# IN THE BELLY OF THE BEAST
The beast was a slow digester. Thousands of years, some said, though who knows. Certainly long enough for those in the belly of the beast to meet and accept despair as a constant companion and friend.
They lived as much as they could within the belly. Consumed the animals that appeared or were consumed in turn. But there was no way out for any creature that found itself within the belly. Only the bleak certainty that eventually there would be death and digestion, melted away until not even bones remained.
Structures had been built within the belly. False islands created by piling together vegetation, old bones, and wreckage from where prey had tried and failed to hide from the beast.
There were the mouldering remains of sailing ships and small fishing vessels alongside the shattered logs of woodland cabins and protective walls that had failed to protect their towns.
The beast did not care for land or sea. It wandered where it wanted, when it wanted, and it ate whatever it desired with an aloof kind of impunity.
There was nothing that could stop the beast and no one that could stand against it. All the world was prey to its insatiable hunger.
Those that lingered within the darkness of the beast’s gullet knew that they were dead, though they had not yet lain down in death. They were simply waiting for time to catch up to them, hopelessly counting down the minutes, hours, days, and years until the last bit of them was worn away and forced down the deeper passage towards the only way out.
There would be light. Earth, wind, water, and rain. But they would be merely fertilizer for new growth, not an enjoyer of living.
Because they were inside the belly of the beast. Already dead; just waiting to die.
=END=
