Last Supper, by Mark F. Geatches
I huddled against the smooth, algid wall of the ancient lava tube waiting for the beast to draw near. I scratched two living conches together at intervals, simulating the coupling, in an effort to attract him to my position. Its movements were certain, its gate purposeful. He sounded massive; maybe the largest glaiderhorse I had ever encountered.
I evoked an image of the brute in my mind. Elegant yet heavily muscled with a sleek glabrous hide; its orange, garish mane making a mockery of its blue over brown camouflage flesh. I pictured him in the prime of life, a loner bound by no laws save those of nature.
A pang of jealousy overcame me.
The strength this beast must possess, I thought listening to its approach. The dominion it must enjoy.
Then I smiled.
As it drew near my heart fluttered inside its skeletal enclosure in weak, spasmodic contractions. My breath came in short, clipped pants. An onlooker might think my bodyꞌs efforts to be death throes.
Can he smell me yet, I thought. Surely he can.
I cast my eyes downward to view my shivering body. So weak. So old. This may be my last chance, I thought as fear shook my body.
Itꞌs getting close. Almost time …wait … wait … Now!
I hurled myself at the beast with as much vitriol as I could muster screaming, “Die! Die!” and striking it about the head. He was magnificent! More than I dreamed possible.
It did what reflex compelled. Attacking violently, it tore my head from my body. With seconds of consciousness remaining I prayed it would eat it. It was the only way.
I could already hear the land conches racing to my remains as I pummeled my killer with gossamery fists.
Such agony! But thank you! I thought as he bit into my vessel of being.
After a lengthy inner struggle I emerged.
Strong! Yes stronger than ever! I thought.
“Ahhhhh,” I said running my hands admiringly over my new body. “This is much better.”
Whoa! Whatꞌs this? I thought.
“A female!” I exclaimed. “Ha ha ha ha. I didnꞌt see that coming.”
Mark has a Master’s Degree in trumpet performance from Florida State University and loves music of all kinds. After performing for several years, including a three year stint in Germany, he entered the business world. He built two small businesses before beginning a new chapter in his life; Mark now builds fiction. As he nudges his creativity and ambition in a new direction, music remains his constant companion. Mark finds music and writing the perfect mental connection; the nexus of focus and inspiration. Mark’s fiction has been published in Romance Magazine, Cowboy Poetry Press, Faith Hope and Fiction, and here at INfective INk.
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Tags: change, horror, Mark F. Geatches