Running With Wolves
We heard a string of howls from somewhere far outside the building. The parking lot swam with coarse black fur. I know it sounds ominous, but I need you to know it did not scare us. Please believe we were not frightened in the least. Understand we were smiling, in fact, as we stood at our desks.
I remember Bruce took his shoes off. Then his shirt. Margaret was the first one out the office door.
She disappeared into the hall, and the rest of us followed, and I remember that space seemed to just go and go forever. The fluorescent lighting turned from drab to something brilliant. Light from the moon poured its way through swaying branches. The thin carpet gave way to grass and dirt, and our feet bled as we ran.
Then we heard more howling, and the first wolves pronounced themselves against the shadows. Each the size of a grown man. Wrapped in teeth and fur like the starlit sky. One on either side of us. A strong paw fell upon each shoulder. Their lips black, pursed and parted as they held us, which we could not help but beg them to do over. Blacker still was how much we enjoyed it. Every goddamn second. And blackest of all would be their insides, where we all live now, like some kind of family. Or a handful of stones tossed down a well.
Full of resignation. And distress.
But no regret.