the beekeeper.

six, eight, ten.

to everyone else,
they were sheep.

an unlikely pair,
one was bratty and immature,
the other was quiet and passive.
one had pale, white wool,
the other was pitch black.
they didn't come from the same bloodline,
but they were still labeled as family.
they looked, ate, and lived like sheep.

but to me,
they were wolves.

they would cloak themselves as being creatures of kindness.
they had a twisted plan,
clever, pack-like;
by day they would be one of us,
eat with the sheep,
play with the sheep,
live with the sheep.

however at night, they would herd the smallest of lambs
into stalls of familiarity,
stalls that didn't scream, "you should run, you're going to get hurt!"
the lamb knew the room,
it was their room.
it wasn't afraid.

at first.

when the lamb figured out what was going on,
it was terrified.

the wolves would unmask,
grinning like dogs with bones,
and they would explain exactly what was going to happen.

the lamb couldn't run, it was too confused,
too afraid.
so it allowed them to ravage.
it allowed them to both feed of off it.
feed off of its blood,
its body,
its mind.

and then it stopped.
the lamb was set free to its own place to dwell on what had just occurred.

the lamb was so little.
how was it to know?
how was it to understand what it would be forced to take was going to be the bane of its existence for the rest of the lambs life?
if the lamb made it out alive, that was.
but it did.
each and every time it did.
it wished it hadn't,
but they attacked less like wolves and more like parasites.
they would slowly drain it of life,
never taking it all at once.
they needed to feed off of it for years to come.
and so they did.

sometimes, it was just the black wolf.
others, it was just the white.
they would tear its wool apart until teeth met skin and when blood began to run,
all hell broke loose.
that's what they wanted so desperately,
the blood,
the adrenaline.
they wanted it so bad that the cycle became routine.

never be alone with the wolves.
keep with the herd.
never allow yourself to be sectioned off.
keep with the herd.
sleep with your mother,
do not pass the wolves.
do not allow them to steal you while you're sleeping.
keep with the herd.

the lamb would be asked why it had so much wool loss,
why it looked so beat up and in pain
and it would always say, "it's a disease."
which was never a lie.
its wolves were a disease,
but the difference between the lamb's disease and medical diseases
was that the lamb's disease couldn't be fixed by medicine
no matter how many pills it drowned
the wolves were still there.

they were killing the lamb.
until one day,
the white wolf died.

it wasn't the lamb's fault,
it was the lamb's mother.
she had had enough of the white wolf and could see the evil within.
she took the lamb, her elder brother, and the disguised black canine,
and she disappeared into the night.

sometimes the lamb wished the black wolf would die, too.
other times it couldn't bring itself to think about it.
the black wolf was family.

or so they told the lamb.
the lamb would never see the black wolf as anything more than a basket case.
he was twisted,
it wasn't his fault initially,
but he could have made the decision to fight it
he could have fought the evil,
but he didn't.
he succumbed himself to being a wolf.
so a wolf he stayed.

with the white wolf gone,
the black wolf's motives slowed,
but they didn't disappear.
instead of reaching blood,
it would be a simple act of ripping apart wool
or tasting flesh until the lamb would be released to run back to its mother.

as time passed, the lamb grew into a sheep.
little horns began sprouting from the top of it's head
and it was ready to use them against the wolf.

however in the eye of the devil,
one can't function as correctly as they would like to.

it wasn't until the black wolf moved off that finally
finally the sheep could be at peace.
it could eat with real sheep,
live with real sheep,
play with real sheep.
there were no masks,
no lies,
no corrals that deceive little lambs into thinking things will be fine.

but nightmares still remain even when the wolves are gone.
terrors,
chills,
anxiety and sickness.
especially when the wolf returns to sit among his sheep and chat before disappearing into the night.

he still gives that bloodthirsty look to the lamb,
the sheep.

but the sheep would never fall victim to any wolf ever again.
its horns have grown completely,
and it is ready to break rib cages or dog jaws to stay sane.

to stay alive.