Waking up II

The wind blew gently into his face, occasionally throwing a stray blade of grass into his face. He sat on the soft ground, hugging his legs, his chin resting lazily on his knees. It was a beautiful morning, and he had a wonderful view of the sunrise. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, smiling as the scent of spring flowers wafted past him. Life was good, almost dreamlike.

He heard a squeak. He couldn't place it, but he knew what it meant. Springing to his feet, he started combing the hill, looking for its source. It could have come from anywhere in the grass, and as he searched, his desperation started growing.

The squeak started changing. It started becoming lower and lower, until it was soon more of a growl. At this point, the source has become quite visible. A great hulking mass of muscle and fur lay at the foot of the hill, curled up into a ball. It was breathing heavily, and steadily growing.

He rushed forward hoping to reach it before it became too late. As he ran, the beast unfurled itself revealing its claws and teeth. It still moved slowly, like a bear just coming out of hibernation. The growling was turning into roars, each one progressively louder.

He reached the growing monster and flung his arms around it in a bear hug. Surprised by the sudden intrusion into its leisurely awakening, the beast started trashing about in an effort to throw the offending creature off its back. The claws flailed about in random directions. But he hung on. He had to.

Pulling himself a little higher up the back, he wrapped his arms around it's neck. Feeling the small limbs wrapped around it's windpipe only served to make it feel even more vulnerable and prompted even more violence.

He stared whispering into the beast's ear. He has learned long ago that a soft, persuasive tone didn't work. It only antagonized the monster even more. The only thing that worked was an icy, emotionally detached appeal. A cold dose of logic and reasoning. The simple facts and nothing more.

It was taking longer than usual this time. The razor sharp teeth were slashing dangerously close to his face. Sometimes, they got close enough and they grazed him slightly. But that was enough to draw blood, and soon his face was a mess of nasty cuts. Soon he began to tire, his aching muscles begging him to let go. But he hung on, keeping his vice-like grip. He kept up the whispering, kept up the firm and gentle pressure to calm down.

It took what seemed like an eternity, but the persistence finally started to pay off. Slowly, but surely, the snapping and scratching abated. The monster started shrinking until it was back to its usual small self. He slumped to the ground, thoroughly exhausted. Every time he does it, it gets harder. One day, the beast will get the better of him, and all hell will break loose. He needed help, needed someone to help contain the monster.

He could only pray that the saviour will come soon.