Friday, August 20, 2010
A fluttering sound...and a spray of tiny, icy daggers prick at my nose and around my eyes. Lids twitching from the unexpected alighting the instinct...remain closed. Slowly, my breath is drawn - even more slowly than I have drawn while asleep moments ago though accosted by a rapturous symphony of odors that threatens to overwhelm my instinctive intent with the promise of novel ecstasy. The distinctive scent of warm flesh detected among the dizzying spectrum, I gradually begin to allow the crisp dawn to slice across my vision and I begin to take in the world around me. A shadow among lazily wavering undergrowth...just within the upper limits of my sight. I can't resist. In an instant I give a quick exhalation through and lick of the nose cleansing it for a pure sampling of the scent, a snap of the neck upward, and indulge in a deep inhalation. The shadow darts through ferns that beckon me to follow. Shaken dew glinting in the broken rays that peirce the wooded canopy provide a shimmering trail to my quarry. I wait. I don't need these. I have its scent...from the way its diet has influenced its musk and the urine on its haunches to the spore and pollen on its coat from its foraging to the nearly dried blood in a slight wound on its snout. Tiny. Too small for a meal...but swift and just right for a challenge. The world about returns to slow green undulations coerced only by the fickle breeze. Now the chase begins!
Friday, January 16, 2009
I can smell it - the worthless beast. What respectable creature defecates where it lives?...unless it must. I can't escape the stench! This cell is too small. I can barely stand. Not that I can now. No. Right now I can only lie here - eyes closed - curled up as if I could gather myself so tightly that I could eventually collapse into an infinitesimally small point and then disappear. At some times can stand and other times I can't. It is as if as month passes to month the cell expands and contracts - though I suspect that it is more a matter of fluctuations in my stature. It has begun to feel as discomforting to stand as it is to crouch. Why enjoy something that may be taken away forever in the next moment? I'll just lie here - eyes closed. I can hear it breathing. I'll catch it in a moment. It's sound is easier to track than its form. I can usually strike it at will now. Phasing in and out is no longer such an advantage. Perhaps I'll tear off one of its six legs and revel in its clumsiness as it wobbles like a drunken toddler until it accommodates for the lost limb. Or...rather deprive it of one of its tentacles and beat it with its own appendage! Why think of such things? I know that it is bound here by her will...like myself. It can only struggle to survive as best as it can under the conditions which it has been forced into...like myself. I can't bring myself to hurt it...considerably. I flex my limbs but I cannot curl up tighter than I already am...tasting the blood in my mouth...feeling the aching of breathing and the warmth of blood throbbing through my recently battered flesh. I won't hurt it this time...possibly never again. I can't suppress an iota of a whimper. I am disgusted with myself...my weakness...and then I hear it. A language and a voice that I don't understand but sound familiar permeate my consciousness. Vibrating sympathetically within my flesh, I notice that I have begun to move my lips to the syllabic pattern. A peaceful fatigue overcomes me....
Thursday, November 27, 2008
A strike to my snout and I am flooded with strange smells...and some measure of pain. Not enough to drop me to my knees...no...I fell to my knees from the weight of the disbelief. Or perhaps I fell to prevent my defense to the extent that I dealt her as she dealt me. This has not been the first time and I have grown sick of the periodic beatings by which she obtains her catharsis. My mistress whom I serve...worshiper of the spider of chaos...beating me as if I were a insolent child! All due to advice that would save her future shame! She...a fool...a priestess of an insignificant house bent on self-destruction through erratic emotion-driven agenda and I the fool of such a fool bound by an unfortunate skill she possessed!! A thrall, yet half-bound, and bound in the rest by my higher-mind...I refrain. Half of me perservering until she can grasp the wisdom...half of me now screaming to free myself. Two bloods within myself...two voices demanding to be heard. She now kicks me. Do I strike?! No. I will leave her with shame as her companion.