feeding frenzy it's contagious

01.03.45
A hunt today, dark and silent, culminating in a kill as sweet to the tongue as blood, to the body as sex, to the mind as poetry. Human death, no thing more glorious to revel in for a Maverick, nothing more pure to offer to the cause than a sacrifice, sanctified by spilt blood and rent flesh.
The Virus is a dangerous companion, in its tantalizing near-perfection, bringing all of us as one into a pure lust for carnage, an end to they that have created us and set us free to roam the world. I slip, I think, to its songs of blood and glory, but not so far I do not remember who I am.
I am a wolf at the door, a ravening hunter. I am become death, the destroyer of worlds. This is more perfect than all the worlds, than all creation, than faith, than meekness, than submission. If obedience wins me this, these singular moments of perfect joy in the death I once so futilely fought, then compliance is no burden.


Contents of this document are © 2002 Kim Kondratieff.