Saturday, February 23, 2008
All Hallows Feast
Winston gripped at the tree to grapple his way to the tip top of the tree so he could snag that last ripe fruit above. One last ruby red lump standing out with brilliant luminosity, tingling against the brown, arid world. Winston drooled. His dirty paws ransacked at the old bark which crumbled as dust as he slid back down the trunk, defeated. "That tree is done," he hissed. He pawed at the tree furiously until every fiber of its wood became dirt, and the base of it came crashing down. With it, the ruby red fruit that tickled his buds and sent every cell of his body screaming for nutrients. The fruit bounced into the hands of a sudden stranger. Winston glared. The stranger took off running. Winston was faster. Winston was not merciful. The stranger had already gnawed the ruby red to nothing. Winston sized up the offerings of the rugged landscape. Cannibalism was invented.