The Wolf travels far and wide, hungry. He always appears through a window, whether there is a wall for it to be attached to or not, a large arched window that he unlatches and pushes open, before climbing in to speak with whoever lies on the other side. He curls his left hand into a fist and raises his index and middle finger on his right, and using those two fingers he taps, three times on the back of his fist.

'Tap, tap, tap.' It's a ritual, his warning that he is present, and about to ask his question.

"Tell me a story." He asks to She Who Is What Has And Hasn't Happened.

"As you get older, your mind begins to leave you. What has happened becomes what never happened, and what never happened becomes what has. Time and his effects seem to be having a race, and it makes less and less sense to me the longer it goes. For all of it blurs by while I sit still, and when the dust has settled from their race I am left behind, on my own, to suffer and sit in the darkness of what has yet to come, and the barely visible blur of what has or has never happened.

Time is nothing but an illusion, a construct born to make those around understand things. But you asked for a story, and so a story I shall give.

Once upon a time there was a girl who wished to grow up too fast. Then she did. And she realized that she had spent so much time wanting to grow up, she had forgotten her time spent being a kid. Every memory filled with things that never happened, a fantasy played out in her mind of possibilities, what could and could not exist in that moment. A lot had existed, yes, but none of it existed in her memory, at least now that becomes obvious as she wanders through her halls of memories so thickly layered in dust one would believe the whole domain was painted in a thick gray coating.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who started the race between youth and time. Knowing that she would grow out of it with time, she started that race, and did not take a break until the end. Now out of breath as an adult from a marathon she does not remember a second of. Please forgive me, you've asked for a story yet I am afraid I cannot deliver that, for right now nothing in my mind is right. And I question if I am in the right mind, or someone else's, otherwise the only explanation for why I don't recognize everything here is I grew up too quick to take in the scenery.

Once upon a time there was an old woman, looking back on her youth, spending what little time she had left, regretting the time she had already wasted. At least her first memories existed, though shaded in gray, her last memories will be a blank abyss, a fake, more pathetic knockoff of what she wished she had done, what she never did, and what she did.

I suppose the moral of the story that has happened yet never did is, one cannot go too quickly, especially through their own life, for you will have to sit through what you let never happen, and what remains that has happened. And it is difficult to live in a world you don't remember creating, with memories too abandoned to be remembered, and a reflection that is unrecognizable."

The Wolf left her to her meanderings, now confused himself on what has and has not happened during his time here.

The End, for now

Thank You for reading

The Wolf in The Window