Gods of Carnage

The wolf snarled with her marvelous, evolutionarily dominant fangs showing—dripping. Her paws were heavy and big, they thudded as she prowled. Of course she wanted it that way. She desired to be heard—fear somehow made the meat all the more better. She could just as easily have skulked under the overgrown hedges, and there she would have been as quiet as the whisper of death. But there was nowhere for her prey to run. He stood there, eyeing his fate so boldly, as if he wasn’t even afraid. They were slow, dumb animals, these ones were. They were curious, far too curious, but very weak, even the strongest of their like. In packs they could be dangerous. They could hold things with their funny paws. They could shape branches into long claws, and have them cling to the air, and bring them down to captured their prey, much like a wolf could. But they were not wolves. They were tricks, and they would not work on her, not this time. She had this one cornered. She will lap at his blood and piss on his corpse. 

The wolf’s muscles were dense, sinuous, and rolling all across her flanks as she closed in. Her hackles went back. She gnashed, and rumbled a growl. The stupid beast only blinked emptily at her. No sign of emotion written anywhere around his long, dull face. They had learned to stand on their hind-legs, the beast observed. Neat trick, though, it will do him no good.

The wolf drew in closer. She flicked her wet tongue across her black snout. And then she said unto her prey, “Soon, I will eat you! How are you so insouciant?”

Poised with his impenetrable sangfroid disposition, the primate set his chin high, analytically. He frowned at the feral creature. And he answered, “Soon, I will dethrone you. Soon I will make you my bitch to call to heel. Soon I will eat everything, and you will beg for my dregs. How are you so complacent?”

“Because,” she said, “That is tomorrow...”

The primate replied, “but not today?”

“Not today,” she agreed, eagerly.

“Today—“

“—I,”

“am—“

“—hungry,” the last human languishing on earth whimpered weakly millions of years later, dying alone on a vast horizon of dry, ravaged ruin.