He was so hungry his skin waxed translucent and all his bones showed.

He'd clawed his way up through the oceans of dirt and now it was time to see about dinner.

His hair and his clothes were a mess and he smelled like wet dead.

No time to go home and shower and change; no home in this world to go to.

All that he had was his hunger, and talons that started to sharpen and grow as he stood in his own sundered grave.

He washed himself clean in the rain and then found a man, took his clothes, left his body, and went in search of more men whose heart's blood would gush as they gave up the ghost.

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Comment by Other on October 22, 2012 at 1:04pm

I like 'sundered grave'. 

Comment by Jeanette Cheezum on October 22, 2012 at 10:13am

CLEAR CUT VISUAL. I hope this is something you've  been working on or beginning to work on from a larger piece. I see every line in technocolor. 

Comment by Gita on October 22, 2012 at 9:35am

This is the first thing I read today...at work.. on a  Monday morning.  I just realized that reading Crisman in a weakened condition is not a healthy choice. It's a thrilling piece "wet dead" and all, but Jeez....

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