Finality of Moving (Otherwise Untitled)
#211 of Short Stories
A wolf is done.
~ Into the darkness of the night that followed, the wolf stared in silence up to the pale ceiling as he stretched out to his full length atop the meager pile of heavy blankets he'd arranged on the floor of the apartment bedroom. Even without the aid of illumination from the lamps he'd already packed, he could feel the absence of the stacks of boxes currently residing in the belly of the rented truck.
~ "I'm going home."
~ The toilet, seals old and worn, flushed itself.
~ "I'm going home, a failure."
~ With a bit of a roll, he pulled the top-most blanket over and around himself to peer into the gaze of the alarm clock he'd neatly arranged atop the pile of tomorrow's clothes. Beaten and stained, the tattered pants should be comfortable for the day's drive.