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?

“Honey, did you use the last of the milk?”

“I don’t remember. You can’t find it?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I could find it, silly.” Jane stands in the middle of the kitchen, looking at him with her hands on her hips. “There’s a list on the fridge for things we run out of. If you added to it, I could’ve picked some up yesterday.”

“I’m sorry. I keep forgetting.” Brendan does his best to hide the shame that wells up inside him—he’s always forgetting to do things she asks.

It must shine through though—he was never any good at hiding it—her eyes soften a little. “Well, we’ll just have to go get some now!”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Do you remember when it was my birthday, and you spent six hours in the kitchen baking the perfect cake. How many did you throw away?”

“…Two. I never did get it quite right.”

Well, it was a lot better than I could have done.” She grabs his hand. “I’m trying to show you that kind of commitment. I want to be like that for you.”

He puts his arms around her. “You don’t need to, I like you just the way you are.”

“I want to.” She pulls away from him, walking over to the door. She puts her shoes on, then holds her hand toward him, looking back expectantly. “Coming?”

“But … yeah.” He follows suit, grabbing his backpack and her hand as he heads out the door behind her.

The colors are beautiful. Red, yellow, and orange leaves hang from the tree branches, threatened by every gust of wind to join their brethren already plastering the ground below. The chill in the air lets him know summer has officially passed. Their feet crunch the leaves as they walk over to the garage. Brendan slides the door up, revealing their car, their bikes, and a hodgepodge of assorted items. They push their bikes out of the garage, closing it behind them.

The neighborhood is quiet as they roll down the mostly deserted streets. The morning seems almost magical in the crisp, damp air. Their bike tires make a cacophonous crescendo of crinkling as they ride.

Brendan glances over. Jane’s face is alive with wonder. She always gets like this as the seasons change. He has to admit he can feel it too, like electricity coursing through the air.

“Follow me.” she says, veering off the street, onto a bike path that cuts through the splendid trees.

“What about the milk?”

“We’ll get it later.”

The air of the path smells even more strongly of damp, decaying leaves. The vibrancy of the canopy ensconcing them is second only to Jane’s awe-struck expression as she rides beside him. She’s lived in Minnesota her whole life, but she still acts like every autumn is her first. Brendan vows to do everything he can to protect that innocence from a world all too eager to rip it away.

Jane comes to a stop next to a small dirt trail leading off the paved one, further into the woods. “I want to see the lake.”

The pair park their bikes off to the side, moving single file down the path. Brendan has to jog to catch up as she sprints ahead of him. When he does catch up. She’s standing in the small clearing overlooking the lake. The reflections of the trees in the water give the place an ethereal presence. Jane's face is alight with wonder, captivated by the scene ahead.

“You’re beautiful.” He says.

She turns those dazzling green spectacles toward him. His world stops. Everything else melts away. In that moment it's just the two of them. No beauty in the world can compare to the one looking back at him. She flings herself into him, nearly knocking him over; she squeezes him so tightly that he has to fight for breath, yet he doesn’t mind—she can take all the air from his lungs. They could’ve stood there for an eternity. finally Jane whispers, “how about that milk?”

The ray of sunlight shining into his eyes brought him back to the decay of reality. He rolled onto his side to escape its insistence. His abdomen hurt, not from hunger, this was something else. He was all alone again, all alone inside his head.