A Boy and A Wolf
No, this wasn't about the boy who cried wolf.
A long time ago in a faraway village, a boy, an orphan, lived alone, inheriting a small plot of land from his deceased parents. That land and a few sheep were everything in his possession.
One day, after tending to his little vegetable garden, he heard villagers complaining about wolf sightings. Bad news, he thought.
Rushing back to his tool shed, he found no supplies to enforce his gates. The wolf would saunter to his sheep like a king to a feast.
He then went to a handful of neighbours who seemed prepared to borrow some tools and planks.
“Not enough for you and us,” they said.
“We still need the spare nails, but I understand your situation,” they replied.
Polite smiles, pitiful gaze.
As predicted, that night, he lost two sheep to the wolf.
Months later, a puppy the boy raised after the attack grew into a young dog. One day he needed to spend a few nights in the town to trade, so he asked for help from his neighbours to watch over his house, sheep, and dog.
“Rest assured.”
Polite smiles, pitiful gaze.
A week later, he came home to fewer sheep and a buried dog carcass.
“The wolf ate them. Your dog tried to protect, but he was no match.”
Once, twice. His requests were met with empty promises.
Sympathetic stares, yet no help received.
Years later, the boy grew into a strong magnolia tree with lush foliage curled from his branches. A self-made merchant, he left the village and lived in a big city. Less fortunate people knew him for his generosity, donating here and there and giving alms for charity.
He was the type of young man who would give, not lend, you a cloak when he saw you walk the snowy night shivering. He was the master who asked his workers to bring the party foods to their neighbours after wrapping up at his household.
He only said, “I did not have enough for myself back then, and it was a miserable life I won't wish anyone else to live.”
People from all the four directions praised him for his self-sufficiency.
A man of his own making, the far senior merchants spoke of him out of jealousy.
A role model for young entrepreneurs like us, the younger ones said with gleaming eyes.
But they didn't know. They wouldn't know, wouldn't have known, that it was years back in his village that taught him the hard way.
Once, rejected.
Twice, met a cold shoulder.
What was the point of asking for help anyway?
He lent a hand and shoulders when someone else needed his help because he had been at that point where polite rejection didn't feed people.
He never wanted to see anyone else in such a position.
But he knew one thing. Back then, not only did his sheep and dog die but even more so, his trust.
Never again to be vulnerable requesting someone's help, for no one had deemed him worthy to lift a finger for.
A wolf, an illness, a miscalculation, perhaps he had been destined to face everything alone.
This was a snippet I wrote in my online novel. In that novel, this was a story written by the male main character in prison.
A sweet poll here.
Until next time,
