Chapter 16

Putting down the book, I stare out the window adjacent to me. A small frost has blanketed the browning grass, and the harsh late November wind blows steadily outside. Standing up, my joints crackle and my muscles strain from underuse. I walk stiffly over to the window, placing my flushed face up against the cool glass. I watch my reflection, looking at my tired, dull eyes and pouting lips. A soft snow starts to fall, and I see their shadows flickering against on own face. They swirl and twirl gracefully to the crunchy ground, dancing to their own beat. While their life may be short, it must be beautiful. When I was younger, before I knew about the conforming rules of pack life, I wanted to be a dancer. My parents humored me, and watched every show I put on for them in our front living room. I watched You Tube videos to learn more moves, and I binged dancing shows. Closing my eyes, I softly hum the rhythm to Sleeping Beauty as I sway from side to s