Starving

“Fuck,” Bernice said, her very small feet stamping in frustration. She turned on Randall and poked him hard in the chest. “When the hell are you going to do that one?” She indicated Ignatius with a thrust of her chin.

“All in good time,” Ignatius said, staring at Randall who blushed.

Bernice dragged Marla’s whelp roughly up the stairs to dispatch with her outside as a warning to any other non-deads who might want to try their luck. In actuality, it was more of a mercy killing than a hunt. Young as she was, she wouldn’t have survived long without Marla.

Randall and Ignatius emerged into the dark cavern ringing the dance floor in time for the last song. They stood together, their backs against the wall, watching the frenzied crowd shake and grab and press, some in time to the music, most doggedly pursuing their own rhythms, giving in pleasure and pain and throbbing desire.

“Youth,” Ignatius said, his cold lips ghosting Randall’s ear. He shivered.

“Yes,” Randall said, “Youth.” And in that moment, it made perfect sense. That people will bend and twist and harm and hate, all in the pursuit of that one moment of perfect bliss. That some people might even die for it. That Randall might, and may, and would.

He reached over and grabbed Ignatius’s hand. Felt the spinning earth under his feet. Opened his mouth and discovered it was filled with stars.

©2009





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