Practice Writing A-13: White Fire Wolf

Practice Writing A-13: White Fire Wolf

A Story by Tabitha Alphess

Writing Practice(s): File A-13 Date Published: 8:15, 17 June 2013 (Minnesota Time) Category: Horror Title: White Fire Wolf


Writing Practice(s): File A-13

Category: Horror

Title: White Fire Wolf


      Feather sat there on her cheap cot, waiting for exhaustion to take over and put her to sleep. But it never came. She simply sat there in her dank and darkened cell with her knees pressed against her chest. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her legs even tighter. Her painfully thin body provided very little warmth. Starvation had decimated much of her much needed body fat. Her thin and cheap orange jumpsuit was of little use either. It was more like wearing itchy paper than actual fabric.

      She reached for her thin blanket and wrapped it around in a pitiful attempt to warm herself. But it did little good. The blanket was as cheap and as thin as her jumpsuit. Tears formed at the bases of her fiery green eyes.

      She knew she had done horrible things, and she knew she deserved to spend her life in a prison. But not in hell. Nobody deserved to be thrown into a hell like this.

      The door to her cell creaked open and a dim light streamed in. Feather gasped and squinted in slight pain at the unexpected light.

      “Well, well. Didn’t expect you to be up at this hour, 4211,” commented a tall blond man with a cruel smile and cold clear blue eyes.

      Feather’s ears lowered in fearful submission automatically and her shackled wrists trembled, making the chains that bound her rattle softly.

      “Since you’re up,” he gestured to the two guards at his side into the cell. Feather trembled in terror and yanked in vain at the chains that bound her to the concrete wall. She gasped when the guards grabbed hold of her arms and started attaching the chain on her electric collar to her cuffed wrists and ankles.

      “I think it’s time for your daily session,” he turned his back on the white wolf and smiled cruelly.

      Her fiery green eyes widened in panic and utter terror. “NO!!” she screamed and struggled in vain as the guards half carried half dragged her down the steel reinforced hallway. Tears cascaded down her face as she struggled in vain to escape their grasp. She already knew what they were going to do to her.

      “No! P-Please!!” she begged before gasping in pain when they suddenly threw her into another room and onto the steel floor.

      One of the guards grabbed her by her electric collar and dragged her to the wall. He grabbed her restricted wrists and chained them above her head and attached them to the wall. Her back was facing away from the wall and her ankles were chained to the floor.

      She turned toward the guard with bitter tears in her fiery green eyes.

      “Please. Don’t let them do this,” she beseeched.

      He stared at her with unfeeling eyes before turning away, leaving the room, and locking the door behind him.

      Feather whipped her head back around to the floor and her breathing came out in panicked and ragged breaths.

      She waited in terrified silence for them to come. Dreading what her punishment would be today. The whip? Rape? Psychological torture?

      A door creaked open behind her and her heart rate skyrocketed. Her heart beat like a continual thunderstorm in rapid succession.

      She didn’t even have to look back to know today it was the whip.

      The guard behind her raised the barbed whip and struck her back.


      She was thrown back into her cell. Her back was beaten and bleeding and her orange jumpsuit was torn and stained with scarlet liquid. She groaned in agony. The pain was excruciating, but she knew she would have to endure it otherwise they would shoot her on the spot. Prisoners weren’t permitted to have painkillers. Or in her case, receive any kind of medical attention that wasn’t specifically permitted in her file.

      The two guards grabbed her by her limp arms and threw her onto her cheap cot and chained her bound wrists to the wall by a short chain.

      “Why don’t you take a little nap and think about what a monstrosity you really are, 4211,” hissed the tall man with the blond hair and clear cold blue eyes.

      The white she-wolf managed to push herself up slightly to glare at the warden with her blazing fiery green eyes that burned with pure hatred.

      “My name is Feather,” she spat and groaned in agony before falling back onto the cot in exhaustion.

      He chuckled at her pathetic act of defiance. “I see you still have some fight left in you,” he stepped up beside her cot and seized a handful of her hair and forced her to look up at him.

      She cried in a mixture of rage and pain and glowered defiantly at him.

      “But don’t worry, we’ll break that defiant spirit of yours soon enough,” he sneered and let go of her white bangs. She grunted when her head hit her hard pillow and tears of rage began to spill down her bloodied face. She watched with unquenchable hatred as the door to her cell was sealed shut and locked, leaving her alone in darkness.

      “D-Death comes f-for everyone s-s-sooner or later, Walter,” she seethed and clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white.

      If only I had a weapon. Then I’d slaughter them all. She thought bitterly before she collapsed and closed her eyes in an unconscious heap on the cheap cot, but not before she fingered her shiv underneath her pillow and smiled wickedly.


      The rest was a blur.

      Nothing but a recollection of tormenting sounds and fragmented and distorted images.

      Crashing steel.

      Anguished screams.

      A bleeding guard.

      Blaring alarms.

      The terrified expression of the blond haired man with the clear blue eyes.

      Blood spurting from his mouth.

      The shard of glass in her hand.

      Insane laughter.

      It all ended with a smeared thunderstorm and everything going black.


      Feather groaned and sat up. Lightning lit up the darken sky like a lone spark in a black room. She gasped and fell backwards and then grunted in pain and clutched her side. She had somehow been wounded. She lifted her hand and lifted it to her face. It was soaked with her own blood.

      She frantically looked around but received no plausible explanation. Surrounding her were silver cans and trash bags enclosed on only two sides with bricks walls stained with graffiti.

      She shook her head and clutched her side again. It just didn’t make any sense. Why was she in an alley? Where exactly was she? Why wasn’t she back in her cell? Why was she bleeding and wounded like this?

      Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning shattered the night. Rain poured out from the clouds and soaked the starving wolf. Shivers snaked up her spine and froze her to her core. Her jumpsuit was too torn and too thin to provide any warmth and she had no body fat.

      She sat in the middle of the ally for a few brief moments before forcing herself to the nearest ally wall. She grunted and groaned in agony and from the effort of having to utilize energy she didn’t possess.

      She sighed and leaned her head against the brick wall in utter exhaustion. The downpour showered down on her and washed away the dirt and grime and blood that had long embedded itself in her fur. The blood from her wound flowed down her side and leg and down the soaked alleyway.

      Her fiery green eyes dimmed and her vision blurred for a moment. She shook her head but it only worsened. She became dizzy and woozy and her vision blurred until everything was nothing more than a smear of muted color.

      “Hey!” she heard someone in the distance call. His voice was distorted and seemed very distant. A faint light shown through the downpour.

      Feather lifted her head but almost immediately collapsed again against the wall; too fatigue to function the way her brain and body were meant to.

      “Down here!” the voice seemed to be fading but at the same time coming closer. The lone light grew in size and brilliance as it moved toward her.

      The she-wolf grunted and tried to shift herself but crumpled back down and simply stared blankly at the light. She sat motionless. Helpless to get away or defend herself.

      Someone knelt down beside her and pointed the light in her eyes for a brief moment. Feather squinted and groaned at the harsh light, but it almost immediately left her eyes and went to her side. Blood seeped from the wound like a creek. The man succinctly touched her wounded side and Feather in turn almost instantly cried out in agony, gasping from the excruciating pain. He pulled his hand away and waved his hand in the air, probably to signal someone else.

      Another person �" a female, based upon her long brown hair �" rushed to the man’s side and gasped at the horrific bleeding and barely conscious she-wolf on the ground.

      “Is she alive?”

      “Barely. We need to find some help, and fast,” his voice faded and blended with the sound of the rainfall.

      Feather blinked one more time before her world went completely dark.


            My name is Feather, Feather Wolfheart. Everybody says I’m a dangerous criminal. A psychopath that thirsts for people’s blood and devours their flesh. But I’m not. I’m just a teenage girl trying to figure out the difference between right and wrong, light and dark, sane and insane. I’m not crazy; at least I don’t think I’m crazy. I’m just . . . confused. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who trust or who to turn to. All I know is I have escaped from hell. That horrible hole the world put me in. They’re scared of me, I know that much. I’ve seen the way people look at me. I’m a monster. An abomination. A monstrosity. A psychopath. But I’m not. I’m just a teenage girl trying to figure out how to live in this twisted world. I’ve been running all of my life. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t running or fighting. All I know is survival. I know there is more than this life, but I don’t know where to find it or what I would do if I got it. I hate to admit it, but I need help. Desperately. I’m bleeding from the inside and my insanity threatens to devour me from the inside out. Tear open my flesh and vanquish my innocence while awakening the monster inside of me. I don’t want to let it out. I can’t. I cannot let it break loose. My name is Feather, and I am losing my will, my soul, and my sanity. My fire is dying. And so am I.

© 2013 Tabitha Alphess

Author's Note

Tabitha Alphess
I post these practice writings every two weeks. Let me know if you have any requests.

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That's a sad ending, but another great write!

Posted 7 Years Ago

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Added on July 8, 2013
Last Updated on July 8, 2013


Tabitha Alphess
Tabitha Alphess


My pen name is Tabitha Alphess and I'm a follower of Christ. My writings and novels range anywhere from Apologetics and theology to science fiction to mystery and suspense and fantasy. My most common .. more..