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.
The sun is still in the sky when we leave the warehouse to go to her car, but occasionally time does funny things. One moment I’m hitting the bowl with the afternoon sun bright in the sky and the next the sky is almost black but for the bright, full face of the moon at twilight. This next moment, me and the girl Lilly are kissing, and then I realize how dark it’s gotten. I have no choice but to abandon ship and leave the cute skinny girl behind, stoned and alone in her car. I rush inside and up the stairs and have a peculiar feeling of déjà vu. Once I’m inside, I shout: “Élodie!” but the music is too loud. I wade through the crowd as best as I can, but it’s too densely packed. I can barely see anything. The lights are off save for one off in an obscured corner on the opposite side of the room. I can’t see anyone’s face clearly. It’s like a bad dream. “Élodie!” I cry again, my shouts disappearing into the wild wave of sound exuding from the crowd. Nothing. No one can hear me over the shouts and I feel a knot in my throat that I think might suffocate me.
I wade deeper in.
At the center of the wildest part of the pit is Élodie, thrashing and jumping about gleefully, hurling herself maniacally back and forth against the rest of the crowd, who are all thrashing and jumping gleefully, hurling themselves maniacally back and forth against Élodie and each other, too. “Élodie!” I yell. “Élodie, we have to go!”
I yelp this last as I lay my hand on her pale shoulder. In the very next instant, she has changed. Her skin is no longer pale, but the color of burnt steak. No longer is it smooth, but with tufts of grey and black hair at every crease. Gone are her pinched features, replaced by a long snout. Gone is her smile, replaced with a red field of knives and razors. Gone are her raspy cries of laughter and rapture, replaced with an ear-splitting howl.
There is blood sooner than anyone can tell. Élodie has lashed out at the nearest attendee and torn them to shreds. She bounds through the crowd, right for the stage where Eunice’s band Skull Splitter is now playing. They’re meant to be the last band of the night, according to a flyer I remember seeing. Élodie howls at Eunice and for a tense moment, there is almost no sound. A few people have screamed and fled for their lives, as any logical human being would be expected to. Then Élodie leaps at Eunice. She is licking his face and barking happily. After a minute of coaxing and laughing, Eunice gets Élodie to let him stand up and he keeps playing. Everyone left begins to clap with a level of excitement I’ve never seen matched since.
The blood turns out to be not from some poor punk ripped apart. Not entirely at least. The cut from Élodie’s claws was not as severe as I expected. It was only a nick. The kid is tough, with a shaved head and a leather jacket and he tells me not even to worry about it, he’ll just pour some whiskey on it outside and be fine. Eunice laughs and scratches Élodie behind the ears. “Man,” he says. “She sure scared the shit out of me.”
The next day, Eunice has breakfast at our house. The next full moon, Skull Splitter’s next show, Élodie transforms and even fewer people run. She is comfortable. She is accepted. She is in control, and she has never been happier. She has learned many new words since she has been allowed out during her transformations, including pancake, punk rock, friend and scissors.
