jazz-feylynn

Maybe it's a green thing or a wolf thing or a short-circuit thing. I don__ seem to know anything.

His eyes forward didn__ deviate from the off-road trail, his chiseled jaw gripped shut during the ride. He didn__ release any sound of explanation until we arrived.

Fingers you, claws me, crossed hoping Dad sees it that way.

Off Spruce, there was a little known trail. A savage gulley wound through acreage of older residential homes that met up with Green Rock Drive. A natural bouquet gust of wind assaulted me. The domestic and native encroached on each other in a battle for dominance at the edges of the cramped path's undergrowth. The tangy scent of wild onion and sagebrush intermingled with the verdant odor of wild geranium, blue flax, columbine and creeping pussytoes. The wild weeds spiced up the encroaching grass turf and the tamed floral honeysuckle vines and lilac bushes.

My nerves did a jitter dance, stuck between two wolves.

I got a whiff of minty fresh breath. Definitely not, what I'd expect from a wild wolf.

No electricity, fridge, TV or game console. I guess changing from human was enough fun and games for werewolves.

My nerves did a jitter dance,

Now you're being ridiculous. If your mom changed into a carrot, I'd think she'd change back before someone ate her, werewolf or not.

Was there childcare for abused werewolves?

Be careful. The conditions are treacherous with mud-sucking tentacles pulling shoes and socks into the murky bottom while smearing grime on those who passed by.

Yes, Dad collared me before I was even born. Nevertheless, he made me the one in authority of the collar and myself.

That did explain his sucky home life growing up but didn__ excuse the way he treated others. Was there childcare for abused werewolves?

Her wild race caused the dried-up ferns, thorny plants, and low-hung tree branches__way from the lake__o grab at our clothing in the mad dash over the narrow packed dirt through the trees.

Her blue eyes glowed headlight red into my leafy greens. Those eyes were freaky.

Being a werewolf, an alpha more so, isn't about being aggressive over others but controlling yourself, the wolf's wild virus inside my DNA, and emotions that comes with the beast.

The ink line drawing flowed the cursive journey,created on paper canvas that brought the story to life.

Welcome to Book-a-holic Anonymous.Hi, I'm Jazz and I am addicted to the written word. I love the smell of the blackest ink sliding across texture paper. My eyes squint against the loss of time within the pages of story. I don't think there's a cure for my compulsion to lose myself within life and times of those characters bound between the covers.