I BIT THE HAND OF GOD; NOW HE WON'T FEED ME EITHER
the sun had begun it's eventual descent, as had virga in the dying lights of the star. he was not one for the calm, the horrid rains and wild winds had always suited him better than the eerie calmness of the eye. perhaps that was why his current object of interest had received his lashings, with a firm glare centered upon his prey. a poor squirrel, caught earlier in the sun's peak. it had done nothing to earn virga's ire, the corpse was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
it's an irreversible hunger, one that had drove the flame-coated man wild. no matter how much he consumed, nothing would calm the fires. he knew his fate was sealed, but his grip on life was yet to wane. "fox-hearted freak!" the words begin to spill before he truly realizes it, teeth snapping at the already deceased. his words would barter no reaction, only falling way to deaf ears. the dead don't talk, virga. perhaps he should take lessons from them. "you insufferable, maggot-infested-"
he is cut off by his own instincts, tearing into his prey. what would have been a peaceful evening is interrupted by virga's unresolved temper. there is little doubt in his mind that his words are being carried, through wind or through other means. that he is ruining the sanctum of peace. "disgusting," a pause as he swallows down another bite, "you couldn't even make yourself taste better? pathetic." and yet, he continues to feast upon it. perhaps in a rare moment of embarrassment, the remembrance that he no longer travels alone. that chaparral was no longer the only soul to bare witness to his outbursts. even if the others hadn't felt real. even if they were only presented as static in the blurring mind of a flame-consumed man. he could not stand the bewildered gazes.
perhaps he should just keep his head down and finish his meal.
even if it was disgusting. and rotten. and unworthy.