Wolf Tattoo

I jolted awake, my heart pounding as if I’d just run a marathon. The remnants of the dream clung to me like a shroud—vivid, unsettling, and far too real. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but the images only grew sharper.

There was the forest, dark and dense, with trees so tall they blotted out the sky. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, but this time, the dream hadn’t been about fear. It was about something deeper, something almost...familiar.

In the dream, I had been walking through the woods, feeling the soft, moss-covered earth beneath my feet, the cool breeze whispering through the leaves. The forest was alive with sound—the chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl—but none of it disturbed the tranquility I felt. I wasn’t alone. The wolf was there, walking beside me, its silver fur brushing against my leg as if we had done this a hundred times before.

The connection between us was palpable. I didn’t know how or why, but I understood the wolf in a way that defied logic. It wasn’t just an animal; it was a part of me, a reflection of something I had always carried within but had never recognized.

We wandered together through the woods, the wolf occasionally nudging my hand with its snout, guiding me along unseen paths. I felt a deep sense of peace, a calmness I hadn’t known I was missing. The wolf was my companion, my protector, and as strange as it seemed, my friend. We moved in harmony, as if the forest was our shared sanctuary, a place where nothing could touch us.

At one point, we came to a clearing bathed in moonlight, the silver beams illuminating a small stream that wound through the trees. I knelt beside it, dipping my fingers into the cool water, and the wolf settled next to me, resting its head on my lap. I remember feeling a profound connection to the creature, a bond that transcended words. It was as if we were bound together by something ancient, something that existed long before I had been born.

I looked into the wolf's amber eyes, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of recognition there, a knowing that went beyond the physical world. The wolf blinked slowly, as if to reassure me, and I felt a surge of warmth in my chest. This was where I was meant to be—right here, in this moment, with this creature by my side.

But then the dream began to fade, the edges blurring as reality crept back in. I tried to hold on to it, to stay in that peaceful place a little longer, but it was no use. The wolf lifted its head, gazing at me with a mixture of sadness and acceptance, before it turned and disappeared into the shadows.

I woke up at that moment, the feeling of loss hitting me like a punch to the gut. I sat up in bed, pushing my tangled hair out of my face, and glanced at the clock. 3:15 AM. Of course. It was always the same time.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and padded to the window, pulling the curtains aside to peer out into the night. The full moon hung low in the sky, bathing everything in a silvery light. The familiar sight of the quiet street and the neighboring houses brought me a measure of comfort, but the dream lingered, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness.

It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamed of the wolf. For the past few weeks, the dreams had been coming more frequently, each one more vivid than the last. But unlike the initial dreams that had been tinged with unease, these recent ones filled me with a strange sense of belonging, as if I was reconnecting with a part of myself I had long forgotten.

I sighed and turned away from the window, rubbing my eyes. I had no time for this. Between my long hours at the hospital and caring for my father, my life was busy enough without adding cryptic dreams to the mix. Yet, as I climbed back into bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the dream was important—something I needed to pay attention to.

My father had always been a source of stability in my life, ever since my mother left when I was just a child. He was a quiet man, steady and dependable, who had dedicated his life to raising me. We never talked about why she left, not really. I learned not to ask, and my father never offered an explanation. Still, I knew he carried the weight of that abandonment with him every day. I admired his strength, his resilience, but there were times when I caught him staring off into the distance, his expression troubled, as if he, too, was haunted by something he couldn’t quite grasp.

I pulled the covers up to my chin and closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep. The next day was going to be long, and I needed all the rest I could get. But even as I drifted off, I couldn’t escape the feeling that the wolf was waiting for me, just beyond the veil of sleep, ready to reveal secrets I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

Somewhere deep in the woods, a wolf howled, and my dreams began again.

Pulling the truck into the lot, I back into a space in the middle of the bustling parking lot. The asphalt is cracked in places, the lines faint and worn from years of cars passing over them. Her car, a small blue sedan, is parked in the space directly across from mine. The surrounding area is a blend of urban decay and signs of life. A neon sign flickers above the entrance of a nearby café, casting a warm glow in the gathering dusk. The air smells faintly of coffee and baked goods, mingling with the distant scent of exhaust fumes from the street beyond.

Turning off the engine, I lean back, content to wait for her to emerge. Time ticks by slowly, my anticipation growing with each passing minute. Finally, an hour later, the building's doors swing open, and she steps out, a vision of grace and beauty.

I watch her move, every detail etched into my mind. She leans into the back seat of her car, searching for something, her long, sandy hair cascading down her back in a neat p