The Limit
Shuffling feet were sanded smooth by the hot asphalt. A windpipe whistled in the salt air, and caked teeth clacked against the insatiable hunger. Movement again flashed ahead, hot and taunting. A groan of need and the hunter turned, arm outstretched and drifting forward.
Then the prey was gone, vanished in a cataract world of barren wastes. Gray everywhere, surrounding and smothering. The flesh statue waited. Snaking winds through the trees and a vague whisper thump pulled the grim visage around. Murmurs in the distance, faint and far, cycled up. Rotten feet plodded forward.
Again hot movement flared in the periphery, and a spin found the promise of warmth to suppress the chill. A growl and lurching steps brought with them a stumble, parts withered and worn ceasing to serve. When the gaze once more sought warmth, the silver nothingness was everywhere.
Once more the call of whispers rose in the distance. The wind shifted and others were heard, far and furious. Creaking neck swiveled, once, twice, thrice, then foot shuffles toward the noise. The buzzing taunt of heat flashed again, and the rotted figure turned yet again, the groan of prey at hand issuing forth. After only a pair of steps, the promise disappeared as it had hundreds of times before.
The mindless form waited, ears turned to the wind and eyes seeking the movement which would signal the hunt.