The Beast of Many Mouths

The Beast

of

Many Mouths

He could smell its breath before he ever saw it, the fetid stink of hell, of devoured hopes and helpless prayers. It was coming closer, tearing through the black night, its eyes seemingly fixed on him and his.

There was panic surrounding him. Screams of women and children drowned by the beast's unholy roar. It cared not of the innocent or the guilty, only its insatiable hunger. It would devour them all without remorse or pity. It didn’t hold fear in its bosom like many a creature. Its only care to escape the feeble helplessness that it felt at its birth - the craving to eat lest it die a whimpering failure. 

But he knew now it was without fear or concern - huge, towering, feared by all and conquered by none. Steadfast in its desires, it moved rapidly from town to town, victim to victim, never turning from its course, never swaying in the relentless need to eat. And this it did with its countless mouths. Mouths that grew in number as it grew in size until they were countless, each one looking for more and more to consume.

Most of the town had left, seeking shelter and safety far away from the beast, leaving so much behind as fear and panic gripped them as one. He resisted the call of his neighbors, of the others. His pride wrestled with his better judgment, holding him from following the rest. A man paused in his passing and called to him to turn and flee. “Think of your family!’ he shouted but it would not deter him. While he struggled with his foolish impulse he could not accept the same for his family. He would safeguard his wife and their children, get them away from the horror, spared from their fate once the beast finally arrived. 

He turned his vigilant eyes from the horizon and smiled at his wife. Even at the distance he could see that the glint of her tears of loss had already begun and he knew he had little hope to dampen them. He waved her on, quickening her departure. She had their children safe at hand, her heart torn between home and salvation. She tried to speak, failed, and turned to her children and started their frantic journey of escape. As she turned her head for one final glance, keenly aware that it could be her last glimpse of home, she forced down a choking ball of emotion to hide her sorrow and fear from the kids and ushered them to quicken their pace. They had far to go and the journey could be treacherous. Best to not wait as she realized the cost of their future was haste.

Despite the calamity of his surroundings he could still pick out the sound of their leaving or was it the absence of their presence that had changed the envelope of sound he was mired in? The people continued to stream by him, their decisions made, their surrender complete. In all of life’s anchoring belongings it was still life alone that took precedence. “We must hurry! It’s coming!” he could hear from many as they passed, a tide of forsakenness washing along the streets of the town in their wake. Would there not be a man left to stand before the beast and curse it, damn it to God’s own vengeance? No, not this time. Not with its enormity and fierceness. Only the fool would wait to meet its challenge, to stand against it in defiance and madness and futility.

He needed to be that person, the one that would not run. “Face your fears,” his father always said. “It is through that you will come to master them.”  But not this time. The scales were unjustly imbalanced. They had done all they could but it came on. And it grew with every bite, every morsel consumed. Its mouths reaching across the landscape, always looking for more. Never satiated, it would eat the world if it could. And it would try.

“We have to leave now!” another neighbor called from the road. “Everyone has gone. We’re the last ones. There’s nothing to be done by staying behind,” he pleaded.

He nodded. Then he saw it scratching, clawing its way - angry, fast, enormous. It took his breath away. Insanely it quickly encompassed all he could see covering the breadth of the horizon. He could feel it regard him with indifference. He was less than a krill battling a mighty whale - the krill forgetting its place, its size, its own impotence. They had fought it, battled it, and lost. Many had already given their lives either by underappreciating its hellish power or sacrificed in saving others mired by memory or frailty. He had to go, leave, concede like the rest. He spat a curse and started for the last truck out. Man had lost once again and the beast would continue on consuming all.

It hit him in the eye and stopped him midstep. He blinked, wiped at his eye when the next one landed on the back of his hand. It wasn’t slight, it had weight, speed. Purpose. In the span of a few seconds the rest of it came down on him and he looked up into the dark sky.

Rain. A hard, vengeful rain. Before he could take even three more steps he started to lose sight of the truck in the torrent. The sheets, hard, wet, and cold fell from the heavens as an Almighty answer to countless prayers.

He turned and looked up the road at the flaming beast, the boundless fire that had taken so much, its brightness illuminating the sky like the sun seeking harbor. 

And smiled.

“You lose.”

The End

Dedicated to those that fight the Great Fight with these monsters, putting their lives between the scared and injured and the cruel mouth of fires everywhere.

And to the unfortunate that have lost so much to these beasts of flame.

Where and how to start to rebuild a life are decisions I hope never to be forced to consider.