The Animal

(Inspired my novel Animal)

“So how do you feel about killing?”

“I think death is a natural process.”

“Not death, murder.”

“No difference. Hunting is murder, fishing is murder, you step on an ant and it still loses its life.”

“So what about human?”

“Wouldn’t know.”

“Clear conscience?”

“Crystal.”

The Animal sits, quietly chewing his steak, knife and fork in hand.

“You a God fearing man?”

“I fear the wrath of God, but I offer respect. I can serve the almighty but I am not a servant.”

“God is the ultimate servant, and the ultimate king.”

“As it is.”

“And your view of murder?”

“God created all that we see and hold and touch. People argue over whether animals have souls, how can a tiger that murders to survive be saved? Are we to be judged more so by our own actions?”

“That how you feel?”

“That’s how I feel.”

“So what about Tommy?”

The Animal stops and sets his fork down.

“I wanna thank you for the meal...”

“What about Hank and Julie?”

“...It was delicious...”

“Answer me.”

“I already have. Why do you insist upon hearing it again?”

“You say you believe in God.”

“I believe what I believe.”

“So you believe in Hell.”

“Perhaps.”

“So why do you smile?”

“Because I know you believe too.”

“I ain’t scared of you no more.”

“You’re still cowering in the fields, John.”

“And you’re still burning them.”

“Smoke’s rising. Time’s winding down.”

“You’re nothing.”

The Animal’s eyes shine. He licks his lips.

“I’m The Ghost. The Rider. The Man who was Never There. I’m The Messenger. I am the Servant. And I am God.”

“You’re nothing.”

“Then why am I still here?”

“You’re hanging on barb wire.”

“Pull the trigger, John.”

The Animal watches John’s hands sweat. He shakes at the shoulders.

“You’re nothing.”

“I’m worth a bullet. Am I worth your soul?”

“I’m not an animal.”

“You’re no better than one. You’re weak.”

“Hell’s waiting, Mister.”

John turns and stands, lowering his gun.

“I’ll meet you there, John.”

The Animal pulls his weapon. John turns. Two shots ring out.

The Animal stands over John. John gasps for air, blood seeping from his chest.

“I-I ain’t an animal.”

The Animal presses his hand to the side of his throat, blood pours out through his fingers.

“You ain’t a saint neither.”

“Amen, Mister.”

The Animal fires into John’s face. John twitches once and is still.

“Amen.”

The Animal stumbles out into the desert sun, blood dripping in the sand, blinking from the blinding light. The world spins without moving and he feels as if he is flying in the wind. He feels that he will never die...