Standing helpless in the middle of a train station, watching the hundreds of people flood by around me, I tried to remember just exactly how I got here. How I now could see the clusters of people covered in the thick coat of sheep, smiling bright and chattering with the loveliest people. The fake smiles, sharp canines, and tails wagging in anticipation. I could see the build up before the kill. And there was nothing I could do to help anyone. Because who would believe the girl that cried wolf?
They always had the same look in their eyes that he did. The crinkled corners that begged you to believe that they were happy for you, not ecstatic because their plan was going exactly how they wanted it to. I'd seen the look a million times in my lifetime. Seen them condition the people around them to shower them in attention. Seen them flash their fangs to make the crowd around them cower in fear, just so they could feel superior for a fleeting moment.
And sometimes the wolf would reveal itself. And just as many people have before, you'd reach your hand out to feel the thick fur. Feeling that you can trust them. But they are all wild. And I felt like it was hunting season in this train station. All of the wolves sniffing out a rabbit. The sweet scent of vulnerability and empathy. They knew I was here, I could see them shift their glances from their current prey to me, noting me as a potential next victim.
And they know I see them under their sheep skin, because they can see the bite marks from past wolves, the scratches and scars. But they don't care because they know I will give them a reaction anyways. Doesn't matter because it's the attention that they feed off of and they're starving.
And all of us rabbits stand in plain sight, because there are no threats visible. Only sheep. And I watch as the rabbits get closer to the sheep, sniffing them out and accepting them as their own, learning to care for them. And I watched as the sheep wait for the rabbit to reach their mouth, watched as they couldn't help but drool because the soft and untouched fur of the rabbit was so close.
And I couldn't help. Because who believes the girl who cries wolf?