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In a Dripping Crimson Roar

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In a dripping crimson roar, the lion pounced once more.
“Please don’t eat me, I have four children,” pleaded the rambling man.

“It’s much too late for that my delectable friend. You should have spoken up far sooner, prior to your life’s expense.”

“I have a life to live dear lion. Do not cut it here. My lifelong thread has much to bear before the end is near.”

“Oh sir, oh sir you must know that your heart, which is skipping in and out of time, is much too much, to resist, and too much out of time.”

“My clock has yet to reach its finish. Let it tick its final tock. You needn’t wind it for there’s time, not much, left to keep, inside this old sweet clock.”

“But sir, with me surely you must sympathize. Because with you I do so empathize. That for you a painless passing is not likely. Don’t look at me that way old man, I’m hardly even picky.”

“I’m old dear lion, let me be. Do listen to my plea. I can almost see the end dear lion. Please keep it far away from me.”

“Your plea does touch my heart old man, but temptation is just too grand. I will take your life, without much strife, and in the end, you’ll see. You won’t resist for you can never trust a lion quite like me.”
In a haze of terror and cherry colored rain the lion then devoured the poor man’s soul as the rambling man saw, beneath his ruby spattered eyelids, footage of one’s life being played back on an old roll of film, burning its way into oblivion as his life came to a close.
In a rather swift movement, the crunch of the bones and bruised flesh between the lion’s teeth was heard, the red sodden fur of the lion was seen, and the lion settled into a silent slumber, saturated in the scarlet that was once the rambling man.




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