Curse the Muse

The smell of blood awakens me from my slumber. I find myself in the center of a room, walls splattered with blood and chunks of what looks like flesh, here an arm, there a leg, an ear. Memory hits me like a fist to the face. Sitting in a tree, I wait, seems like hours on end. Then I pick up the scent, taste it in my mouth. I see a form approaching the spot, I drop feeling weightless for mere seconds. As I make contact time stops, my claws shred the flesh of her back like tissue paper, blood matting my hair, coating my skin. Slish, slash slicing hamstrings and calves, can't let my prey get away. I stand there, tasting the fear this soul reeks of, letting it roll in my mouth like a fine wine. My presence engulfs her, smacking her to the true reality, game over. I take a bite from her side to satiate myself, this one will take hours. I grab her by the ankle and drag the carcass, taking it (her) inside. Leaving her in the center of the room I circle, enjoying as the blood pools watching, waiting, giving false hope, waiting for the mind to think there's a chance. When she starts to stir I crawl in, ripping into her thigh. The screams are the sweet melody to my play. Feeling the blood run down my chest I go into a frenzy, tearing flesh with abandion, throwing about as much as I devour. I gorge myself into a deleriated state, passing out within my artwork. As I digest my prey my mind replays the memory, making my body quiver.