The Savage

In the valley of Eagle Creek,

an uninterrupted sound

managed to break the

silence.

It rang out like a shot 

from a double-barrel

sawed off, and echoed

off & down

thru crispy morning air.

Like a shot, but not quite.

Like a shotgun, but not

quite.

It was in fact a scream.

Susan had screamed and set 

the birds free above the trees.

The cause of the yelp was

discovery: the body of a

badger being eaten by a

man.

The act was savage and

unexpected--she could

still see the frost on the

fur--

and the blood frozen neatly

on the ground.

The man had frost on his fur,

and blood smeared on his mouth.

He ate with his hands

the meat from the bones

and drank it all down 

with the

blood-stained snow on

the ground--a demented 

version of Kool-Aid she 

thought.

And after the scream he turned slowly,

cocking his head to one side, and spoke:

"Your trapped in this moment, you know.

You cannot unsee.  You have seen me, 

and I am wild.  Feral man.  This blood and

this scene will inform the way you live.

Normally, I would kill you,

but I think I already have."

He turned back to his

feast and Susan stood

still on that place of her

wounding--

moving through waves

of terror, pain, injury,

hurt, acceptance, and

resolve--

and took her place beside the man,

using her hands to rip at the flesh.