Wolves By Kit Maude

August 22, 2016 Comments Off on Wolves By Kit Maude


No, I can’t speak.

Yes, of course.

Yes, it was.

Because of my tongue.

Sorry, I’ve got pretty used to the sight.

It was torn apart by wolves.

No, ‘wolves’ plural. Small ones.

About half an inch long. They snuck into my mouth when I was asleep.

Yes, half an inch.

Yes they do.

No: wolves. Not insects. Not rats, not mice. Canis lupus.

Yes, there is.

I remember it quite well, you know. What with it happening to me. I was seven years old. I woke up to the sound of tiny howls, and then came the pain. Do you know how much it hurts to have half a dozen little jaws clamping down on your tongue? I tried to shut my mouth, but that just enraged them further. I could feel them bulging in both cheeks, hopping around to get a better purchase. They tore and tore and tore, until, well, you saw what was left. There was so much blood in my mouth that a couple of members of the pack. . .

Yes, they do.

There was so much blood that a couple of members of the pack slipped down my throat. I swallowed them. The throbbing was incredible. It could have filled a dozen balloons.

No, that was what happened. When I opened my mouth again, four wolves came out, each with a chunk of my tongue. They left most of it behind in pieces. They leaped off my bed and slipped under the door. My parents didn’t find me until the next morning: they thought that my grunting was the plumbing. I never spoke again, and it was a very long while before I could sleep properly. Eventually, I discovered that wolves are afraid of fire, so I keep a lit candle on my headboard. That seems to work.

Yes, they do.

© 2016 Kit Maude

Kit Maude is a translator based in Buenos Aires.

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