Mismatched Blood

Ron Koppelberger

Mismatched Blood

Fury and overfed wraths of beckoning mayhem whiskered the wolfs slumber with the temper of bitter cream, curds in sour blood, the flesh of a dazed chafe and mazy portent, the carnivals main attraction, “Wolf or Man“ the sign read. The wolf dreamed and in firebrand agitation, forward unto mismatched blood, a type of fury and unbidden allure in fuzzy goosebumps and ecstasy, all bliss and desire, all wont for escape to the cool forest.
He dreamed of her, snarls and growls, howls and grumble-rumble convocations in yellow eyed consent. Fine-spun futures in flame and ash, in cinders and burning accent, he dreamed and in that dream he found release, release unto the elder gods of freedom and hunting passions the carnival cage long forgotten and his mate near, close in the attractions alcove. He dreamed of his mate, the mismatched blood, the contradiction in fanged arrays of whelp offspring, “Good seed,” she whispered to the dreaming wolf from her cage, “ Good seed my husband.” He saw jet black in twilight shadow and the silhouette of an absent sun, black and devouring with an acquired embrace, a gentle surrender to the charcoal fur and clawed ambiance of the female. A dark peck and a wicked pact with the ancient alliance the midnight demons of err. She cooed in his mind and all the substance of ethereal futures revolved around him in delirious celebration, “ Evermore my love, evermore we shall be free from the cage, the lair of men and grinning human children.” The wolf shuddered, the humans were bad blood and maybe so was she, the mismatched assurance of scarlet terrors and bloody heedless wont. He fought the urge to yelp in tangled beds of straw, screaming and oblivious pulling him closer to the edge of desolate abandon. He fought and when he awoke he remembered the mists of what might be, he remembered the chase and the hunt, the divine satisfactions of an angel in alabaster feather and gossamer contrast. He remembered love and the promise of Eden.
Yawning and tasting the cool dawn airs of morning-tide life, he thanked the heavens for the start of a new day and the treasure of insight. “Straight forward.” he thought, “ Moving in paw sure paths toward the divine.” He soon forgot the mismatched blood and prayed, otherwise unaware of the currents, the fates that guide wolves and man. He looked ahead, to the fable of cerulean skies bought by daybreak sunshine and the promise of freedom, freedom from the barkers and the clowns and the other humans in guise of what children find fascinating. He thought of the female wolf across from his cage and the will of what he needed, to find the secret, to venture out and live, simply live free of man and his chains. They were both prisoners to the show, the dark parade, the carnival of the wolf, the carnival of hearts and caged spirt, a mystery unto his knowledge……the freedom he sought was but a dream and in the end of that long day of contemplation a child stood near his cage.
“Lookie, lookie a beast terrible, careful, careful son he might jus take a mind to swallow you whole if you get too close.” The barker turned away for a moment and the child reached into the cage. He sniffed at the boys hand for a moment then lapped at his fingers. The boys fingers tasted of cotton candy and dandelion greens. The wolf paused for a moment as the barker yanked the child away, yelling, “Back vicious beast, back!” The boy wore a startled look as the barker unteathered a whip and snapped it through the cage bars. “Stand back child!” he said as he left a welt on the wolfs back.
Later the wolf would reflect upon his lot again and the passion of the dark female opposite him. She was wild and shadowy nevertheless, she would be suitable and he craved freedom from the confines of the cage. She looked across the dusty hallway and whispered we will be free my husband, we will be free.”