Post by Eli on Aug 9, 2006 18:54:20 GMT
From a request on LJ, by Soraslight; it went a bit pear-shaped, is very short and simple, and isn't quite what she asked for, but it's only fair to share, heh. The prompt word was 'empathy'.
* * * *
The relatively young wolf had long since forgotten what it was like to feel compassion from those around him. He had spent decades in the close company of no one but a vampire whose sole interest was to make him do whatever she wished, and she cared very little for him; he was a tool, if anything, and a weapon. He had his uses, and so long as he continued to fill them, then he was allowed the simplest things: a place to live; a roof over his head; food enough to keep his sustained; clothing; the occasional book for good behaviour.
Elijah ‘Eli’ Whitman knew better than to misbehave. His body bore the evidence of past rebellions, and it had been over forty years since he had lashed out against his ‘trainer’ and her ‘teachings’. He had learned. But even so, every now and again, when Katrina Lemuiex was out on whatever business she had engaged in that week, the natural curiosity would kick in. He was, after all, very much part wolf, and that instinctual inquisitiveness was a trait he had never truly learned to quell.
Of course, he should have known better. The past had taught him to sit on such urges, and refrain from giving in to curiosity. He paid for it that night as he did on any other night when he disobeyed.
Standing in his small bathroom adjacent to his bedroom, Eli treated the freshest wound, wincing when it stung as the antiseptic touched it. It would heal naturally, but keeping his wounds clean was something he had been taught was important a long time ago. Obviously, the vampires hadn’t wanted to risk infection. Why waste a perfectly good slave if you didn’t have to?
Silent as he worked, he caught his reflection in the mirror, his own rather dull eyes staring back at him through shaggy wisps of a dark brown mane of hair that was probably in need of a good cut. He sighed faintly, glancing down at the wound, before applying the dressing, wincing again and fighting back a small whimper. Eli kept from looking in the mirror again, reaching to turn out the light as he moved back for the bedroom, and the feeble comfort of the bed within it.
He may have grown accustomed to the lack of empathy, but every once in a while, it made him wish he was braver; stronger… less of a coward.
As he curled up on his bed, the lights out, he couldn’t help but wonder if the memories that flashed through his head were real. It had been so long since he had been taken from his pack, he couldn’t remember anything… not clearly enough to rely on them as true memories, anyway. Shifting the thin pillow beneath his head, he wondered… would he ever rediscover what that sort of life was like? The past seventy years had warped his view of other werewolves. Would he be able to adjust to that sort of lifestyle again?
More important, would he ever have the chance…?
~Fin~