A Ghost Wolf’s Last Hunt

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I watch my mate from a distance. She wimpers next to my corpse. Hot blood still flows from the gunshot wound that stopped my heart. I watch my mate sniff once, twice, then wimper again. I throw back my head and unleash a howl that she cannot hear.

She must rejoin the pack. Our family needs her. Another will ascend to my place. They can and will survive.

I turn to my new hunting ground. A distant howl answers mine. One wolf, another, then another appear. They stare at me. It is a challenge to join them, not stay away. I will.


the scent of old buck

on the wind

But first, I have one last hunt on my old ground to make. For the hunters that killed me approach after my mate flees. They take my slipped skin for their own. I race beside their speeding vehicle as they leave. They hear nothing, see nothing.

Until I bare myself growling on the road before them. One panicked glimpse of me is enough, for the driver loses control. The vehicle rolls several times and then skids to a halt. I see them get out of the car. I stare at them as they look back in horror and see their own corpses.

One last growl. One last frightened look from all of them. Then I turn and join my new pack.

full moon

all of the cries

left behind

Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads’ The Tuesday Platform: Gather around for some ghost stories (Poems in April ~ Day 23) (imagined by Saana Rizvi)

#NaPoWriMo2019 / #GloPoWriMo2019 23/30

WD PAD 2019 23/30

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