6

9 1 0
                                    

Today I was hoping to get some feedback and see if you guys like this story idea I had. This is the first chapter and I wanted to know if you guys thought it worthwhile to continue writing it.


Chapter 1:

Stars shoot across the sky while I lay with my back to the grass. A warm breeze rustles the leaves above, owls hoot, crickets chirp, and birds sing good night to each other. I lay there and soak everything in with my eyes closed when everything stops. The birds stop singing, the wind stops whistling, but the grass and leaves keep moving. A piercing call echoes in the silence that has filled the air. My heart skips a beat while my mind tries to figure out what is going on.

A thin silver strand that gleams like moonlight drifts up from the underbrush on the edge of the forest. "Who's there?" I call out, expecting someone to stand up and go running off. Instead, a large dog comes bounding out of the woods, the stream of silver moonlight trailing behind it and up into the sky. It paces closer, a little wary of me but I stay where I am, watching. It's a wolf, I realize. Eventually, it gathers enough courage to come right up within arms reach. I stretch out my hand, and let it come the rest of the way. Instead of sniffing my hand, it sits and looks at me expectantly. There is something almost intelligent in its piercing green eyes.

I drop my hand and look right back. "Who are you?" It tilts its head, as if I already know. We sit there and I look at its silver lifeline. It spits near the top, going in multiple directions, probably to other animals or people its come in contact with. The one thing that is still strange about this wolf to me is that its lifeline is silver. Not gold like most animals. "Who are you?" I ask again, this time, I reach for the thread that connects him to others. It is cool to the touch and almost feels like water flowing through my finger tips. I close my eyes and see a regal man sitting in an almost barren room. The smell of wood and smoke fill my nostrils. The man has midnight black hair and is hunched over a book. Writing, I realize. Frantically scribbling notes. One word floats into my mind as I look at this scene, Michael. I relinquish my hold on his lifeline.

"Your name is Michael."

Short StoriesWhere stories live. Discover now