The pen tucked in between his forefinger and the middle finger moved up and down, as the white dim light of the table lamp bulbed his face engrossed in deep thoughts.
The pen stopped and started drooling out ink, some wobbly words were printed on the paper and then a hand moved to cut them off and scrunched the paper to throw it among a pile of other crumpled papers in a black basket placed beside the table.
"C'mon it's not that hard. Just write it down."
He picked the half-lit cig from the ashtray and took some puffs before proceeding with another attempt to write a letter.
Grey ringlets of smoke blew out of his mouth as he peered through it and wrote on the paper,
"Dear Father,"
And stopped.
'What's next?' he pondered.
For the past two hours, he had made thousands of attempts, wrote the same two words, and cut off the paper from his notebook to throw it in the basket.
Another failed attempt and his aggression reach the peak of Mount Everest.
"Argh..." he groaned and stamped his fist on the table so hard that it shook its legs.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This time he didn't pick up the pen to write, instead, sift out an unlit cig from its box and propped it in between his lips and flipped the lighter with his thumb, and brought it near to his mouth.
He headed towards the window and stared outside at the wide sky soaked in complete darkness.
It was midnight, the sky was decorated with gleaming stars, and he began by interpreting the shapes they were making in the sky.
Since childhood, he loved staring at the sky and decoding the patterns stars form in the sky, and searching their significance in the magical world.
He had heard numerous mysterious tales about the moon king and how they shape lift into a creature, they themselves could not even imagine when the gravity of a full moon touches the earth.
He remembered when he was eight-year-old, one night, he heard roars of wolves resonating in their whole town that pulled him out of his deep slumber and he inquired his mother about it. Then she explained to him about the full moon myth; how some people still consider it a myth and how its gravity affects the souls of wolves.
His orbs moved from star to star, perhaps he was trying to match them to form the words he couldn't be able to scribble on the paper and wrote the whole letter on the sky with the nib of his red orbs.
He was scared, perhaps, or not.
It took him hard to take this decision. Even harder than the previous one. Leaving them all behind was not difficult for him. But now seeking help from them, as he failed to survive without his powers, had become a deal hard to crack for him.
His father voice resonated in his mind, as he was busied in gazing at the sky,
"You'll regret it."
"No, I'll not." He replied with the same level of confidence and attitude.
Maybe it was his overconfidence that made him blurt out that.
He didn't recognize it at that time but now in the deepest dungeon of his heart, he felt that he shouldn't have done this.
He's a wolf, a son of an alpha, and an alpha to be. It is nearly impossible for him to survive a minute without his powers.
His bad was that he didn't realize it at that time. Now that he apprehended the fact and regretted it so hard, he decided to write a letter to his father, to ask him or maybe request to return his powers to him.
The thin veins of his eyes swelled with red blood as a repercussion of constantly staring at the sky or it might be his aggression, indecisiveness, or regression that boiled his blood up to his eyes.
Suddenly, a pattern he had drawn on the sky changed, and something familiar appeared once again. He didn't blink this time, as he knew it would disappear and he kept on looking at it. It smiled and he is an expert at deciphering the language of stars, immediately closed his eyes to give a sign that he understood what it tried to convey. A contented smile emerged on his lips as he opened his eyes again, the image that moments ago was up there in the sky was obviously not there as he knew it would not be, but it did not sadden him now.
He brought his hand saturated in the smoke up to his lips to take a puff and realized that it had lit to the butt. He threw a glance at the ash laying on the floor and turned toward his table once again.
He grabbed the pen in his finger and started scribbling on the paper, he wrote it this time without any pause.
The expression on his face remained constant all through and it took him fifteen minutes to be done with the letter.
"Your beloved son,
ASHER." he wrote it at the end of the right corner of the paper.
He threw himself back in his chair and inhaled a gush of cold air making its way through the open window.
"I hope he'll understand my position." He whispered as he drooled the hot wax on the mouth of the envelope and pressed it with his alpha seal.
Sliding back his chair, he stood up and walked towards the room next to his room.
He grabbed the doorknob and gently pulled it down, the door creaked open as he steps inside and flipped on the lights.
A stingy smell of rotten blood welcomed him, but he did not feel nauseated because his olfaction was accustomed to these kinds of smells.
He moved forward across the bed and leaped ahead, his hand reached the shoulder of a body, wet and cold, as he turned it on its back. Blood was still reaping out from its different parts, he stroked its hair back and whispered its ear,
"Soon I'll blow life into you and make you my enslaved guardian." A devilish laugh exited his mouth as he pulled his body up.