things aren't always what they seem

Once upon a time there was a big bad wolf. He was all big and bad, and black, pitch black like the night; the night without stars..but his teeth were shiny like the stars, all white and bright..and that wolf, he threaded pieces of meat with these teeth, his fearsome teeth..but at night when he went to his bed, he cried, he cried his eyes out..the big bad wolf was afraid of people..and he tried, he tried hard to stay away from them, and deny..deny his fate
this big bad wolf was alone, and black, pitch black like the night, and he didn't want to go outside, not at night..the other animals wouldn't see him, and he'd feel ashamed..

Once upon a time there was a big bad wolf; this big bad wolf had long gone left the forest and stayed in the city. he was feeding himself with leftovers, chances for game were scarce to none, and he had to lower himself to the life of his distant brothers, aka dogs.
so, he lived in the city, trying to stay alive, and decent. we must say he was doing much better at the first. some days, the really bad ones, he was thinking back in his time in the woods..some days were really hard to bare, impossible not to become reminiscent..so, one of these days, he thought back to his life in the forest..when he was young and strong and wild..and game was abundant..that old memory of self made him feel content. for a moment or so, he forgot his defeated body and soul, and felt again young and strong and wild..soon though he would escape from the old vision and would be struck again with the harshness of his reality, his discouraging surroundings..a sigh would leave his body puffed out..
he would then take the closest turn into a cold, dark, damp street and get lost in the less bright part of the city..when night fell, and the moon was playing with the clouds, he'd try to go up..the only nights he felt rooted again. from the top of a building he'd look up..he'd look up with his eyes open wide, his mouth firmly closed, his two front feet locked on the ground and he'd empty his mind..he was taking a long and steady look at the moon, without blinking, until his eyes became watery and his vision blurred, to the point where the only visible and perceived object was the moon and everything else took the shape that his mind gave it..he would see tall, old trees, where the skyscrapers stood; and all the lights red, and white, and yellow, were fires and eyes from night's predators..and all the vibration of the city was the vibration of the forest..even more the beat of the jungle, which he didn't know, but he felt it inside of him..he stood there, with his ears, attentively drawn on every little noise, making out the street's fuss a wind's blast through the branches..he would wait. he would wait. for the vision to end. and then he would do his ritual to the moon..he would take a long, deep breath; it would begin in a low voice coming from his belly, and then it would rise, the air slowly filling his lungs, until it would be released through a pursed mouth to a long, sighing howl, carrying a thousand pains. all the bad ghosts would flee his soul and he'd feel a little lighter..