Burn the Letter
If it hadn’t been for the firelight, you would never have known he was there. He was as much a part of the land, as the land was a part of him, and that oneness made him all but invisible. He normally didn’t light a fire at night. Food tasted better raw now, and on the plains, fire attracted too much attention from unwanted neighbors.
You could not say he was an animal, but he could not say he was human. The intelligence in his eye had diminished, and his body depended almost entirely on the instinct for survival. There was only one thing he had not yet lost, though. He could write, and that’s what he was doing that night. That’s why, against all of his habits, he had lighted a fire.
To the Object of My Fondest Memories,
This is the last hour in which I shall exhibit any fragment of sanity. I long ago lost the ability to use my voice, and my hand will soon fail as well. When I first left the place I could have called home, I knew it would come to this. I decided that my last moment as a sentient being would be spent telling you all that I never told you before.
Being near you made me feel like I was more than the poor excuse for a man that I am. You told me I was romantic. You told me I was intelligent. You told me I worked hard and did well. I was and did none of these, until you. You spoke, and I became.
I remember everything about you still. I remember the times you would laugh at (what I thought was) absolutely nothing. But I found that I wanted to laugh too. I remember that when you held me, I couldn’t think. I didn’t have to, everything was good.
This may be my last moment of intelligent thought, but it will not be my last thought of you. Even if my life as a beast never ends, you will be in the thought that lets me rest. You will be in the thought that allows me to survive.
Perhaps, in time…
He dropped the bone stylus he had used for writing, and the parchment he had labored over. On all fours, he sniffed the air. They were coming. In desperation, he threw his stylus and parchment into the fire, then stomped on it. Then he loped off into the darkness.
After all, the prey who waits is dead.
