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random_ficceryTitle: Waste Not, Want Not
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 630
Warnings: Implied and Off-Screen violence leading to murder, Implied eating of the dead (not cannibalism, as the eater isn't a human).
Original Prompt: "Deep in the woods, there lived the most interesting of little creatures…" - Selkie3
Summary: This is a tale about a strange creature living in the woods and its even stranger sources of nourishment.
Author's Notes: Besides being a bit late for my 'Fairy Tale Tuesday' goal, this is a bit darker than the others, but no less a fairy tale for all that. Many of the original Grimm's Fairy Tales were pretty danged dark and brutal, so this is almost fluffy compared to some, but it's dark for my usual stuff. However, it's short and it's not elbows-deep in the darkness, but sort of ogling it from a little ways away, so hopefully everyone will be okay with it. It's late, it might not be all that dark, but I'd rather overwarn than underwarn, yaknow?
Deep in the woods, there lived the most interesting of little creatures; smaller than an average cat and scaled in deep browns and inky blacks, with clever whiskers, needle-fine teeth, neatly curved claws, and bright little eyes like rubies lit by tiny flames from within. It didn’t always live in those woods, but it never stayed away for very long.
In the very distant past there were people who had a name for the little creature, but their race had dwindled, and then died out altogether after many generations of enmity with another group of people who were almost exactly like them, but lived the next valley over and closer to the river. They killed each other off, these two groups of people, and the little creature had witnessed it all, in increments dictated by whether or not their hateful skirmishes happened in the woods or not.
Of course, it didn’t happen often in recent times, incredibly rare since those ancient people who knew of the little creature and who had named it died off. It wasn’t that murders didn’t happen fairly often, all things considered, but there was only one of these little creatures in all the woods in all the world. It was something about the deep woods, how the trees and the undergrowth combined with the scavengers and the rich, loamy earth so perfect for digging; something that drew some people in to do the dark deeds requiring solitude, as well as screening from prying eyes and receptive ears. All the factors which were so conducive to murder were conducive to the little creature’s comfort and, eventually, led to its sustenance.
If there was a murder, be it in hate, jealousy, rage, avarice, or a twisted parody of love, the little creature would be drawn to the site, to the scene, to the wild and vivid flare of emotions like an explosion out of silence, like an enormous bonfire in the darkest night, or a splash of vivid red on the brownish-grays of earth and leaf mold.
The creature would sneak nearer, keeping to the shadows, but close enough to catch every little emanation, the sounds, the smells, and the kaleidoscope of emotions exuded by sentient minds—especially those which had been broken, which had gone very deeply wrong. And, creeping close by, the creature would feed, and feed, until everything was still and quiet. Until the last gasp and rattle of life had left the dead, including the dwindling sparks of activity in a fading mind, and until the tumult of emotions leading the living person to want to take the life of their victim faded, too.
Unless the murderer was particularly resistant, or particularly focused, if they didn’t immediately run off, or hastily remove their kill, most of them would pause, perhaps in regret, perhaps in triumph, or in any number of states possible after stealing the life of another. It was in that pause, in the still moments after life had fully left the dead, when the interesting little creature would move closer, silent and soft-footed, feeding on the rich fodder of the killer’s radiations, bright and visceral, rich and vital. It would feed more, pulling away all those sharp emotions until, most of the time, the murderer would grow listless, weary, and perhaps sink down to the welcoming earth to rest. Closer still, the creature would approach the bringer of its banquet, unseen to their steadily dulling eyes, and continue feeding until the murderer was as empty of life as their victim.
Then, of course, being a practical creature as much as an interesting one, the little creature would settle in and feed on the more solid nourishment left behind when life had fled, again. Waste not, want not, as the saying goes.
~~~
.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 630
Warnings: Implied and Off-Screen violence leading to murder, Implied eating of the dead (not cannibalism, as the eater isn't a human).
Original Prompt: "Deep in the woods, there lived the most interesting of little creatures…" - Selkie3
Summary: This is a tale about a strange creature living in the woods and its even stranger sources of nourishment.
Author's Notes: Besides being a bit late for my 'Fairy Tale Tuesday' goal, this is a bit darker than the others, but no less a fairy tale for all that. Many of the original Grimm's Fairy Tales were pretty danged dark and brutal, so this is almost fluffy compared to some, but it's dark for my usual stuff. However, it's short and it's not elbows-deep in the darkness, but sort of ogling it from a little ways away, so hopefully everyone will be okay with it. It's late, it might not be all that dark, but I'd rather overwarn than underwarn, yaknow?
Deep in the woods, there lived the most interesting of little creatures; smaller than an average cat and scaled in deep browns and inky blacks, with clever whiskers, needle-fine teeth, neatly curved claws, and bright little eyes like rubies lit by tiny flames from within. It didn’t always live in those woods, but it never stayed away for very long.
In the very distant past there were people who had a name for the little creature, but their race had dwindled, and then died out altogether after many generations of enmity with another group of people who were almost exactly like them, but lived the next valley over and closer to the river. They killed each other off, these two groups of people, and the little creature had witnessed it all, in increments dictated by whether or not their hateful skirmishes happened in the woods or not.
Of course, it didn’t happen often in recent times, incredibly rare since those ancient people who knew of the little creature and who had named it died off. It wasn’t that murders didn’t happen fairly often, all things considered, but there was only one of these little creatures in all the woods in all the world. It was something about the deep woods, how the trees and the undergrowth combined with the scavengers and the rich, loamy earth so perfect for digging; something that drew some people in to do the dark deeds requiring solitude, as well as screening from prying eyes and receptive ears. All the factors which were so conducive to murder were conducive to the little creature’s comfort and, eventually, led to its sustenance.
If there was a murder, be it in hate, jealousy, rage, avarice, or a twisted parody of love, the little creature would be drawn to the site, to the scene, to the wild and vivid flare of emotions like an explosion out of silence, like an enormous bonfire in the darkest night, or a splash of vivid red on the brownish-grays of earth and leaf mold.
The creature would sneak nearer, keeping to the shadows, but close enough to catch every little emanation, the sounds, the smells, and the kaleidoscope of emotions exuded by sentient minds—especially those which had been broken, which had gone very deeply wrong. And, creeping close by, the creature would feed, and feed, until everything was still and quiet. Until the last gasp and rattle of life had left the dead, including the dwindling sparks of activity in a fading mind, and until the tumult of emotions leading the living person to want to take the life of their victim faded, too.
Unless the murderer was particularly resistant, or particularly focused, if they didn’t immediately run off, or hastily remove their kill, most of them would pause, perhaps in regret, perhaps in triumph, or in any number of states possible after stealing the life of another. It was in that pause, in the still moments after life had fully left the dead, when the interesting little creature would move closer, silent and soft-footed, feeding on the rich fodder of the killer’s radiations, bright and visceral, rich and vital. It would feed more, pulling away all those sharp emotions until, most of the time, the murderer would grow listless, weary, and perhaps sink down to the welcoming earth to rest. Closer still, the creature would approach the bringer of its banquet, unseen to their steadily dulling eyes, and continue feeding until the murderer was as empty of life as their victim.
Then, of course, being a practical creature as much as an interesting one, the little creature would settle in and feed on the more solid nourishment left behind when life had fled, again. Waste not, want not, as the saying goes.
~~~
.
