The blank wolf.
It follows me. Everywhere.
Every step I take, it takes another.
It follows my path, hunts down my actions.
It has no shape, no color, no presence.
It is antithesis to such things.
To even give it a name is contradictory to it's nature, for names are an aspect of existence.
And existence is contradictory to the blank wolf.
Where it steps past my foot falls, my foot prints vanish.
Where it passes where I've left my mark, it is as if it was never there.
I leave memories of myself where I've been with others, when it passes, I am not remembered.
Any object that I touch that I made with another, it will rip down to shreds.
Any accomplishment I've made, it'll unmake.
Blank wolf. Always following. Always hunting.
It never tires. It never falters. It never yields.
It follows me. Without beginning, and without mercy.
Blank wolf. It is not blank, nor a wolf. But no name fits it better.
It is a hunter, relentless, tireless, ruthless. It is not anything unto itself, it exists only to erase, it exists by erasing, only by erasing does it have presence at all.
No matter what I leave behind, no matter what I make, no matter whom I craft bounds or memories with, the blank wolf follows. And when it passes, those things are as if they never existed at all.
I keep thinking I've outrun it. Or I've evaded it. But the blank wolf remains. For when I dare to look back. I see nothing there. Not my foot prints. Not the marks I've left behind. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. As if I had never passed at all.
But I feel it. It knows me, and I know it.
And when my time has run it's course, when I lay down for the final rest, the blank wolf will make it last and ultimate kill, and it'll be as if I had never existed at all.
Blank wolf. Tireless. Relentless. Ruthless. Neither blank nor a wolf, but no name fits it better. A unyielding hunter that leaves all as if it's prey had never been.
Like a companion it walks behind me, sometimes close, sometimes far, but never ceases, always coming.
Words I said forgotten. Words written fade. Images created dissolved. Ideas winked out.
Blank wolf. No name could be more fitting.
Everything I make unmade. Everything I do undone. Everything I know made meaningless. Everything I learn made empty. Blank.
Blank wolf. I leave these words. And then the blank wolf will cross here too. And they will be forgotten. As if I had never wrote them. Blank.
If I could leave but one memory in this world after those who knew me were gone. If I could leave one note. One idea. One concept. One image. One word. One feeling. I'd know the blank wolf had been denied it's kill.
But the blank wolf comes.