funny

cock

Drip

As the man heard more water drip down the hole, he felt his arm twitch in annoyance and surprise. He's been curled up in that same position for hours now, only being able to stand up and take a step or two to ensure that none of his blood would clot and block his blood stream.

His only possible form of entertainment was the liquid dripping from the top of the hole, somehow always landing on his head no matter how much he tried to evade.

Dear God

In a way, it drove him insane. Sometimes, he wouldn't hear a single drop fall for hours, and other times, it would have a rhythm. He would often try to predict when the drop would descend, going off of the previous rhythm. And then he would wait there and try to brace himself for the droplet.

And nothing would fall on him until he let his guard down.

Mere droplets of water shouldn't have affected him the way it did, but hunger does peculiar things. He was cold and hungry.

Drip

The water didn't really do anything other than fuel those feelings. You couldn't necessarily call it water, it tasted too strange to be water. Stranger than water that was supposedly going through dirt and gravel.

It was strange. He simply had a gut feeling that it wasn't water. But what could a man do when he was trapped in a hole with a knife that had started to dull and rust, an empty gun, and clothing that reeked of mold and sweat.

Nothing, of course.

Being trapped meant no choices, and this was simply an example of it.

Drip

Besides, his gut ceased to be a reliable source long ago. So there he was, numbly laying there awaiting his demise. He had considered ending it himself, to spare himself some mercy, but he still clung onto the small smidgen hope that his friend would find him.

A foolish way to die, but what could he do about it?

It was supposed to be just a small retrieval mission to check and see if the uninhabited planet had anything of use for the ship, yet here he was, fading away so easily.

He liked to think he had a strong resolve for not killing himself.

It was ridiculous, a tale worth telling at a family gathering to make a few let out a little chuckle, and think 'How stupid of him, why'd he choose to go out like that?'. Maybe a kid would be there to innocently think 'That's so sad, he waited for his friend.'. It was hilarious to think about, but that was because that family would have never heard about the man to make fun of him at all.

Drip

His stomach rumbled again, and he knew it was time. He took out the rusted knife and gripped it with his left hand. He took notice of how his fingernails were still a wretched black. What he did was simple, really. He cut off a chunk of his flesh and ate it. An infection had already plagued the other two wounds, but all he could really focus on was the taste.

It was no longer the strong irony taste he had tasted back when he was a kid after knocking his tooth out. It tasted like a savory brine with light hints of something that made his head feel woozy.

And then he would pass out, maybe wake up a few hours later, not knowing where he was or what he was, just that he existed. But maybe he didn't. It sure didn't feel like it.

"Who's there!? Show yourself, I'm armed!"

It was a muffled voice that echoed throughout the entirety of the cave, including the hole. Maybe he made a noise. Yes, that must be why the voice sounded so wary.

"Hello!? Are you underground?"

He must've made a noise again. Should he scream for help?

He should. He couldn't, though.

Drip

The voice must've noticed the lightly covered up hole at one point, because everything started to look brighter for the him.

The voice let out a gasp. Maybe. He didn't know. He could be imagining this entire thing again.

"Elyas...?"

(Top 10 moments before disaster!!!)

He didn't reply, but the voice just kept asking him questions. From what he could tell, they were familiar with each other. Friends, possibly.

At some point, the voice must have gone down and carried him up the hole, because he was suddenly being bandaged, outside of the hole.

This continued on for almost an hour, with him being completely disoriented with his sorroundings, too overwhelmed with the sudden loud thoughts that plagued his mind and the ginger worriedly treating his wounds with whatever was on hand.

And at some point, those overwhelming thoughts won.

He opened up his arms the best he could, like he was trying to offer the ginger a hug.

They were friends, right?

The man seemed surprised, but accepted the hug.

Oh, he was about to get anything but a hug.

Elyas quickly ripped of a piece of his shirt and crumpled it up into a ball as he pinned the man down onto the cave floor, shoving the balled up moldy cloth into his mouth.

He took out his dull knife and sliced open his torso with it, making sure to press hard.

The man let out a muffled scream as he felt his skin being cut up. Soon, his intestines had a big enough space to flow through and immediately fell out where it could, moving the stomach with it. His kidneys and liver was exposed, and so was the lower part of his lungs.

He would get to those soon.

He started to pick on the man's left kidney, slicing out chunks of flesh from his limbs every once in a while. It tasted...interesting, but it was nice to finally eat. The kidney had a grainy texture mixed in with smoothness. He couldn't discern a flavor from it, but eating it left him with only positive emotions.

He went on to the liver. It tasted rich and savory with a light pinch of something metallic. The liver was quite lean, bearing a slight resemblance to an old leather boot. But it was a feast nonetheless. It gave him a sense of euphoria to see all the food laid out in front of him, knowing full well there was no one who could stop him from finishing it all.

He just had to keep going.

And he did, picking on a part of the shoulder. The voice—now ginger, had quite the muscle, and therefore he had more to meat to eat. He had continued to pick on the limb's flesh, and soon taking bites out of his neck.

He took out his blade again, making small but cube-like cuts on his upper torso, slowly exposing the man's ribs, lungs, and most importantly, the heart.

He immediately pulled out his heart, cutting out the veins connected to it. His already bloodstained hands started to fill with blood, which he hurried licked up.

It was that irony taste again.

It was no longer the sweet, savory brine he had tasted. Maybe it was because he was slowly coming to a realization that he was eating his friend, or that he had been picking on his corpse for hours.

The euphoria that had built up inside of him quickly turned to bitterness and confusion.

That was his friend?

He looked at the only thing left intact on the body.

There it was, the terrified but lifeless expression on his face that remained evident, even in his death.

And then it dawned on him.

It was.

He had killed and eaten his saviour and friend. Who was also most likely his only way out of here.

He looked at his bloodied knife.

Of course.