The Beast was hungry. And frustrated.
It had stalked its prey, fruitlessly, for so long; followed the broad white back that it could never seem to catch. Saliva had run freely from its maw in anticipation of it, dripping black and thick from its one razor sharp tooth.
It had no mind of its own, only instinct, the will to follow the path it was created to follow. It wanted to tear into its hapless victim, to shred, to bite, to rip and rip and rip!
But slowly, stealthily, it moved alongside its prey, its head swaying gently from side to side. It stalked it through the mire in fits and starts, cautious.
But, ultimately, it would fail.
The would-be victim sensed the danger, had cocked its ears to attention and raised its head. Swiftly and without warning, it bolted away.
The beast gave chase!
But it was too slow, too lumbering, too heavy. It couldn’t keep up, it lost the thread, it was defeated.
The Beast had pawed at the earth, howling in frustration.
But there’s no time to wallow. The Beast hungers and it must feed. So now it seeks another.
It stalks across the vast expanse; it snarls, it growls, it whines. What will it destroy to make sure it is satisfied?
It hunts in false starts and wrong directions. It moves slowly, haltingly. It shakes its body in frustration.
But then! It catches a scent, a thread, a glimmer of hope, and it knows: this is the one.
Its path is clear. It narrows its focus, slows down its heart, beat by beat by beat. It has its prey in its sights. This time, it will win.
And so… it springs! It lunges forward, it speeds across, it catches! It bites the story deep in its throat and rips its guts out across the page. It writes and writes and writes until the story is told.
Finally, The Pen’s hunger is abated…