**This was originally going to be a full on novel, but I only ever wrote this part of it. Let me know if you want it to be continued? (:
On a dreary, cold February morning, Thomas sat in math class waiting for the clock to strike 3:10. The teacher would not stop talking, and he got to thinking, Should I ask to go to the washroom and slip out the front doors? Or should I accept my fate and wait another half an hour until freedom?
He put up his hand.
"Yes, Thomas?" the teacher asked.
"May I go to the washroom?"
"Certainly."
He got up and scurried out the door.
What am I doing? I can't skip class! It would have a negative effect on my grades.
He walked into the mens washroom with a guilty conscience nipping at his heels.
Thomas looked at himself in the mirror. He looked horrible. He had an old t-shirt, ripped jeans, messy hair and a slumped posture. The dark rings under his eyes really complemented his new 'style'.
Suddenly, the stall door swung open. Thomas turned to see Brad, the school bully, standing there, his bulky frame barely able to squeeze out the door.
"My, my, Mr. Owens. It's fancy meeting you here."
"Brad, what a pleasant surprise." Thomas replied flatly.
"I have a question for you, Tommy Boy. If you had to pick between a nice, warm chocolate cake for dessert or a hot chick, what would you choose?"
"Probably the chick."
Brad laughed.
"And if I told you that it was my girlfriend?"
"Then I'd advise you to keep an eye on her, she may be contemplating escape."
"Why you little--"
Brad lunged, but Brad couldn't catch Thomas. Nobody could catch him once he had a reason to get away. This encounter was enough to push him over the edge of extremity, and Thomas turned a corner and bolted out of the school doors. He ran down the street. He kept running, and he didn't stop until the fresh air finally cooled him down and he could gather his thoughts.
Thomas found himself in a field, in the middle of February, surrounded by freshly fallen snow. He let himself fall to the ground where he finally let the tears flow. Today was the day that marked a year since his mother died, and he couldn't stay in school; it would give him time to think of her.
Thomas could feel the water slowly being absorbed by his clothes, cold against his back. He pointed his face towards the sky and thought of her. He thought of how much she's gotten him through, and how much she meant to him.
He was suddenly overthrown with a wild fit of rage. Thomas balled his cold hands into fists and pounded the ground, all the while telling himself it was his fault she was gone, he could have done something to help her.
He was angry at everything and everyone at the same time. He blamed his mother for not being strong enough to pull through her sickness. He felt like he had failed her by not being by her side when she took her last breath. But most of all he was angry because he had lost his best friend. His mother meant the world to him, and he would have done anything for her. If she were still there with him, he would embrace her in a warm, loving hug and apologize for everything he had ever said or done to her.
He must have fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes it was nighttime. Had he closed his eyes? He couldn't remember.
Thomas slowly pulled himself off the wet ground, his clothes sticking to him like a wet bandage. He started walking in the direction he thought would take him back to town, but it didn't take long for him to lose his bearings. Where did he end up to? Surely it couldn't be too far away, not if he ran there from school.
A sickening snarl pierced the quiet night air like a gunshot. Thomas froze. He had completely forgotten about the ad in the newspaper saying kids should be careful, that there were rumours of savage wolves roaming the woods around town. Why must he be so stupid? He should have never ditched school, and even so, he should have gone straight home. But no, instead of being at home, with his father and his baby sister, in his warm comfy bed, he was out here in the cold, chilly air and possibly surrounded by ravenous wolves.
He could hear the crunch of the snow as something made its way closer to him. It was behind him. No, it was in front of him. He didn't know if there was one or if there were multiple beasts, but he didn't want to stick around to find out.
Thomas bolted the opposite direction he was walking, and just hoped he would end up in a town or anywhere with civilization. He could hear the growls behind him, and the determined padding of feet on the snow as the beasts chased him.
He could see a light in the distance. A street light? Maybe it was just a light from a window. Either way, light meant people, and people meant safety. He focused all of his attention on reaching that light. He reached it in about five minutes. He felt a pang of disappointment run through his body. It was a torch, nothing more, nothing less.
He turned and saw the figures of about five sickeningly skinny, mangy mutts creep up to the edge of the light. He backed up, only to have his back hit the trunk of a nearby tree.
"Well, well. What have we got here?"
Thomas jumped. Where had that voice come from? More importantly, who did it belong to?
"Who are you?" Thomas muttered.
"That's for me to know, and you to not find out," the stranger replied, "What brings you to this neck of the woods, kid? Are you lost? Abandoned? Sacrificed?"
"Sacrificed?" Thomas asked. "What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly what you think I mean, kid. People drop creatures off in these woods all the time to be sacrificed. Mostly we get children, seniors, and animals. Occasionally we get adults who have grown sick," the stranger said matter-of-factly. "Ever wonder what happens to the old folks that leave the retirement homes, never to be seen again? That's right, boy-o. They come to us."
"Who's... us?"
"Why yours truly, of course, and my... partners. I'm sure you've met them already."
Thomas remained silent, afraid that anything he said would be the death of him.
"You know," the man said, "you look an awful lot like one of my most recent 'patients'. My, she was a sweet thing. It's a shame what happened to her."
Thomas's heart leapt into his throat. He couldn't mean what he thought he meant, could he? There was only one way to find out. He cleared his throat.
"How long ago did this patient come to you?"
"Oh, about a year ago now. Why? Did you know her?" Thomas could almost hear the smirk forming on the stranger's lips.
"What was her name?"
"Lydia."
Thomas couldn't breathe. Lydia. That had been his mother's name. His wonderful, caring mother. He felt a tear trickle down his cheek.
"Did you know her?"
"She was my mother..."
"Ah, I see. Well then, no need to worry. You'll be reunited with her soon."
Thomas felt his heart skip a beat. What was this man going to do? Better yet, who was this man?
Before Thomas had time to react, he felt a sharp blow to his left temple. His vision blurred as he reached his hands up to his face. As he pulled them away, he saw his fingers were sticky with hot, red blood. As he fell forward onto his knees, he had just enough time to utter a quick prayer under his breath before everything faded to black.
