Hi, my name is Michael. I was born in 1871. My mother abandoned me at birth, leaving me to die in the fields in the early morning. Maybe a fox would eat me, perhaps I'd simply die of thirst beneath the hot sun. A she-wolf took me and for months I lived with the pack, struggling for milk and to survive. Somehow I lived. Later, a man found me in the forest and took me from the wolves, my only family, into his circus, where I became a performing freak, oggled by snarling visitors and starved once again of all love and affection. Now, thankfully, this terrible life is over, and I am dead and buried, passed back to the earth. All that survives of me is this photograph. Thank you for listening.

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I especially like the way it is not the wolves but the people that snarl. Great story.

16/10/15
6:42am

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