May 14, 2011 — 6:32 p.m.
> I met a wolf that wore a crown,
His teeth were sharp, his laughter loud.
He called himself the king of men,
Yet built his throne on dust again.
Pride was his mirror, cracked and wide,
He saw the world and only lied.
They called him Rohan — the kind of boy who believed noise could make him powerful. Every hallway echoed with his voice. Every lunch break, a performance. He had a pack, of course. Followers. Laughing at his jokes, nodding at his words, feeding the illusion that he was something more than a frightened boy with an expensive watch.
He used to call me "ghost."
Said I looked like one, moved like one.
He wasn't wrong.
For months, I let him talk. The pride in his tone fascinated me. He strutted like the sun itself depended on his approval. When he mocked others, he did it with such confidence that even his cruelty seemed rehearsed. It wasn't about the insults — it was about the control. I watched him the way a scientist watches a specimen: quiet, curious, waiting for the pattern to reveal itself.
The pattern was simple — the strong feed on the weak, but only until they meet something hungrier.
The day it happened, the school was emptying out. The rain had left the walls dripping; the air smelled like iron. He found me by the lockers, that same grin stretched across his face.
"You still hiding, ghost?" he said.
I remember smiling. "Not anymore."
I don't remember the words that came next. Only the silence that followed — a heavy, living silence that pressed on my skin. There's a kind of stillness that comes after storms, where even sound is afraid to return. That's what it felt like.
When it was over, he wasn't laughing anymore.
And I wasn't counting seconds.
I was breathing, calm and unshaken. The world had found its balance again.
The next day, the teachers said he slipped, hit his head, no one saw. They spoke in whispers, not questions. People avoid questions when they already know the answers they fear.
For the first time, I felt something close to satisfaction — not joy, not guilt. Just… completion. The ticking in my head grew quieter. I realized then that my peace depends on silence — and sometimes silence must be made.
The Wolf — proud, confident, and untouchable until the forest turns on him. Even predators forget the shadows have teeth too.