#fenris
I came to buy four kilos —
one last patch,
and then enough, I told myself.
New faces.
Dead eyes.
A “wait here”
that tasted like metal and regret.
Lines on the table—
not kindness,
just bait
for whatever fool walked in breathing.
And my pulse whispered,
soft but sharp:
Wrong house.
Wrong men.
Wrong night.
Then he came in—
the goon.
Pistol low,
morals lower,
breath smelling like tomorrow
wasn’t promised to either of us.
**** product,” I said.
**** future.”
And I—
I slammed their brick
into his wall
like a prayer
nobody sane would say.
He raised the iron.
And there—
right there—
the old hunter in me woke,
like Fenris rising in my eyes,
my gaze going full Ragnarok.
I lifted the bag.
Met his stare.
Said,
“Sorry, man… I’m ****** up.”
Paid the devil.
Walked out alive.
Walked out shaking.
Walked out knowing
I shouldn’t have walked out at all.
Four kilos.
One gun.
One dead man walking.
But the one who died—
wasn’t me.
It was the man
I used to be.
And he stayed in that room.
On that floor.
Under that gun.
Where I left him.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 5:19 PM UTC
I held the calm all day—
the small storms,
the glances,
the tiny cuts that never bleed
but still bruise the mind.
I swallowed the chaos,
carried the silence,
did the work no one sees
and kept the peace no one thanks.
But then
one careless word—
useless—
and something ancient inside me
opened its eyes.
Not rage.
Not madness.
Fenris.
The wolf who guards the borders of my soul.
He didn’t howl.
He didn’t bite.
He simply stood,
warm breath against my ribs,
and said:
“No more.”
And I spoke with his voice—
steady,
cold,
clear as steel:
If you want me here, say it.
If not, I walk.
That was not anger.
That was truth with teeth.
A boundary carved in bone.
A reminder that even the gentlest man
is still a wolf
when pushed too far.
Now the storm is quiet.
Fenris lies down again.
And I remain—
not broken,
not ashamed,
but proud
that when I needed him,
the wolf inside
didn’t fail me.
Dec 2, 2025
Dec 2, 2025 at 4:26 PM UTC