A wolf would gnaw off its own leg to escape a trap. Brendan was in such a trap.

He lay in bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Staring but not really seeing. It was the sunlight shining in his eyes, creeping through the broken piece in the blinds that brought him back from the ever-expansive void; it nagged him like the constant ache that permeated every waking second. It wouldn’t let him be, wouldn’t let him forget, wouldn’t let him fade away, disappear. He rolled over onto his side to escape its persistence. The sun no longer in his eyes, still its presence bothered him. Why couldn't it always be night? The air was cooler, and the moon never pried.

Besides the sun, Brendan had another problem: his bladder. It had been threatening to burst for the last couple hours. He knew what must be done, but he was still resentful for the last time he had to do it. His heart threatened to burst forth from his chest at the mere thought of getting up, he wished it would. Despite how hard he tried, his body always found a way to keep going. The will was worn, but the flesh was willing.

there was a calendar on the wall; she put it there, back when things were … The picture on the calendar was a tropical beach. Sometimes he liked to imagine he was there as somebody else who would actually enjoy the sun, the warmth, being anywhere but here. Not to say he enjoyed being here amongst the musty sheets, but it’s marginally less miserable than everything else.

Once again his bladder pierced the rumination like a scalpel against flesh. If he doesn’t get up soon he’ll have a bigger problem to deal with than just getting up. But problems are something he’d learned to live with; they’re to be shunned, ignored until they either resolved themselves, or forced him into action. Brendan resented this simple fact. Why couldn't they just go away, leave him to rot in peace?

Again, his bladder bursted itself into his otherwise peaceful introspection. The aching down below had reached a tipping point—it's now or you’ll be sleeping in it. That was a threshold he was not yet ready to cross.

He slid one foot over the edge of the bed, letting it hang there for a moment. The next foot followed. Soon he was upright, sitting on the edge of the bed. His body was a curse, something else with problems he’d be more than happy to leave behind. His feet made contact with the layer of clothes and garbage strewn about the floor. He began to shuffle toward the door with a candy wrapper stuck to his foot that he doesn't care enough to remove. Each step further from the bed brought him to places he cared not to go.

He’d made it to the doorway now. Progress was slow, even though he just wanted this over with. The hallway beyond was littered with clutter. The color of the buried carpet eluded him. The bathroom doorway was just a few steps away. The toilet was in sight. He sighed with relief—halfway. Now that was over, he needed some water from the kitchen. He’d stop drinking it entirely, but it’s one of those problems that wouldn’t leave him alone—he resented that. He’d figured out how to drink just enough to minimize having to get up anymore than necessary.

The kitchen was just a little further down the hall. The piled up dishes in the sink greeted him like a slap to the face, but worse are the distant memories of when they were cleaned and put away, in the days of her—back when this place was a home, not a tomb. These unfortunate thoughts bring more problems he couldn't escape from.

he passed the fridge—something definitely went bad in there. Flies buzzed around the sink. “You guys can have whatever you want as long as you don’t bother me.” The sound of his own voice startled him. It sounded—just like everything else about him—like it had seen better days.

All of the glasses were dirty, so he just picked the cleanest looking one. He filled it half full. That was all he could have lest he encouraged more unnecessary excursions.

Time to head back. His gaze rested on the topmost drawer underneath the counter. It would be too easy …. but not today. He wasn't really sure why—just not today.

A knocking at the door suffused the silence. Even if he had the energy to walk over to it, he definitely didn't have the energy to talk to anyone. If they wanted something from him they’d just have to get in line behind all of his other problems.

The return journey to bed was always the easiest part. Relief washed over him as he collapsed back into the musty sheets.

One question seemed to solicit more salience than the others: how long until the wolf decided to start gnawing?