The Hunted (LGBT+)

Chapter 1: Wolves at The Mailbox

Parker

I knew metal poles would be my undoing. I have a truly toxic relation with metal poles. The fissure started when my car backed into one just after I got my driver's license. It continued when I moved into my new apartment complex, into the tiny parking space, and dented the front of my pristine Challenger.

Even with a true nemesis, I push forward in life, but the days seem longer somehow. This day is especially long.

Have you ever had that one day that never seemed to end? The day that drags on forever and you can almost feel it getting worse by the minute. The kind of day that feels like an eternity by eight thirty.

I have been having that day a lot lately. I am restless. The truth is that I have not been sleeping well. I feel like every time I close my eyes, I see visions of vicious creatures that only exist in fairy tales. My friend says that it is a manifestation of my inner turmoil. I say I am just watching too much television. I have actually stopped watching scary movies because I feel like it is finally catching up to me. A larger part of me wonders what it all means.

I am haunted by dreams of gigantic wolves and pale skin.

Elongated claws and sharp, serrated teeth.

The nightmares add to my already chaotic day by ensuring that I do not get a moment's rest. Not a single moment. Not even at my boring desk job.

After spending the bulk of my day trying to concentrate on what my erratic clients are saying to me, I conquer the tedium and the obligatory exhaustion to crawl across the finish line. The day is not without hiccups, but it finally ends with a whimper, though later than I expected.

I lock my computer and retrieve my phone as I slide on my black sweater with the powder blue smiley face emblem on the right pectoral, a mainstay of my company. I sigh to myself as I clean the rest of my desk and head into the hallway. I walk by the cubicles, noticing how bare the office is. The campus of my workplace is large and in the middle of nowhere on the north side of the city. It is eerily quiet, devoid of even the cleaning crew.

As I walk past a few cubicles, I hear someone muttering to themselves and I think to stop. I disregard them and fish my cell phone from my pocket. I quickly find my best friend, Kari, on my phone and start a call. The phone rings twice as I enter the breezeway to the building beside the parking garage. Kari answers just as I am heading into the stairwell to descend to the bottom floor.

"Is it bad that I ordered two pizzas?" Kari asks immediately.

I chuckle at her question. Kari's pregnancy has developed into a full-time dinner with occasional bouts of life centered on it. I have amused at the depths of her hungry. It is not unheard of for her to describe going to get hot wings at nearly two in the morning. I cannot say I have ever left my home that late for anything unless I was already on my way home.

"No," I say, "It's normal that you want food for later."

"I ate them both." Kari says.

I clear my throat to keep from laughing as I open the door to the main hall. I quickly brush past the security desk, muttering a "good night" before heading out into the chilly fall air. A walk across a short street and I entered the now-empty parking garage. It was filled to the brim earlier, but now it seems like a ghost town, another reminder that I work too hard.

"Are you still at work?" Kari asks.

I sigh.

"Yes." I say above a whisper.

The silence on the other end of the phone signifies Kari is holding her tongue about saying something. She believes I work too hard, and she is right. I, for all the excuses I give, agree, but it feels like everyone wants something from me at all times of the day and there is never enough time. I need a vacation.