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The Wolf of Death
by Alex Stewart
This wolf was no ordinary wolf.
It had come as a symbol.
A symbol
of the end of the world.
A dark cold stone fire burned in its eyes.
He was full of pain.
Thunder and lightning, hurricanes.
The silver moon
made its fur glow,
like an emerald.
He had a streak of black
down his gray
back and it seemed to ripple.
I knew what I had to do.
I had to kill it.
I ran up on him, and slashed to the right,
he was too fast.
He
clawed at me, but I deflect him.
We battle for what seemed like forever.
He finally he got a lucky shot.
I was down and hurt.
He curled his claws,
he was getting ready for the kill--
nice and slow. He was about to get me,
I had a trick up my sleeve--a knife
I got it out, and before he knew what was
happening, I got him in
the stomach.
He slowly disintegrated.
It was over.
I had won.
Then I collapsed.
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