Forlorn Fowl

He is all what might be left to me. I know there is no further potential in any creäture spared which may lurk elsewhere. And I know it won’t be long. In all what’s left to us there is nothing more abundant than time. The rich commodity so many once couldn’t ever seem to catch a hold of now looms over the remainder with slothful jeer knowing the shadow, once chased will offer the icy chill to finish the work of disease. In my lament for my deteriorating fowl there is great likelihood I will slip into my own deterioration. I have become aware that one touch too late will gift me with what I have for so long unrightfully evaded. If there is one thing I have developed through all of this time since the ending it is indifference toward my own end. Resourcefulness and cunning would have served me well if I had been so fortunately endowed, but luck found me first. I have often wondered what it might be like to turn, not to be the hunted. But in this time I would be quite an unfortunate monster, having no other creäture to unleash my hunger upon. I will make sure that when my goose is gone he will not be troubled with such matters. That or we will gallivant off together as monsters and find some way to manage, for he is the most cunning water fowl I have ever encountered.
And as I am forced to contemplate the loss of my companion I am left only with lingering remorse for my former pet. Pink pads and formal wear. I don’t know how he escaped my sight.