The night jackal

 The jackal was not anything and he walked out at night, howling over the greasy dark roads, gazing towards the passing yellow street lights and the sleeping towers. What is to wonder? It didn’t matter. 

The rain was not there. It stopped showering. It was the perfect timing. No one was behind and no one that he had to follow ahead. No time constraints either. What is the speed through which he slips onto the ground and race ahead. How are his sights. Is he hungry? By heart, in mind. At this wet dark hour, he will roam.. 

Happier still he has thoughts running for multiple days. The thoughts, huh! They are constant and hardest to conquer. The night is beautiful and his pace sets him freer all the more. What’s with this city?

He wishes directions. It’s hard to understand stuffs, life. What is there to care about? It’s the plentiful seeking. He is put up inside the cave, all day long. He misses his time with the stars and he misses being irresponsible. He has grown mid-aged. He has to take care now. He passes the day in the tedious long arrangements that settle for the surplus food. He is building credit. 

Did he say he is grateful? His arms are strongest. His legs are finest. He has the most energy to run and see the outside world… Much less that he can do, he sticked to the city.