F.H. Broxton: The Hungry

Spring '07 TOC

Cast-down eyes that only obviously watch when you have passed them by scan and dart between blinding rays. Their hosts linger in shadows cast by immense beams of brick and concrete. Ever so often, they gaze heavenward when mechanized birds pierce the silence. The smell of new rubber is likely all that alert passersby to their presence. They wait, eager for acknowledgement, anxious for exchange. Breadcrumbs and discarded meat lay at their feet, but they don't eat. That sort of meal is not on the agenda. It will take more than scraps to fulfill their needs. These that both hide and want you to find them have appetite for much more.

Something has caught their attention, caused their stomachs to rumble and growl. She is slight to be sure, but steady on her course, lurching and limping their way. A shockingly pink tongue, almost fuchsia, springs from her lips, tenderly stroking raised white abrasions that line her similarly pale mouth. It is clear that she also intends to feed. So set on her course, an obnoxious slap of moist green and earthen rod fail to grasp her attention. The meal is just beyond, in that ingurgitate place.

Anticipation causes shuffling against pavement. Black marks, and ones whiter than the rubbing-place mark this spot of expectation with permanence. Will those that tarry here in centuries to come, those that excavate, discover what happened here? Will they taste the fecal matter to learn of the diet? This concept is unfathomable to the beasts of now. Today is only today, and tomorrow... just more hunger. Fortunately, the food supply is plentiful. None are featured on the Endangered Species list. There is no fear of their extinction.

Sulfurous scents from nearby humming, droning places enter the nostrils, activating the taste buds, reminding all of what they've come for. Distinct cravings leave no room for experimentation. Nothing can interrupt the sweetness of desire and imminent contentment. Yes, they will feed today. Unlike many species, they are fortunate to have the diet of their choosing. A cool, shadowed habitat creates a space for uninhibited exchange, and the predators are elsewhere, immersed in cellulose fiber... sleeping.

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Not Enough Night
Not Enough Night
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