Paint It Red

Intro

The thunder cracked in the distance as the storm came closer ever so delicately, though having no physical form. It was as though the clouds themselves were alive. They rolled across the horizon lighting up the sky with an occasional yellowish flash of light.

Water fell from the sky softly, as though the sky was crying. Was it crying because of the clouds pain or for what had been done that lightning lit night?

For on the door steps of a broken down, candle lit house, lay two babies who were forcefully torn from their mother.

The wind blew harshly causing branches to knock on the old houses door, maybe fate smiled upon the children yet.

An old widow heard the knocking and the fate cries over the crashing thunder and slowly stood from her wooden chair that had more splinters than smooth edges. She wrapped herself in a wool blanket as she walked to the door, candle in hand.

She struggled to open the door for the weather seemed to worsen her pains in her old age. The cries grew louder as the storm drew closer, but the old woman still struggled to open the heavy wooden door.

Nature helped once more blowing the door knocking the old woman to the ground and blowing out the candle she held.

Blindly the woman crawled to the open door using her hands to find the two children. Lightning flashed, and she made eye contact with them for the first and only time.

For once she looked up she had seen an extra pair of eyes that weren't there a second ago. The eyes glowed a bright yellow like the lightning that surrounded them.

The old woman fell backward trying to get away from what looked like a wolf, but was the size of a man. It was as black as the night and only could be seen when the sky lit up, other wise you could only see those glowing eyes.

The beast stepped over the crying children and approached the old woman, it starred at her as though confused at what she was. When it tried to speak the old woman seemed to stop quivering and had gone silent.

The beast poked the old woman with its claw, and felt her cold wrinkled skin give way at the lightest touch. Yet, before the beast could decide on what to do, another sound rippled across the sky other than thunder (a gunshot!)

The beast looked toward the door way where the children laid and saw a hunter with a large hunting rifle that was aimed right at its head. Judging by the sounds, there where more hunters then this one, so the beast did the only thing it could do, and gave up.

The hunter seemed confused as he saw the man-sized beast stare at him without fear and without care. He pointed the gun at it once more shouting at the beast as if giving it a chance to escape.

The beast nodded its head as if understanding what the hunter meant and walked out the door but not before pointing its nose at the old woman and shaking its head and then it grabbed the hunters sleeve and brought it to the children and gave the hunter a sad glare before running back into the woods.

This was not a dangerous beast but a caring one, in the distance where the other hunters where, there where three sounds before all went silent for the night. The first song was the beasts howl as it climbed the hills, the next was the load bang of a gun, and the last was a clash of thunder that drowned out the cheers of the overly happy men for killing the harmless beast.

The hunter shed one tear for his mother who had died of a heart attack from seeing such a beast, and another for the beast itself.

He knelt and swooped up each child softly seeing that one was a quite little girl with the golden yellow hair that rivaled the color of the beast's eyes, and the crier was a boy with black hair like the beast fur.

The hunter took the children in as his own and taught them to love all of earth creatures, even the big bad wolves.

This story might seem like a fairy tale, but this is the story I get every time I ask my father where me and my sister came from. But hey, my story has only just begun, so I have plenty of time to figure out what is fact, and what is fiction.