• someone reads •

Obsession

The blood which covered the road was already beginning to congeal.
Solidifying beneath the rays of sun.
The cat had managed to drag itself across the road despite the fact that the car which had hit it had crushed its black legs into pulp. As it crawled it left a trail of blood and pieces of mashed entrails behind until it finally found refuge in a shallow ditch by the roadside. It lay there helplessly, its body twitching as spasm of pain racked it mercilessly.
The child squatted a foot or so away watching the dying feline, running appraising eyes over the shattered body.
The cat had been penned in the back garden to prevent it from getting close to the main road, but somehow it had found a way out and had paid it price. The child watched as blood ran freely from the smashed lower body, gazing with fascination as intestines swelled and bulged from the torn stomach as if they were being pumped up from within. Here and there amongst the crimson mush, pieces of bone gleamed whitely.
The cat had been old, fay and bloated and now it looked as if its body had burst, such had been the impact of the car when it had been struck.
The child watched as half a dozen flies settled on the bleeding remains, feasting like so many gourmets on the reeking banquet. The cat made a low mewling sound and, as it did so, fresh blood ran from its mouth and nose. Its eyes were half-closed and the child realized that the animal was close to death. Did the cat know that it was dying? Did it realize that it was going to lie in this ditch until it stopped twitching and moved no more? The child wondered as it watched, eyes roving up and down the cat’s body.
The cat’s fur had been ginger but now it was covered by thick, matted gore which stuck to the coat like crimson glue.
The child moved a little closer, watching more intently as the cat continued to utter the low mewling sounds, lifting its head as if soliciting help, but even if it had been able to offer help, the child would not have done so for it watched the dying moments of the creature with fascination.
What kind of pain was it feeling? Could it feel the steaming coils of its own entrails attempting to break free of its torn belly like bloated, bloodied snakes?
The cat’s head flopped backwards for a moment and it laid still, only the scarcely perceptible movements of its chest showing that it still lived.
The child reached behind it and found a long branch, fallen from one of the tress that overhung the ditch. Gently, the child prodded the cat with the small branch, watching for any more signs of movement. The animal meowed loudly, a sound of pain which the child recognized. It discarded the branch for a moment, watching the animal writhing in agony. More flies had joined their companions, some of them actually wandering inside the cat’s riven body. The child looked on in wonderment, trying to count the black shapes against the vivid red of the cat’s blood.
The movement of the cat’s chest was slowing, its final breaths coming in shallower inhalations, as if the mere act of breathing was causing pain.
The child moved a little closer, listening to the rasping sounds that were receding into liquid gurgles.
Blood spilled more copiously from the cat’s mouth and its body began to quiver uncontrollably, its forepaws jerking as if suspended by invisible wires. Then its entire body seemed to shudder and its head flopped backwards.
The child watched for any further signs of movement, and when none were forthcoming it reached for the stick again and jabbed gently at the cat’s head.
It didn’t move.
The child reached out and touched the intestines which bulged from the hideous tear in the animal’s belly. They were still warm. The coppery amour of blood was strong in the air and the child inspected the gore which coated its hand, sniffing it slowly before looking once more at the dead animal.
One of the flies had crawled inside its blood-filled mouth.
The child looked, mesmerized.

Credits to: Madelyn