for those bricks and their protection now that the wolf has blown down my door. He’s drawing in the air through his nose and catching my scent. He’s seen my shape under the duvet …
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