Wolf Stalker

Excellence Award in the 'Step Write Up 2011' competition

“Joshua, don’t do this!”
His eyes are unfathomable, dark, miserable, without warmth.
“I have to,” he answers abruptly. “I can’t go on like this.” His corded arms, rippling with tight muscles, are tensed. “You don’t understand!”
Fury ignites within me. But he speaks the truth. I do not understand. His flawed concept that death is the final path one walks, the last resting place where all misery and pain ceases, is a notion alien to me. I believe that death stalks us like wolves, and our duty is to escape its snapping jaws. We are given youth and vigour to evade the wolf, but if one willingly gives himself or herself up into its drool-slathered fangs, then that person is a failure.
I cannot bear the thought that Joshua is a failure.
All his life, he has been the best. Academically, physically and socially. He’s always been commended in front of the whole school for his academic accomplishments, he’s been showered with trophies for his exceptional sporting feats and he is popular with the whole school.
But he detests life.
His smile is fake, forced, forged, and pain lurks within him like devouring shadows. The darkness dims pleasures, strains relationships and makes life seem like a burden.
A wolf hunts in the comforting shadows of the night. This consuming darkness, which victimises some people, is the wolf’s comrade. It helps the wolf with its job, weighing down limbs, crushing the spirit of life, making the slavering jaws of the wolf seem inviting and a welcome gift.
Those idiots.
“Don’t you get it?” Joshua speaks again, and I am dragged back into the nightmare-like present. “This is the only way to escape.”
The cool breeze ruffles my hair, caresses my face, makes my heart sing with exhilaration. Beneath us the cars swarm like flaming ants across busy roads, and the noise of city life drifts up to us. Above the stars are obscured by the haze of pollution, but the moon hangs plump and bright in the velvet night sky.
“You can’t die on such a beautiful night,” I protest. “It’ll haunt me forever.”
Joshua does not meet my gaze. Is he ashamed?
“I don’t care,” he mumbles, and my heart stops beating for a second. “All that matters is escape. Freedom.”
“You’re a coward. You’re fleeing. Like a gutless little, pathetic wretch.” I put as much contempt and scorn I can muster into my tone.
“I know.” Joshua’s voice is low-pitched, defeated, weak. “That is why I must go.”
He shuffles closer to the edge of the building and my heart lurches.
“No, wait! You’re not a coward, you’re brave, and you’re-”
Then he takes a step forward. Into empty space. I am shackled to the ground, by fear and disbelief.
This cannot be real.

10 years later, I still wake up screaming for him to stop.

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