Today, I am going to write a short story.
Digest
I sit and wait; wait for the inevitable. I am resigned to my fate. Some of the others falsely have hope, they believe that they may be spared...ha. Fucking fools. They'll all be chewed-up and swallowed like the rest of us. It's only a matter of time. Who will go first? It's inconsequential; the rest will shortly follow. We stay here, waiting to make the brief journey to the end of our existence, watching our friends and family taken and destroyed in front of our very eyes. Despite the many cries of anguish, pain, and pure despair, our murderer doesn't flinch, too focused on absorbing our remains for his own despicable gain, his own pleasure. He doesn't care about us - he is happy to use us until we're nothing. As if that weren't evil enough, it gets worse. If he's consumed only a fraction of us, but his sick hunger is sated, what does he do? He throws the rest away. He doesn't set us free, or even use us another time - our deaths are for nothing. He doesn't feel guilt for a millisecond - not one. He just gets on with the rest of his day, fueled by the lives he's taken.
Damn, I hate being a pea.
There we are! Thanks for reading.
PS. PIXAR THIS COULD BE A FILM (maybe)?
Tom.
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