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ferineThe crescent moon sliced the horizon like a scythe, burning yellow, against dark blue fading to black. Pinpoints of white peppered the sky. There was always comfort with the stars, with the moon, with the night.
Watching the pink thing was strange. Such a weak and naked vessel. Clumsy, with two elongated forepaws tipped with skinny root-like protrusions. The hindpaws even longer, bent oddly, sporting stubs. Furs of unnatural colors covered it’s body. The only natural fur was on it’s head, hanging to mid-back. The pink thing was in a wheeled metal cage. The entirety reeked of suffering, of sickness, of abnormality.
This pink caged entity was alone beneath an aspen cluster. Sniffing the air, it was evident that the aspen had been recently marked by others, probably the wolves that had recently wandered into the area.
Why was the pink thing here, naked and alone, helpless, shivering in the night?
Approaching hesitantly from the foliage. The pink thing notices, and we both freeze. Time suspends. Breathing stops. Pulses synchronize. Eyes meet; two eerily reflecting yellowish green, and two storm-tossed blue. Something wet and running escapes the corners of the blue eyes. The pink thing shudders and makes erratic noises. Wet escapes from the center of the face as well.
Why not run away from this strange pink thing? There is no incentive to remain. No need to stay. And yet…
Alien to aggression, yet knowing what was needed, the furred thing leaped up and tore into the pink thing. Ripping into cream cheese flesh, rooting to the heart. Nosing the slick, hot, still-beating organ. A shared organ. With tenderness the blood-slicked furred thing bypassed the surrounding gore and lapped at the heart, then nipped at it, and finally ate it with desperate vigor, as if starving.
Looked around, sated. There was no pink thing, no cage. Had there ever been?
Watching the pink thing was strange. Such a weak and naked vessel. Clumsy, with two elongated forepaws tipped with skinny root-like protrusions. The hindpaws even longer, bent oddly, sporting stubs. Furs of unnatural colors covered it’s body. The only natural fur was on it’s head, hanging to mid-back. The pink thing was in a wheeled metal cage. The entirety reeked of suffering, of sickness, of abnormality.
This pink caged entity was alone beneath an aspen cluster. Sniffing the air, it was evident that the aspen had been recently marked by others, probably the wolves that had recently wandered into the area.
Why was the pink thing here, naked and alone, helpless, shivering in the night?
Approaching hesitantly from the foliage. The pink thing notices, and we both freeze. Time suspends. Breathing stops. Pulses synchronize. Eyes meet; two eerily reflecting yellowish green, and two storm-tossed blue. Something wet and running escapes the corners of the blue eyes. The pink thing shudders and makes erratic noises. Wet escapes from the center of the face as well.
Why not run away from this strange pink thing? There is no incentive to remain. No need to stay. And yet…
Alien to aggression, yet knowing what was needed, the furred thing leaped up and tore into the pink thing. Ripping into cream cheese flesh, rooting to the heart. Nosing the slick, hot, still-beating organ. A shared organ. With tenderness the blood-slicked furred thing bypassed the surrounding gore and lapped at the heart, then nipped at it, and finally ate it with desperate vigor, as if starving.
Looked around, sated. There was no pink thing, no cage. Had there ever been?