We Laughed at Fate

we laughed at fate, and mourned her
Tick-tock goes the clock, even for the Monster.

There was a stillness in the air, it hung heavy and cloying around the body like a wet blanket, making for an uncomfortable fit for terrain. The icy fingers of winter had infected even this place, where it had been warm even in the autumn months. Snow was beginning to blanket the area, coming down in slow, fat flakes that seemed to hang in the breeze as they came together to form a thin sheet of ice over nearly every surface. The general moisture of the area helped the snow to gather, but it made for nearly unbearable traveling conditions. Being wet and cold only added to the aggravation that so often accompanied hunger, and today found the beast to be ravenous as well as tempestuous in the mood department. Having depleted the last of his cannibis stores, the monster had nothing to help him be calm or easy-going.

Withdrawals were never easy for him, but it was particularly hard for him to deal with having no one around to take his aggression out on. Usually, he would slake his monstrous attitude with the blood of a companion during a spar, or take as many of his females as he could. Anything to keep him from having to repeat the same morose message in his mind. You'll always be nothing, just like she said. This is why you have nothing. The voice was his own, in the dark confines of his mind where the whispers of self-doubt echoed. He knew the source of his depression, knew who to blame for his affliction. If only his mother had been kinder to the monster, he may not have turned out to be the very nothing she had always claimed he was. If she had only coddled him and loved him...No! He could not dwell on his past, he had to look forward. To the future, when warmer weather would come and better thoughts could occur.

A dark-clad paw slipped in the sludgy muck that made up the "ground" of this boggy territory, splashing a rather disgusting bunch of water, plant matter, and mud onto his chest and neck. The stagnant water stank of decay and filth, causing the hellish creature to curl his nose in repugnance and curse. "Ah. shit..." Lifting his painfully cold, and horribly wet paw from the murky hole, the demon cast his glacial gaze around to find a patch of solid snow to clean himself in. With no suitable area to be seen, Iscariot had no choice but to wait until more snow gathered. In the meantime, he sat looking miserably at the hole and grousing to himself about the smell with the white of his pelt stained a gross brownish-green from the water that had soaked it. With a growl, he glared into the foggy darkness, then lay himself in the reeds and waited for the snow to gather up.

"You." Walk. "Talk."