The Feast
Written by Ben Marroquin
StoryMask.com

He lived in a stone mansion. His room on the third floor of the right wing. At night, before bed, he liked to go out on the balcony and look into the old forest. Under the gaze of the new moon it looked blue, magical.

The wind swept up to him from that forest carrying the hint of music and more.

Eyes lit up as a strange intoxicating scent entered him. Hair and skin changed to feathers, mouth to beak, and feet to talons. He spread his powerful wings and gazed in marvel, magical.

He pumped them up and down and hovered over the balcony. His eyes caught sight of other winged shapes, dancing in mid-air, on the edge of the old forest.

Eyes looked on as he laughed the mad joyous laugh of those in a world all their own. He shot out over the balcony towards the old forest. A loud crisp CRACK pierced the beauty of the night as head met concrete, magical (they grinned).

The winged shapes took form as they flocked forth from the edge of the old forest. Their eyes like beads, skin of moss covered bark, evergreen wings, and pot bellied tummies.

Knife-like claws sprouting from branching arms, filled the night wind with rhythmic clacking. Thin limbed legs with root like feet, dangled as they laughed.

They began to sing:

“Ooh it’s so deliciously sweet.
A pot bellied treat!
We’ll eat it up, eat it up.
From it’s head to it’s feet.”

They danced circles round the corpse sprawled on the ground and chattered excitedly through rows of splintered teeth. Slowly they descended; bodies trembling and claws clacking in glee as the eldest among them sang out “Let the new moon feast begin.”