Photo by Nathan Wright on Unsplash

Chained up in endless hunger, It knew not how long. Pocked and prodded but so very seldom fed, and never sated. Time passed in a oozing crawl. A threshold was finally reached when something some primitive it could scarcely be called a plan emerged in Its mind.

Poked and prodded again, but instead of a growl of frustration It let out a screeching sigh. It knew it worked when the meat in flowing white hovered so much longer, chittering away in its babble. It settled further against the wall to wait.

Time continued to pass slowly, it hardly seemed to move at all, though what thoughts It had roiled with the smell, the feel, the taste of the meat. Meat it would soon have. Though It did not sleep, it’s awareness sometimes faded, the hunger ebbed down to a dull roar.

This was the closest thing to peace Its kind ever reached.

The poking and prodding started again, though this time it was tentative, and warm, and so, so close.

“Is it working? Have we finally found the the cure?” the meat chittered.

It surged upwards, claws flung wide, jagged mouth agape. An abrupt scream of terror turning into a dying gurgle. Sweet, sweet flesh, such tender goodness. The hunger pulsed and faded, ever so briefly satisfied.

After cracking the bones for the marrow, Its all-consuming need to gorge on the meat faded and It noticed the way was open.

More sweet, sweet smells.

It reached forward but the chains stopped it again. With a howl of fury It through itself forward. Again and again it lunged, but where before it had been weak, the recent meat made it stronger. Strong enough to break free.

Before long the chains began to give, to bend, and to finally break. Barely stumbling, It took off at a rapid hobbling gait, head thrust in the air, snuffling loudly, strides taking It onward. Renewed hunger pushing It to seek the next source of sweet, sweet meat.

Charles writes on art, history, politics, travel, fantasy, science fiction, poetry. BA, MA in Political Science, Phd Pending. Inquires:

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