Wednesday, May 6, 2015

it hates

It hates. It hates in ways you do not understand.

On legs too thin, it stumbles through the thick woods. Long, strong arms end in long, crook’d claws. It reaches and rends. It is not quite fur and not quite down that covers the bulbous body, although, it mats into hard ragged snarls.

It is stunningly strong, though it hates its weak legs. Its fierce beak may pierce and rend through mail and men, though it is too small to satisfy its hunger. It cannot have enough blood to slake its superlative thirst.

It is chimeric and awful. It knows this.

Every unnatural step is painful on legs that refuse to grow stronger. Every desperate breath through nostrils too small keeps its aching lungs desperate for more. Its eyes are the preternatural yellow of an owl’s, but it sees no better than a myopic bear.

It lusts after diurnal drives and covets a nocturnal life. Instead, it must stagger through angry twilight dreaming of the sky and useless on the ground.

Is it any wonder, what it does when some fortunate soul saunters within its reach? It hates your sturdy legs. It hates your easy vision and calm, full breath. It hates the continuity of your skin and the cooperation of your bones. It hates your adequate mouth and every moment you’ve known no hunger.

It cannot comprehend contentment. If it could, it would hate you all the more.

Image by the incomparable +Matthew Adams. Absolutely the inspiration for the words above.
Also totally not my (c).

No comments:

Post a Comment