Food Chain

He was weak. Weakened by the flesh, by pride, by need. He needed desperately to feel wanted to feel irreplaceable, to simply feel. He had killed one already. Not the flesh and blood death that ends suffering, the spiritual death. A kind of dying more painful than the flesh because the dead are completely aware of their demise.

She found him in his weakened state of manhood. Like a spider to a fly she carefully spun him into her web. She cocooned his psyche. Stroked his needy ego. Filled his mind with everything he wanted. she gave him purpose. He gave her passion. The while, the dead kept on living. Filled with her confidence he struck out again. "You don't give me anything. You don't show me passion. You don't appreciate anything I do for you."

The dead simply listened. Weighed carefully her empty words. Slowly choking on the real tears of a death without release she replied, "You are right." That was all. Simple. Three words as empty as the three he promised her long ago. Time carried her empty flesh away. Drifting final,y facelessly across the face of the earth. Peace at last.

The spider kept her fly. The fly would soon be consumed. Ironic the words she used to entrance her victim actually freed his. The food chain carries on.

(c)2013 R.M. Brandon