Young Writers Society

Silence.

It fills the courtroom, echoes off the polished, hardwood stands and the seats in which the apparent innocents sit. It even dares to reach out and kiss the skin of the offender, blushing pale skin a brilliant red. Curious eyes are staring, attempting to not only look at but see through, through to the night of the crime and the guilt and the memories... Their minds recoil in horror at what they begin to create, the story they manufacture for the beast in front of them.

The wolf stands on trial before the sheep.

His paws, which shape and mold themselves into claws within the minds of the sheep, are curled on the floor. His ears have fallen flat, a sure sign of his defeat. The light in his eyes, however, is still there; not deadly, no, not malicious, like they’d like, but there is something else burning, something far more deadly. Courage, yes. Courage and fear and… and somehow, self assurance. Innocence.

But he’s guilty, they’re sure, as the wolf stands on trial before them. No matter the actuality, he is guilty.

The judge is the first to split the silence. He, too, is a sheep, and his voice is quaking with judgment, vengeance, and rage when he finally decrees, “Guilty as charged. Death penalty, to be acted on immediately. He is a dangerous offender, and must be treated as such.” A pause. “Put him down.”

All at once, the room is in an uproar. First, the cheers begin, and then the sheep begin to clamber over one another in something similar to joy. Not quite joy, but near enough that their voices are joyous and their eyes are wide. Many may have died – young ones, even – but they are finally taking back. The monster will be gone from their green Earth, taken to be judged at the crossroads between Heaven and Hell.

The chants of joy finally submerge to become one, just as the wolf is lead out of the courtroom. His eyes flash as the first call reaches his ears, and, by the second, he’s nearly lost control. A heavy iron door swings shut behind him just in time to cut off the third call, but he can still hear it. It replays in his mind, taunts him, accuses him, hates him –

“Put him down!”

* * *

Judgement Day arrives on schedule, but there is something new. The air is crackling with excitement; those who have lost loved ones watch the wolf with a sort of energized anxiety. He only stares back at them, eyes unwavering. A rope, carefully fitted around his neck, is digging into his fur, burning the skin away, but he can do nothing but listen and wait as his executioner reads his charges. His paws have curled in on themselves from stress and tension, and he’s near breaking point.

Not that he won’t be broken in a minute or two anyway.

When that minute comes, he takes a deep breath. He has kept silent for the past few days, awaiting his death, but now – now he cannot stop the words from coming. They start as an insane idea at the back of his mind, and, before he knows it, they’re bubbling up his throat and out his mouth and they’ve touched the air and –

“Put him down.” His voice is a cold, quiet mock of theirs in the days previous. “Who are you to judge? I did not kill those that you think I did. You’ll see. They’ll be more bodies and you’ll need to find someone to blame, and then what? Then, you’ll see I’m innocent, but I’ll be dead. I hope you’re proud of yourselves. You’ve tried to be human, but instead… you’ve sunk to the level of the killer, you see. You are no more human than he.”

It is then that his paws seem to change; the fur peels back, exposing pale flesh, carving claws into wide fingers. His eyes flash between brilliant yellows and greens before finally settling on the latter; his fur dyes itself blonde and shortens itself considerably, cropping to his scalp. And suddenly, he’s human.

But he only seems such to the sheep for a split second before the fear transforms him into the feared wolf, and he’s nothing but a monster again. He can see this change, the realization in their minds and the reversal to square one. He shakes his head – he has lost, he knows. Even his last words were not enough.

In the seconds before the stage drops beneath him, he manages a “Good bye, world.” The cracking of his neck bones send a shiver rippling across the room, and he’s dead before his body stops swinging. They’re staring, staring, at the body of the wolf.

The wolf who claims to be human.

* * *

Two weeks later, another body.

And another wolf before the stand.

Wow... That was stunning. This whole idea is amazing! Your writing is absolutly beautiful and the story as a whole was just awesome. The only thing i didn't understand was the wolf becoming human for a second. Why did that happen? What was he trying to accomplish by that? It was a little confusing there, but i don't even care. This stories so good i don't even have to understand it to love it!

Quite entertaining. Reminded me of Animal Farm, just a bit more--shall I say--passionate? The story and premise and your direction are good. Wording like this:

First, the cheers begin, and then the sheep begin to clamber over one another in something similar to joy.

I really enjoyed. Because you're using the situation (a fellow animal is condemned to death and they are manically celebrating) and the wording (clamber over one another) to show us just how despicable these sheep are.

But the trouble with the passion that you sometimes use to approach the matter is that you begin to lose a bit of credibility. What I mean is that I would rather trust a journalist that kept an analytical and reserved tone than a journalist that freely uses words like "hate crime" and "stereotype" and "bigot." Now, I know your narration is not biased and, in fact, leans more towards the viewpoint of the sheep...but the wolf's speech is just dripping with prosopopoeia (defined as: a rhetorical device in which a speaker or writer communicates to the audience by speaking as another person or object.) There's not the slightest doubt in the reader's mind that you, the author, are delivering your own judgment through the voice of the wolf...and because of it, it weakens the message with its blatancy. The wolf says these high and lofty words and transforms into a human (also, another thing that just drips with too much loaded connotations and praise for humankind) and it interrupts the entire flow of the story so abruptly that it's as if the wolf is The Voice of God.

The message would have been just as clear without the grandstanding speech, I think. People don't like to have morals shoved down their throats; they would much rather divine it or witness the injustice and feel wronged.

Also the whole courage in his eyes thing also is a little too heavy handed.

Anyway, your prose and use of language, however, is great. It's paced and thoughtful and controlled. It's just those points mentioned above that you might need to rein in and control a little more.