FICTION: The Lions Share by Ron Koppelberger

Grubs and grasshoppers, secure, secret sanctioned as the way to stave off the remains of a hungry oblivion. He imagined his escape from the uncanny rush of prison gray, walls of brick and motor seals. The taste of greasy human agonies and willful concerns in ash. He questioned the shroud of rain that blanketed him with cool tears and revelations of wild lament. He nourished the fellowship of prophesy and continual indulgence unto the belief of angels and saints.

A consummate hunger driven by the need to survive his existence, to survive the rebirth of methods for escape and secret prison exaltation. Escape from the hell of an endless maze driven by the mechanisms of demonic intent, driven into cages and boxes that define the substance of hate. He ate a grub and sighed, the door to the open ceiling cell shook, he gasped shocked by the turn of events. Pushing forward he crawled through the door to freedom and the arms of his love. The attendant hell had passed and angels sang in fields of wheat and golden saffron as he found the sweet surety of Amabilis and wine.