Death propels Life
He laid in wait, planning the kill. His eyes gleamed like red fire emanating from purgatory. All of his senses were at full alert. His tongue hung out with drops of drool at its tip. Now and then he moved his tongue across his lips, anticipating the aftermath of the kill. A faint growl broke his trance. His ears perked up and eyes grew wider looking around for familiar signs: a rustle of leaves or crunching of twigs or a trace of the prey’s scent. He found none. The next time being prepared for it, the sound was more pronounced. Then it came to him. A glance at his belly confirmed his suspicion. The sound came from nowhere but from his insides. What else had he expected! He had not fed for days; lying there waiting for the ultimate big game. A few such days and he’d be no better than dead. The wait prolonged and his appetite intensified manifold; his belly howled in protest. Long waits bear sweet fruits (in this case: flesh), he repeatedly consoled himself. But deep down he knew that