The lonely wolf

Alone, it was the only way of being he was used to. And fully wished for.

As a child, in a house always full of people, with new faces coming and going, old friends turned into enemies and new customs installed from a day to another, it was easy to find his own corner and catch there for the rest of the hours. All of them were so busy with themselves that it was almost impossible to notice him. In fact, they were not even connected with themselves, as "the something else" they were pretending they are busy too it was nothing but a shadow of something they will never be able to be. Never ever.

He observed all these faces for years. Every single hour and day he was there, in the middle of the familiar crowd. A huge family the other kids from school envied him for, as for him it was sometimes complicate to remember the names or the family connections with all of them. Many of them were proudly bearing the same name. So what? In his world, each of them were called according to the names he gave them. One word describing what he saw in each: the liar, the red carrot, the muffin...They never knew this. He, from his secret place, continued to observe them and to make them alive in his stories. Finally, all of them were able to express themselves, to talk and share emotions. They were, finally, less alone. But he, he continued to enjoy the power of understanding them all.