Droplets of Innocence
His filthy hand nimbly darted out with great certainty and grabbed the wretched creature, like an eagle swooping and grabbing its prey, before it disappeared behind a discarded corn-flakes box. Clawing the ground for dear life, it squealed like a teenage girl, petrified at knowing its own fate. It was tiny compared to his huge hand, its innocent, glowing eyes desperately searched for a route of escape. It whimpered in a pitiful way, begging the ogre for mercy. The tiny white body quivered with fear, as he played with it childishly interested; uncontrolled droplets of drool dripped from his mouth in the same uncontrolled manner as that of Pavlovís dog.
"Didnít your mother tell you not to play with your food?" I thought involuntarily, nauseated by the way he harassed the poor frightened fur-ball.
His eyes had the faintest gleam of intelligence, as he curiously taunted the creature, noting its reactions. It must have been like foreplay to him; his eyes longed for his next meal. Perhaps it was himself he was taunting, seeing how long it would take before he gave in to his stomach.
It wasnít long at all. Within what seemed like seconds, he had ceased to tease his meal, and viciously tore its tiny head from the rest of its body (which instantly went as limp as a wet mop), thick blood dripping from it. It was entrancing.
I wanted to look away, yet found I could not, the suspense bewitching me to the point where I could feel my stomach knotting. Vivid red wine droplets spattered over the squalid cobblestone alley, adding color to its dull gray.
Slime-like ooze formed glistening shallow puddles of slowly coagulating crimson gold in the deep crevices. I could almost taste it, that putrid warm smell, even from the distance I was standing at. His teeth stained bright red as the mouseís skull was systematically crushed. He chewed enthusiastically, energetically and with relish, as if it were his first meal in a very long time (it probably was). His teeth were as yellow as his fingernails, only they werenít encrusted with black grot. Those teeth must have been rotten to the core, but then again; the bones of a baby mouse are probably quite soft, and not too much of a challenge.
He hungrily devoured the rest of the mouseís body in much the same manner; however, he surprised me as he tossed the tail away, similar to a smoker tossing away a cigarette butt. A chilling autumn breeze stirred the sparsely scattered leaves, sending a shiver up my spine as I realized what I had just seen. He wiped his mouth on his patched flannelette sleeve (even filthier than the cobblestones themselves) with supreme satisfaction, and non-chalantly resumed the search for his next meal.