Taking a break from my recent spree of inactivity, I decided to take up the writing prompt from Ishana’s latest post. The end result turned out a little poetic, maybe.
The beast wakes to its usual surroundings. Darkness, not even much of an inconvenience. The night is quiet, its serenity broken only occasionally by traffic outside. But that scent…The scent beckons once again. The beast ventures forth, insubstantial paws pattering noiselessly across the tiles and up the walls.
It passes in front of the window, gleaming silver in the moonlight. Not an Earthly silver, but the ethereal silver of transient whispers of existance. But no one is watching, and the beast is certainly not inclined to vanity, even in its prior life.
Inside the box, the smell grows exponentially in both magnitude and sweetness. It lies just ahead, masked by some tasteless shell. A deterrent for simpler creatures, perhaps. But the beast scurries forward, well-versed in its tricks.
But tonight is different. Tonight the beast slammed against a barrier where none before had impeded it. There was a sound, like laughter, and suddenly the beast was falling. Falling, falling, as if from a height too high for it to comprehend. Falling, falling…
By morning there was nothing left, save for a few vapors diffusing into the dawn.