We all know the story of the boy who cried wolf, of the boy who was bored and caused panic in his village, of the boy who was labelled a liar. My story is different. My story is darker. My story shows that family is rare in a town where everyone cried wolf.
Every day, I sat on top a tall, grassy hill, watching the sheep and waiting for wolves. My eyesight was as sharp as a hawk's (the best in all the realm) so it was the perfect job. I loved watching the beautiful summer sun while gorgeous red roses bloomed along the grassy bank and the crisp untouched snow that tumbled down just before dawn. The world was so vibrant, so full of colour, that it didn't matter if I couldn't hear the birds singing at sunrise, or the river flowing swiftly downstream. All that I could have wished for was right in front of my eyes.
Although my body may have been relaxed, my mind was fully awake, carefully concentrating, eyes fixed down below. I would see a shimmer of a tail, or a rustle of a bush, and suddenly I would be screaming "Wolf!" so loudly that both heaven and hell would tremble in fear. Rushing up the hill would be at least half of the village, charging with pitchforks and torches to drive the wolf away. At first, I would be met with so many thanks that I could feel my heart physically swell. But over time, the thanks lessened, and the villagers seemed less eager to destroy this dangerous wolf that plagued our sheep.
I would continue to cry "Wolf!" each time that brutal creature appeared between the trees and I always kept the same amount of urgency. Until one time the villagers had had enough. Tired of running up my hill each time I saw a wolf, they thought it would be better if I stopped watching altogether. "The wolf has never even touched our sheep," they said. "There's no need for us to chase it away each time you see it!"
Even though I refused to move from my regular spot on the hill, the days felt harder and lonelier than they had before. I knew that even if I saw the wolf, the villagers would be too tired to chase it away. For the first time in years my mind relaxed with my body and no longer watched in fear of a wolf.
But contrary to the other villagers' thinking, the wolf would touch the sheep. The only thing stopping it before was the army that charged at it, and now that army was gone. While I slept, it crept up the hill, getting ready to pounce on its prey and my eyes refused to open until it was too late.
Fear engulfed my heart; the scent of doom approached me and the acidic flavour of fright stung the back of my throat. I managed to cry "Wolf!" but if anyone heard me, they made no effort to save me. I was trapped and alone, ready to die with the knowledge that I had no family left who cared about me.
Then, out of the blue, a sword fell from the skies above and landed at my feet. Without a moment's hesitation, I lunged for it, moving as quickly as I could and, with adrenaline pumping through my veins, stabbed the wolf straight through the heart. It fell to the dirty ground covered in blood and lay whimpering for a few moments before staying silent. I thank whoever sent me that sword because it has allowed me to save myself from monsters ever since. It was the greatest gift that I could have received.