Fragments Fiction

GRAY WOLF

1 January, 2010

"What's this? A wolf mask?" Troy asked, walking in holding his dopp kit in one hand and the wet washcloth in the other. Don't set that on me. I get water spots! thought the leather chair.

"Halloween costumes." Kent Sullivan the third answered. Troy sniffed the air several times.

"I smell a new cause. Do we get credit for your OCD? Like that summer we played Johnny Appleseed planting trees halfway across the United States and Biology gave us one credit. Or the winter we traced fluorescent whale shit in the South Seas and Environmental Studies gave us two?"

"I haven't asked them. I just thought we'd make a political statement and go as anthropomorphic wolves. Me gray and you red."

"Look, I know you're rich and I'm only your best friend, but I'd rather be wearing my tried and true Dracula cape with the plastic fangs... I vant to suck your blooood." Troy held his arms up and staggered toward Kent. The towel slipped from his hips and landed on the floor. The sofa thought: Warning, warning, wet pink ass! Troy turned his back to Kent and stepped into a pair of plaid boxers, followed by jeans.

"That cape is so old, it was embarrassing years ago. Why wear old shit when you could wear a state-of-the-art wolf's head?" Kent pushed his face into a pout.

"Fear of dying from anaphylactic shock." Troy studied the mask and fur pieces without touching them. "It looks real good. What did-it cost? An arm? A leg? Your firstborn child?"

"My left nut," Kent snapped. "That oddish, hippy guy who lives alone at the end of Mott Street next to the old Moeller Estate makes funky costumes for the horror flicks. He offered to do make these for a small fee. I knew he was good but I never expected a full mask and enuf fur to make if convincing." Kent kicked the towel off the floor at Troy who caught it and tossed it into the chartreuse laundry basket. Glad to be of service," it thought.

"I see a mane down the spine and itchy, sticky, furry abs."

"He made dog tails too." Kent saw a look of disapproval on Troy's face and backed down on his sales pitch. "You can just wear blue jeans and no tail, make yourself less authentic. See if I care anymore." Kent pushed his thumbs into his waistband and harrumphed.

"No need to be a snip about a puppy dog tail." Troy mugged his joke around the room. The pictures on the wall collectively thought: Get a new joke, that one was brown when your father lived here!

"Aw Dude," Kent whined. "We got the physiques to win first prize with these costumes. It's our last chance to win the big prize. Do I hafta spend all this time justifying my choice to you." Kent folded his arms.

"Yeah sure, we go as wolves, we'll never get dates because we'll have to keep explaining the damn costume." Troy slipped his dopp kit into a drawer and pulled on a black tank top.

"Wank-boy, pain in the ass, whiny, dick-faced bastard," Kent sneered.

"Call him a red-assed baboon," the bookshelves called out.

"You never do anything for me." Kent's eyes grew watery and soft.

"Aw dry up crybaby. You're a serial joiner, Physiques or not... I'd rather pick up some girls, bring them back here and screw mindlessly till morning." Troy sat and leaned back with both hands behind his head and his legs stretched out.

"You're putting a one night stand before saving the wolves?"

"Hey, the Marquez twins are hot for vampires. I have wet dreams about playing in the twin mountains of Venus. You want me to give up a sure thing to be a wolf? Get real Dude."

"Well I hope they like pets. I've adopted a half-wolf, half husky and he's being delivered this afternoon."

"Oh great, now I have to take a shitload of anti-allergenics and walk around blitzed on better living through chemistry. This house ain't big enough for a furry animal and me." Over in the corner, the yellow vacuum cleaner groaned at the mention of dog hair.

"I'll make a deal with you. Be a wolf tonight and I'll send the wolf-pet to my Dad's estate in Schenectady and let Reeves take care of him."

A series of rapid knocks announced the door opening. The furniture faded to grayness; gray walls, gray bed, gray floor.

"Time for your breakfast Mister Sullivan. We are going to be a good boy and eat today, aren't we?" The matron set the tray on a stand and spooned gray food into Kent's mouth. He ate in silence and when she left, the furniture and Troy reappeared. Both men stood in red jockstraps, daubing glue onto their skin and fitting finely woven nets of fake fur onto their bare chests and shoulders.

"I've never been this hairy. It feels like I need a shower." Kent placed a patch of fur on his abdomen and flexed so it conformed to his six-pack.

"Hair keeps you warm and musky. I used to shave only for swim meets." Troy laid a patch of fur over his deltoid and waited for Kent to blend it into the furry mane that spread over his back and down his spine. The color of each fake hair accentuated their muscles. Love those muscles, the overhead light leered.

Kent pulled the mask over his head. It pressed his ears tight to his skull. The face fit over his nose and onto his cheekbones. His eyes looked down a long nose and drew deep breaths through it. He opened and closed his human jaw and let the canine jaw suck tight and the back of the large doggie tongue fill his mouth. He couldn't talk but he could eat and drink. When he looked in the mirror, he saw a rather wolf-like head sitting on his hairy shoulders and chest. A furry six-pack flexed in the mirror. He turned sideways and the fur continued down his back and between his buttocks. You make a good-lookin' dog, Dude, the silver and gold Deco mirror said to him and he agreed.

Troy joined him and they posed together, two hairy wolf-men, not fanged and evil, but smiling and happy, teasing and playful. Big powerful torso's surmounted by handsome, wolf-like heads, one with black markings and the other with reddish-brown features. Bushy tails handing from their sleek, jean-covered buttocks, black boots supporting it all. They admired themselves in the mirror until the clock told them it was time to go.

They padded out of the apartment building, two agile wolves on the prowl, stalking their prey and vigilant for intruders.

"Each time I get to this street," thought Kent "the fog returns and the color leaves."

Troy pointed at the pile of orange-brown leaves and raised a leg, pretending to mark the trail. Two men in costume romped. Danger, danger, the russet leaves called to Troy but he neither heard or saw the white truck as he raced for the ball. Pain filled Kent. Ruddy blood tried to speak but no one was listening. The colors faded and the gray mists rose again.

"Sinus rhythm, we got him back."

"Has he spoken yet?"

"No, he just lays there. He'll sit if we prop him up. Eat if we feed him. Only his eyes open and dart like he's in a waking dream."

"Shame, he almost saved his friend from that delivery truck. If we can't stabilize his heart and get his mind back, he'll die."

Kent didn't hear their conversation. He only hears Troy walking back from the shower, his wet feet slapping against the wooden floor. He looks. Troy's eyes are greenish-blue, his towel sunny yellow, his dopp kitt navy blue, the washcloth in his hand orangy-red but Kent sees only gray, fog gray, deathly gray.

"What's this? A wolf mask?" Troy asks, walking in holding his dopp kit in one hand and the wet washcloth in the other.

2000 words more or less