Wild Child

He's cold, his body is shivering. He has no idea where he is, he only knows it is territory unfamiliar in both terrain and location.  The air feels different, it's pushed around in physical gusts of a temperature he's never before encountered.  It tickles his skin and he's entranced by the sensation. The sounds are different here also.  There are loud bursts of intrusive waves that grate on his sensitive eardrums. He's never heard such a loud disturbance so he crouches low to the ground and waits.

He's hungry.  He has never known such intense hunger pangs before, his body is stretching in an unprecedented manner and it makes his need for food intake greater than ever before.   He smells food.  It's not like the food he is accustomed to, it smells heavier, fuller, there's more blood and meat than what he has previously known.  His glands salivate, his stomach growls, instinct takes the helm.  He must stalk and kill his prey.

First, there is confusion.  He's not sure what he's smelling, he can't determine what he should do first, but the scent of food comes closer and instinct takes over.  He attacks, he goes for the jugular.  At first the warm blood is all he needs to know and the taste of flesh calms him, but as his appetite is satiated, something nags at him.  Something isn't quite right, but he's tired now.  He's full and he needs to rest.  He returns to the darkness from which he ascended.  He sleeps.

Linked to Poetry Pantry @ Poets United</a>