here we are, it’s june now and there hasn’t been any activity here on RBW—and for that, I am sorry. for anyone concerned (both of you) I have not stopped writing. there are many reasons for the absence of new content on RBW, too many to get into here. i just wanted to let you guys know i’m sorry and that a new story will be starting soon. promise!
and now, the final part of Legbreaker. sorry for all the scrolling.
today raised by wolves turns one year old. thank you to everyone who has encouraged and inspired me over the last year. there are too many of you to name, but your support has been invaluable to me as a developing writer. thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you—it will never be enough. i am looking forward to another year of raised by wolves, and i hope that you are too.
so listen, i gave up on that last story while i was on my little hiatus.
the reason i went on the hiatus is this: the internet connection in my house is not one i pay for. it filters in through the walls of my neighbor’s house. we like to think that they got us the internet for christmas and were too shy to ever say anything about it. a few weeks ago, however, the signal vanished inexplicably. there were rumors that the neighbors were moving, and so we figured they’d had their internet disconnected to prepare for the move. this seems to not be the case, as our signal has returned, under the same network name and everything as before. so, until further notice, we’ve got the internet back.
the reason i gave up on The Voice is this: when i started this blog, i had a very clear idea to write shitty pulp-style horror, sci-fi and adventure stories because it was fun, easy and entertaining. by choosing to cut out super natural elements in the plot of The Voice, i think it became too real. another thing that contributed to it’s becoming too real was the fact that a young man in my community—a friend of a friend or an acquaintance, however you want to put it—died recently, very suddenly, of cancer. seeing people’s reactions to this event struck some remarkable paralells to the story I was trying to write, and seeing it in person made it too real and uncomfortable for me to continue writing it. it is extremely jarring to hear about young people dying.
this all said, i will start posting a new story on monday, and hopefully will be able to get back into the monday-through-friday update schedule i had before. i also hope that you will enjoy the story.
thank you everyone for your ongoing support of raised by wolves. thank you everyone for your kind and informative feedback on my zines. thank you for taking the time to read my silly stories. let’s do this shit.
Raised by Wolves #2: done, ready to print and hand out. contact me for a copy.
Raised by Wolves #1: being reprinted. contact me for a copy.
Raised by Wolves #3: new story starts next week monday. Thank you for reading.
By the next full moon, Élodie and Eunice are practically dating. They hold hands at the shows and she smiles at him the whole time, except when she’s throwing herself around the pit and howling. Eunice claps me on the shoulder and thanks me for not being an overprotective asshole. I tell him it’s the other way around, she protects me from things, she can take care of herself despite her inability to form coherent sentences.
“Eunice!” Élodie says, seeing us talk. It comes out harsh and raspy—YOO-nahs—and he smiles back. When he thinks I’m not looking he gives her a kiss on the cheek, and even in the dimly lit room with all these kids, I see her blush.
It’s getting warmer out and the sun is going down later and later. There’s an all day show, and a lot of really good bands are playing, a good mix of local and out-of-towners. Élodie is overjoyed that she gets to go. I explain to her we’ll have to leave before the end as best as I can, and I’m pretty sure she understands. When the moon comes out, I tell her, drawing a picture of a crescent, we have to go. She nods enthusiastically and on the way out of the house, she’s just a big ball of energy. She leaps down the stairs and skips along in front of me, down the driveway to my car, humming and giggling. Her excitement is like a cloud around her. It’s infectious, and I find myself tapping on the steering wheel in time to the rhythm of her humming. I know I’ve heard the song before, but I can’t remember where.
Outside there’s more people than I’ve ever seen at this place. Nothing like warm weather to bring people out to cram into a small, hot, smelly room full of noise. We say our hellos and how-have-you-beens and catch the end of the first band’s set. Someone hands me a beer. Élodie smiles at me and tries to take the beer from me, and I laugh.
“Do you even know what’s in here?” I ask her. She looks at me with a frown and sad pouty lips. I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I say and hand her the can. “One. Understand?” I ask, holding up my index finger. “Only one. Dad will flip shit if I bring you home drunk.”
She smiles and nods and downs the can. She belches and grins and then runs off to find Eunice. Someone hands me another beer.
I make the rounds, listening to the music in the background, scoping out the various groups in the side rooms in the warehouse. A group of older heads hands me a blunt as I walk in, and the cans of beer just keep appearing in my hand. During a band called Red October, a skinny girl with long black hair takes me by the hand and pulls me into the pit. I’m drunk by now, but still maintain the delusion that I can sober up in time to get Élodie home. I smile at this girl and she smiles back and we dance together for the whole set. We holler and clap and she does everything she can to maintain as much physical contact with me as possible during the show. She jumps and kicks and spins around and throws her arms up in the air, and I do the same.
After Red October’s set, the girl looks at me and says: “My name’s Lilly. Do you want to smoke some weed in my car with me?” She’s giving me the look. She’s got big black eyes like ink wells that twinkle with mischief. She’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt with the collar ripped out so it hangs down around her shoulders. She has long athletic legs and narrow bird-like features. How could I tell her no?
