The animal struggles under my grip, its breath slowly leaking from its frantic lungs. I try to tighten my hold over the creature's nostrils and mouth, making certain not to get my fingers too close his jaw. They might not have teeth, but with a single crunch they can break the wrist and leave it inoperable for full seasons. I know this from experience.

Some of the men can snap the animal's neck with one solid, menacing motion, but I was never able to match their strength in that regard. Besides, it's too dangerous to watch them and practice their technique. Instead I am forced to use the agonizing process of asphyxiation, watching as the critter thrashes in my arms, mortal terror in its eyes for anywhere from a few moments to a great portion of the day depending on how tightly I hold my hands.

Today I am impatient. I clamp hands too tightly against its nostrils and it jerks a hoof into my stomach. I reel over from the pain and the animal flees from my grasp. I growl and rush after it in pursuit, the second time I've had to chase this thing today. Thankfully, I've already squeezed most of the life out of it, and they aren't too terribly agile to begin with. Soon enough the thing is exhausted by the chase and surrenders itself to impending death. I go back to my work and this time finish without the sloppiness of before.

∞

I drag the beast back to the others, making certain not to make eye contact with the scattered women foraging for nuts and berries in the forest. It's much easier work, but I find that the produce is unable to sustain me. I tried the simpler way and nearly starved to death for it. I won't make the same mistake again. And besides, the women will be outside rummaging through the woods until long after the sun has moved down the sky. Today has been fortunate, and I'll be able to spend the rest of it in leisure.

I survey the area and see a few other men picking clean various carcasses and even the occasional woman who stumbled upon a particularly lucrative bush. One even decided to uproot their plant, although I don't linger on that thought for too long. That could only bring trouble.

I tilt my head down and focus purely on the corpse lying in front of me, now swarming with a variety of insects. If I'm even luckier, there might be some larvae left over on the meat as a snack, but I try not to get my hopes up. Instead, I begin punching the beast in the chest with every ounce of force I can raise from my left arm. It's about all my hand is good for after being crushed when I first began hunting, and I don't really mind the subtle cracks that sometimes can be heard when I go about this rhythmic beating. I just hope it's the ribs I'm hearing.

It takes some time, and afterwards I'm quite exhausted, but eventually there's an audible snap, and if I follow the outline of the bones, I can find the break and tear myself off some flesh. I take as much hide as can fit in my hand and pull, the veins in my head ready to burst from the effort. I see the skin stretch further and further in my hand until the flesh cannot withstand the tension and a blood drenched strip of meat is torn off the ribcage in a shower of shattered vessels and cartilage.

With a squeal of delight, I hold the dripping flesh to my face and suck in the delicious juices, ignorant of the liquid pouring down my face and soaking my body in warm, sticky euphoria. When the meat is all but completely dry, I start to rend the flesh with my teeth, avoiding the parts that are too close to the hide, for I know that I will unable to chew the beast's rough exterior. A choking fit that nearly left me suffocating was more than enough to teach me that particular lesson.

In my earlier days I would normally skip the slurping part and simply start the meal by planting my teeth into the soft, succulent flesh. I've found my teeth no longer conducive to that plan of attack, however, and they are often left aching and sore when used for more than passive scaling of the creature's hide. If the meat isn't tenderized first, my entire jaw will start to feel engulfed in flame and the pain will preclude me from eating anything for several days, although my poor hunting abilities often have the same effect. The loss of two teeth, decayed and blackened completely to their core has made me much more cautious with my mouth in general. It is one thing to starve for lack of food. In fact, it's totally understandable. It is another thing entirely to die for lack of eating, although I try to not think too much about ways to prevent it because, of course, that would just be stirring up more trouble.

∞

I spend most of the afternoon and evening painstakingly consuming the animal. This was a fairly large catch, and I know that my gluttony will inevitably make me sick later, but I'm not about to let one the others snatch my kill. It's not like anyone else would let me grab their carcasses in the future if I did. Again, that would only lead to more trouble. The best for which I can hope is to fend off whatever attacks for the skeleton might come in the night and scan it for insects in the morning. I'm not particularly skilled in this, however, and most times I'd wake up to find myself deprived of any chance of morning grub.

Not that it was all that intelligent to hold onto a skeleton anyway; the bones seem to cause pain more than anything else. If I handle them in just the wrong way, use them to rip open the rest of the carcass or broke them open in search of more food, my brains immediately start to boil until I go as far away from the skeleton as possible. I am not quite sure why this was the case, but when it came to bones I've always decided to use an abundance of caution.

Being that I was feeling relatively well fed, I decide to discard the carcass in the river nearby instead of opening the possibility of fighting for it. In the river, at least, I would be rid of it, and it would be useless for all the others as well. As always, the latter concern is a much greater motivator than the former.

After I retch up the excess meat, I plant my body on the firm, sandy ground and go to sleep, surrounded by the noise of the others gorging down their own meals or fighting each other for scraps. The commotion hardly serves to lull one to sleep, but there is at least some comfort in knowing that the others are present. After all, if a night beast came prowling into the sand, at least they will be eaten first.

Of course, with that thought, my temple begin igniting with a searing pain. I open my eyes and look into the blackness, emptying my head of whatever has been residing in there and the discomfort begins to recede. Contented, I roll back over, close my eyes and feel the darkness consume me.

∞

A single drop of lustrous paste touches my nose, and immediately I know it is raining. Within moments the skies are engulfed in a haze of murky clouds and the translucent suet they unleash upon me. With gentle plops at first, the fat globules of rain attach themselves to the surface and meander across the planet, slowly extending oozing tentacles far beyond the limits I dare not pass. I do as always do and dig my face into the dry sand, leaving some room for air, but the sound of agonized hacking proves that the others aren't quite so innovative.

The rain sticks to their naked bodies and begins to snake its way down their lungs, fastening itself to the soft tissue and making them cough up endless tiny droplets of blood to rid themselves of the brainless parasite. Those who suffer this too many times will be unable to naturally remove the fluid, and the morning will find them smothered to death, but I don't linger on the thought. That sort of speculation brings more trouble, and I have enough of it for moment.

Even though I can breathe well enough, there is still the trouble of the chill. The solvent adheres to my back and I become soaked to my innards. There is nothing innately frigid about the liquid, but with no sun to dry it, the deluge begins to freeze my entire being. An uncontrollable shiver blasts through my whole body, and every muscle and tendon whose obedience I do not consciously enforce spasms beyond any hope of control. My body pulsates wildly, each limb dancing in a different direction, threatening to rip myself apart.

I try to ignore the insufferable cold and focus on the emptiness of my head, and for a while it seems to work. But just as I am able to withdraw somewhat from my senses, that familiar pain re-emerges, and I am forced to accept the frigidity of the elements over the throbbing of my temple. Given a respite from my attempt of self-control, my muscles completely seize, and I find my hole in the sand filling with rain as I flop madly in my place.

Horrified, I try to reassert some sense of self-control and hold my breath, afraid that the rain will seep into my mouth. The pool of salve ominously rises, nearing my nose, the only orifice I have left with which to breathe. My eyes bulge in panic as the cesspit climbs higher and threatens to leach into my nostrils. The ghastly fumes of rot and fat encompass my senses as the first trickles of the rain drain into my snout. Engulfed, I'm forced to abandon my shelter to take a breath, but doing so only fetches further, recalcitrant particles to cling to my lungs, making respiring all but impossible. I gasp and pant like a mutilated fish washed ashore, struggling for the very taste of life itself. There is only so much fluid that can be coughed up, only so much lung that can be torn and only so much strength that can be exhausted before the frames of my consciousness begin to blur and I pass out in a thick, odorous puddle of jelly and blood, my body still engaged in violent palpitations against the bone-chilling cold.

∞

As I wrest open my drooping eyelids, I am instantly made aware of the fire burning in my chest. I wheeze, a long breath of icy wind thrust from my lungs and tiny pieces of tissue sprinkle unto the ground. I sit up to find that a handful of moist, red sand has stuck to my face. I wipe it off and begin the process of slowly peeling the rain from my skin.

I bite a jagged edge into my fingernails and carefully scrape them across my forearm. A white film is crusted off but my epidermis is left enflamed and bleeding from the effort. I've taken to doing this after every rainfall, even though it is a remarkably painful experience. I'll be unable to traverse the vegetation with the paste still stuck to my appendages. The rain adheres to everything with which it comes into contact, and hunting is extremely difficult when the entire forest chooses to attach itself to me. Besides, there is something deeply unnerving about feeling an extraneous object on my skin. I've become acclimated to idea of the thing living on my back, but my arms and leg chafe at the unaccustomed touch.

Of course, I'm not entirely comfortable with having a second skin on my back. I have no doubt that it's turned completely flaky and white and all the animals are greatly amused when they look at this enormous, pale man hunting, like a corpse risen from the river.

That naturally sends my temple into shocks, the pain of which is far greater than my lungs have ever been. It was stupid of me to dwell on the animals and my back. I shake my head and return to the moment.

The rain has significantly reduced my stamina, and I head towards the river where I'll try to capture a fish. The fish is much smaller, but all that is required in catching them is lying by the riverbed and putting my hand in the water. They also don't need to be strangled. After flopping on the ground for a few moments, they're practically ready for consumption. It will serve as a complement to my diet and is satisfactory enough for today, although I'll probably be...

No, that's too far ahead. I need to focus on the task at hand.

The stream is infested with a near forest of vegetation, and after wading through the waist-high, purple grasses and among the pink fungi, grown to twice my size now that spring has arrived, I'm glad that I chose to remove the rain earlier. My feet begin to be impeded by the mushiness of the soil, and eventually I'm dragged down by the new layer of rain. To avoid being stuck, I grab hold of one of the grasses and pull, hoping that the plant will be able to hold my weight. It does, and I am released. After doing this five more times, I finally arrive at the riverbed. A woman is fishing on the other side of the stream, but far enough away that this won't be a problem. She's keeping her head down and I do the same, so as not to raise any more trouble than need be.

I lie down by the stream and commence by clearing away the film of last night's rain from a patch of water. Some of the rain sticks to my forearms, so I wash them with the deeper, colder liquid, and the rain rinses off. Fully prepared, I dip my hand into the depths and eagerly await the approach of my nourishment.

The sun has nearly surpassed the height of the moon in the sky when I feel the first trepidatious touch of slender tentacles on my right hand. I allow the fish to cleanse my knuckles of whatever dead skin remained on them before gently raising my hand above the water. The fish is much more anxious than usual, however, and instead of tightening its grip, it flutters down the stream.

This doesn't really create any problem as fish can only meander around the underwater rocks as a source of propulsion, so its daring escape doesn't even leave the boundaries of my fishing patch. I plunge both hands back in and this time take hold of the fish's bulbous head, its dozen eyes darting around in confusion. I ignore the whimpers of the woman across the stream and focus on keeping the gelatinous brain in my hands as the fish's tentacles start to wrap themselves around my wrists in flailing panic. The woman screams, however, and I lose focus, crushing the head in my hand. The whole fish instantly dissolves except for the tentacles sucked against me, but they're impossible to eat anyway.

Angered, I look up and see a man, much more muscled than I, pressing the woman into the ground, her head kept at the surface of the river. Every one of her ribs is incongruously exposed and the female's discoloured hair lies in one unwashed, unbroken clump on her withered scalp. Her arms are little more than sticks with ample amounts of extra skin hanging off them, but even then, the male has to pin them down to restrain her.

I intend to return to my food, but suddenly the woman finds the strength to rear her head above the water, her face covered with rain and her lungs undoubtedly flooded with it. My eyes catch hers for just one, small moment and for some reason, I am completely unable to move. Time stands entirely still. The man is caught mid-thrust, and the woman stares at me, her asymmetrical, hollowed features wholly visible. I see something in that face, something I recognize, but that I have been unable to see before.

In that moment I know what she feels. I know that she feels. It is a look of agony and suffering, of pure, unsettling mortal fear. It is a look that I've seen in the animals and the fish. It is a look that I have made myself from time to time. She feels, and I know what she feels.

Time abruptly returns to its normal speed as my every piece of my brain is methodically shredded, dipped in rain and tossed into burning coals. My fingernails are plucked individually and a thumb presses down with all possible force on their bloody stumps. Grass is planted inside my veins and their tubular forms blast from every pore in my body. A hole is dug in my belly and my intestines are pulled out in an endless stream and used to strangle me. A hive of bees is inserted in my chest and they sting with every breath I take before ingesting what is left of my lungs. My arms and legs are pulled out their sockets and used to beat me to death. Every hair is singly pulled my scalp and shoved into my eyeballs. I am drowning in flames, freezing from the heat and bursting from starvation. I would happily wrench out every tooth in my head if only the pain would stop.

The anguish subsides eventually, but even the ache it leaves in its aftermath is greater than anything I've ever felt before. Crying great waterfalls of painful tears and uncontrollably gasping for air, I run away as fast as my legs will carry me, tripping over myself in terror. My feet are stuck by the rain again, but I angrily screech and kick at the ground, feverishly digging myself out of the riverbed. By the time I reach the others, I am covered in mud, rain and broken grasses and still howling with agony. I fall to my knees, calmer now, but still hyperventilating, my eyes swelling with phlegm and collapse into the undying blackness.

∞

It is too dangerous to be anywhere near the others. I knew it was troublesome to make eye contact, having done so accidentally in my youth, but I had never experienced the true agony it brought until the day by the stream. I need to remove myself completely. It is simply too great a risk that I might come across their faces at some time in the future.

My running skills leave much to be desired, but now that most of the rain has seeped into the sand and grasses, my way is made clear and I cover ground quickly enough. A brief, primitive worry forms in my head, but I push it back by biting my left index finger and focusing on the pain. Any considerations beyond putting one foot in front of another might cause more trouble, and I cannot survive the onslaught of pain it will bring.

I am also equally terrified that the precautions I take to prevent the pain might bring their own trouble of their own. This state of total frenzy is more than enough to fuel my flight through the forest. I am utterly engulfed in my escape, and my empty stomach and blistering feet are separated from my being. I am motion and nothing more.

As I reach the limit, I am confronted with that something more. The concentration is lost as a mild irritation springs up in my side. I slow, but continue onwards. The irritation becomes a cumbersome ache, stretching from neck to groin. I obviously know about this, but in my haste I neglected to recall that leaving is not without its own tribulations.

As excruciating as the ache might be, it is nothing compared to the anguish that awaits back with the others, and I choose to test the frontier. The pain gradually increases with every step, eventually encompassing my entire body, but the memory of yesterday's agony steadies my natural reaction. Against every protest of the senses, I put another foot tentatively forward.

Suddenly the air is crashing into me, and I'm being crushed into a grain of sand. I tumble down, licking my invisible wounds. The pain of the others is horrible, but if the pain of the limit becomes ever worse the farther I go, then I would be slipping into a far greater agony while trying to escape the current one. My temple immediately burst in a spurt of pain just for having reasoned this.

I try to avoid this excess ponderance, bite my finger for focus and run as far as I can into the frontier. This time my skin melts and eats away at my fragile, tender bones. I fall to the ground, weeping. It is only after I have sobbed so mightily that I need to cough the tears out of my throat for fear of choking to death that I come to understand the situation. Although it hurts to reason, I know that the pain of the limit is a certainty whereas the pain of the others is only a possibility, and the choice becomes clear to me. My head still aching from the calculations, I return the way I came.

The sound of swift approaching hooves is the last thing I hear.