by Tina Gao | Grade 9 | Scholastic 2023 | Short Story | Honorable Mention
Omega 5 tenses, ears erect, whiffing an acrid, smoky scent. Before him ripples a sea of grass, long blades drooping with rows of white flowers and seed pods. Despite the tantalizing trace of plump songbirds and beaver-sized rabbits, Alpha and the Betas in his pack deem the field “dangerous” for reasons not shared with omegas like him. Omega 5’s nose twitches as he hears their nagging in his memories, constantly ordering him not to secretly hunt on patrol duty-
“Omega 5, you’re at the bottom of the pack! Get to work!” Omega 5 groans at Beta 2’s sharp, throaty barks from the other side of the forest.
“Call back!” Beta 2 continues, “Is it that scent at the dangerous field again?”
“Yes.” Omega 5 replies. Before Beta 2 complains, he adds, “Someone has to track it before it becomes a problem.”
“Know what, Omega? Go ahead and track it.” Beta 2 bounds from the forest. He growls, “Don’t come crawling back to me when you get attacked by men.”
Omega 5 snorts. “Men? I could crush three of them at once!”
Beta 2 yelps, “Say that again when they shoot you with a death stick.”
A howl interrupts the conversation. “Alpha is calling a meeting.” Beta 2 says, “I’m leaving.”
As soon as Beta 2 scampers away into the forest, Omega 5 leaps into the field. Wispy grass tickling his paws, a windy breeze combing his fur, he closes his eyes and cranes his neck into the sunshine, striding across the green boundary which divides forest and men.
Omega 5 pricks his ears as ghostly, crinkling sheets flutter down the field. Sparkling granules stab his paws as he steps onto the Path of Men. The odor returns– harsher and more metallic than before.
The smell of a death stick?
Hawk-like screeches and thundering booms echo like an approaching storm. Omega 5 whips around, facing a creature standing on its hind legs, twice as small as a wolf, no fur save for a ring of curly hair around its small snout, reeking of sweat mixed with smoke. A short, thick, angled, black rod hangs from its waist. A death stick gleaming in the setting sun.
Omega 5 can’t run or hide, but he can certainly fight.
Frantic, furious, fuming, Omega 5 charges at the man, at the death stick, claws out, jaws out, howling loud enough to drown the man’s screeches. He freezes. Omega 5 pounces. Before the man could fumble for its death stick, Omega 5’s claws unsheathe, digging into the man’s stomach, ripping open his belly. Tangy blood drips from the tip of his nose as Omega 5 chomps into smooth fat.
As Omega 5 prepares to wipe his snout, he sees 5 thin fingers sprout out of his right hand instead of a paw, smooth and hairless skin where his arm should be. What’s happening to me? With a smooth, oily palm, he feels the flabby lips, delicate jaws, and stumpy teeth of his transformed mouth. Could this be the secret, why wolves were forbidden from the field? He screams, a whiny, shrill sound, flailing his short, stringy man arms, much shorter and weaker than a wolf’s.
With a flick of his eye, Omega 5 sees it: the shattered death stick glints in the rising moon like the tempting blood of newly killed prey.
No more running, no more clawing, no more biting, no longer in the pack.
What a pity to have his triumphant leap be his final one!
Each step on the rocky path stabs Omega 5’s two bare feet as he trudges back to his pack. By the time he reaches the field, his legs drag like cumbersome tree trunks. Cool grass tickles his skin when he squats and presses his hands against the moist soil. He gazes at the full moon. It highlights every blade of grass in silver, burning like Alpha’s glaring eyes used to whenever he berated the Omegas for skipping patrol duty.
But Omega 5 wouldn’t have duties anymore. He wasn’t even an Omega- or a wolf- now.
Should he join a man pack? Endure the stench, learn the language, and master the death stick?
Or should he hide in the field forever, at the mercy of his own pack?
Amidst the singing nightingales, a pack of wolves growl from the forest, too soft for man ears to hear.
