It wasn't just stories...
[This is a work of fiction, and should not be taken seriously. If was, take a bullet to the brain] My mother used to tell me stories about the world covered in snow, but wolfs ruled it, from every nook to every cranny. The earth was a hunting ground for them, nothing could stop the pack. Thats when the Humans was born, and without warning, they attacked, killing the wolfs, burning the wolf to feed their young. After that one attack, the humans left a mark, saying that they rule earth. After that same story, i ask mother is all that true. Each time, she would hesitate, and leave the cabin. Only once did i she answer, saying " I wish it wasn't." It was on my 13 birthday that i found out why she said that. They came by the dozens, maybe hundreds. They circled the cabin, but it was only a distraction. It came up from the floor, just one wolf, thats all it took to kill Mother. It tackled her and knocked a torch out of her hand, it only made things worse. The house was on fire, the burning wood had a beautiful glow, only to be tainted by its deadly touch. I watch as that thing rip her to pieces. I couldn't help her, the fire blocked the way, and she was already dead when her body hit the ground. She bled all over it, turning its fur coat into a blood red color. I cried when it looked at me, but i stopped when it ran away, it had a strange look in its eyes, it showed no anger, no remorse, just sadness. I ran from the burning cabin, but with a cost, it took all my skin, i looked nothing like myself anymore. I would of cried for mother, but its her own fault. I found that what she told me wasn't just stories... It was history, and its history that killed her, not wolfs, not fate. I thought about burying her, but the wolfs wouldn't let me. They rule earth again, i didn't want any part of it. They hunted for me, but they could not find me. I was dead a long time ago, emotionally and mentally.