Chapter XVIII: Story of an image
Rummaging through the toy box, Aran eventually found a sketchbook and a tin of thick colored chalk. The sketchbook had obviously been used, as it showed clear signs of the first few pages being torn out. The wolf laid down on the floor, flat on his chest. With his plush husky not too far away from him, he opened the canister and examined the crayons.
As one might expect, most of the pencils were brightly colored. Red and blue and yellow, but also green and purple and orange. The canister contained a few more exotic colors as well, but Aran did not feel like drawing in color.
After all, he had even used charcoal in the most recent phase of his artwork. The wolf did not know whether he felt emotionally or biologically drawn to the properties of the burned wood. Black as the night itself, and nearly impossible to erase. Charcoal typically characterized the strongest of Aran's memories.
He finally found what he was looking for. Ignoring the ordinary grey colored pencil, the wolf settled for the only black colored piece of chalk and took it in his hand. Just before the wolf let the tip of the pencil touch the paper, still not knowing what he was going to draw, he froze as if he was struck by lightning.
Flashes of images passed before his eyes, some of them fantasy, but most of them were real. Memories of pictures he drew, the blank page he had stared at in his apartment, the time he tried to draw while he was high, and other visions that did not take a clear enough form to be discernible or recognizable.
It was as if the empty page in the sketchbook was the same white sheet of paper that had tormented and taunted Aran when he tried to draw for the last time. He also remembered that he had found it hard to draw after his parents had split up, which struck the wolf as strange, since his father was usually the one that disturbed his creative process rather than stimulating it.
Aran could even remember his father thrashing his bedroom, tearing or otherwise destroying a good portion of his drawings. Some of them were prized pieces, pictures the young wolf really loved. Once again, the black wolf tried to push the memories of his father away, but he failed.
The visions became stronger and more intrusive. Parts and pieces of Aran's late childhood emerged and played before the poor wolf's eyes, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Later on, memories of his most recent nightmare mixed in with the images. In the end, Aran was not even sure whether he was afraid or angry, and neither did he know whether he felt said emotions for his father or for Kaiser.
Suddenly, the visions stopped and the wolf was left with nothing but a blank sheet of paper again. He breathed heavily for a while, but eventually he got himself together. With determination, he started to sketch. Even though the result would not be pretty, he now knew what he wanted - no, needed - to draw. If Jennifer was not content with this, nothing else could satisfy her.
When he was busy with the final touches, the collie came in to check up on her charge, as if she knew Aran was done.
"I see you've found something to draw after all," she praised.
Not only did this comment break Aran's concentration, it also startled him. A split second later, the wolf noticed that his bladder had decided to let loose in a pinch.
"Oh, I'm sorry, did I scare you?"
Aran tried to stop his wetting, but his attempts were fruitless.
"Kind of," he confessed softly, after his bladder had emptied itself completely.
"Is something the matter, little one?"
The wolf grabbed his plushie and tried to hide his face, with drooping ears and his tail between his legs.
"I'll take that as a yes. Don't be afraid, puppy, you know you can tell me anything."
Jennifer's words shook Aran out of his fright and he looked back up at his caregiver.
"I kinda just wet myself."
"Is that all?" she played down.
He shook his head.
"I didn't even feel the urge, and I didn't feel it coming either!"
"Hush, Aran, it's okay. You're wearing a diaper for a reason," Jennifer reassured.
The wolf felt embarrassed. He was twenty years old, for crying out loud! He did not need a diaper!
"We'll take care of that later. Are you going to tell me what you've drawn?"
Aran turned back to his drawing and showed the picture to his caregiver. The image displayed a shadowy canine figure, clearly agitated. Its fist was raised, as if it was ready to strike the viewer. The perspective suggested that the viewer had been beaten to the ground, with the figure standing at their paws.
"You asked me to draw the first thing that came to my mind. It's not exactly the first thing, but as soon as I started drawing, there was nothing else I could think of."
"This person... it's your father, isn't it?"
The wolf nodded.
"I'm sorry if you wanted me to draw a house, a tree and a yellow sun with a smiling face."
"Don't be silly, Aran. I told you that I didn't expect a masterpiece, but regardless of the quality, the picture you just drew tells something about you."
"Not to me. It's just one of the many bad memories I have."
"Try listening to your own artwork, little one. It tells me the story of a young wolf that has never been appreciated by his father. He knows only what it feels like to be hurt, both physically and emotionally. In the end, the youngster became older and started to hate his own father, bitter about what he had had to face."
Aran remained silent for a short while, trying to verbalize his thoughts.
"Could you please not say such things?" he finally managed to utter.
"Why not? You're the one that drew this picture, Aran. It says something about you."
"I know, but there are things about myself that I've tried to suppress."
"Don't worry, pup. You'll be okay. Pictures like these are one of the reasons why you're here in the first place. Now how about a nice dry diaper?"
Having forgotten about his wet undergarment already, Aran suddenly felt the wetness at his crotch again.
"Um... yush, I'd like that," he said, somewhat shyly.
"Would you try to carefully tear your drawing from the sketchbook? I'd like to keep it in my room."
"Really?"
"Very much so. I like it, in a strange way, but it would be wrong to put it on the refrigerator, don't you think?"
"I wouldn't want you to do that anyway," he replied, partly to himself.
"Sit tight, I'll go get the diaper bag," Jennifer said and she left the playroom.