The little boy slid

Across a wooden floor.

His mother called him over

To hear near-forgotten lore.

 

Not too far in the future,

In terrified, frozen awe,

He’d soon come to understand

When he sprouted tail and claw.

 

Years go by, now as a teen

Moist tears of sorrow drip

Sent to watch the many sheep,

He knew he’d lose his grip.

 

And sure enough, mere minutes in,

He fights against the pain.

Holding back the monster

Is too much of a strain.

 

He calls out to the village,

“A wolf! Come quick, come quick!”

He changes swiftly, breaking down,

Eating sheep with blood so thick.

 

Before the village shows its face,

He’s back in human form.

Breathing labored, bones on fire,

He wishes he were never born.

 

For proof, he looks to find the corpse

The monster hid from sight.

The broken sheep is all but gone,

Like warmth in winter’s night.

 

The villagers come running

With weapons raised up high,

It takes them but a moment

To say, “He tricked us, why?”

 

Off they go, he calls again.

Repeat what came before.

The corpse is gone, the village groans,

A liar, nothing more.

 

They leave with glares and anger

And doubts deep in their hearts,

“This is your only duty.

Shape up and do your part!”

 

Beleaguered, beaten, the boy sits.

The wolf has laid the trap.

What can he do? He’s helpless here.

He sobs and heartstrings snap.

 

The iron scent is just too strong,

His muscles crack and creak.

He calls once more, but no one comes.

He wreaks havoc on the sheep.