#FridayFlash: Beast

#FridayFlash: Beast, story by Tonya R. Moore

He’s a cliché, the all too solemn, emotionally vampiric type. Burdened by the nose ring, the deviant sex habit and the penchant for poisoning his patients, he’s a regular old Doctor I-Know-Every-Thing.

He’s the kinda guy who smirks at you across the parking lot in broad daylight and makes your skin crawl. You’d scurry away and you keep your head down because neither that thin veneer of civility nor the toothily salacious smile can quite manage to fool you.

The man is an animal. He’s a mean, misogynistic machine made of blood and sinew and you know it. You know it with a certainty that makes your teeth hurt. You know it in the same way wolves in the wilderness can catch scent of each other. You know it because a devil knows another devil from miles and miles away.

You carry that secret. You cradle it in the darkness of your being. The truth is, that curious pounding in that cavity where your heart once was, has little to do with fear. The man is an animal but you? You’re just another predator.

You know what that blinding light from the depths of those hollowed out holes you have for eyes in the mirror must mean. You only vaguely remember what sleep was. Forget sanity. Forget common ground. The world is a barren wilderness and you’re as hungry as that other beast walking upright, among the preening and always-begging-for-attention-or-something sheep.

Waking up from sleep-walking you find yourself there, in that dark place where the wind whips through the trees with an obscene sort of willfulness. It’s where you first learned to let go of that rigid control.

Do you remember that time so long ago, before you could walk on only two feet? Before you learned to kill with anything but teeth?

You pretend you’re human. You wear that bloody coat of frailty with a secretive sort of maniacal glee. All the while you’re frantically searching and dredging up the thing that’s gone into hiding, deep in your marrow where no blade, bullet, regret or religion can find it.

You remember with a perverse sort of longing, what it was like to be a beautiful, terrible beast that killed with abandon and crawled along the bottom of the ocean on prehensile digits for feet.

You haven’t forgotten what it was like to be a worm down there in the murky wetness, a primordial oracle trumpeting possibilities in a twisted, young planet’s tongue.

– from Tribute Omnibus

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