Why is this happening? Why am I here? What have I done to deserve this? a boy asked himself, or rather his god, as he leaned against a tree to catch his breath. He looked no older than twelve, maybe thirteen, and wore a black shirt, white jacket, and dark blue jeans. All of his clothing were ripped and tattered, and blood dripped around him from various bite-like wounds. As he lets out a sudden sob he hears the sound of howling: The wolves must be getting nearer. He pushed himself forward and kept running. Another twenty minutes and he should be able to get to town and be safe, but did he have that amount of time? He tried not thinking about it. He needed to hang onto hope. He had to. Push forward! Survive! His thoughts raced and trained on the idea of hope as he kept running, and in the midst of running he felt his arm ram into a tree, and his vision blurred as the pain shot through him like a bolt of lightning. With short gasps and cries he collected himself, and after a few seconds of recovery he looked around as though confused. He tried to remember why he was running, but couldn't. All he could focus on was the environment around him. Suddenly he heard a howl again, and he felt fear flow through every inch of his frame. Without hesitation he got back into a sprint. The howling was close. Closer. Too close. He needed to get out; he needed to escape. As he passed by another tree he is hit by an unseen force and knocked off his feet. Teeth dig into his shoulder as he threw up his arms to protect himself.
Too close, no escape.
His vision was starting to blur again as another wolf started tearing at his left leg, or so he thought. He couldn't really tell at that point. He throws a few punches in an attempt to free himself, but alas, he failed. As he succeeds in only angering the wolves he loses feeling in his right arm, and then he loses the feeling of pain.
Are they gone? Did they run? thought the boy, and he quickly realized that they were still chewing through his arm. He looked at the shoulder that the wolf had bitten earlier, and at first he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Surely he couldn't have lost his arm? With a quick tilt of gaze he saw his arm being gnawed on by a wolf, and he screamed as his consciousness followed him lightly through the shock. He looked down and saw his opposite leg, the left one, had been torn off in the same manner. Suddenly he felt weak and his vision blurred and darkened. This was the end, there was no hope. None at all. The only thing left in his dying moments were despair.
Despair...
All he could think of was despair. It was dark and quiet in his mind, but that should be an obvious thought of a dying person. What can really go through a person's mind other than the fact that they are dying? Well, that's if you're normal... Sometimes, people aren't normal at all.
"Despair?"
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