Instinct

I slithered around the decimated city. The buildings of what was part of a grand metropolis city, lay broken, shattered by chaos of the hands of war. What was the point of the war? No one remembers or cares. Everyone dropped their unguided genocide when we discovered that there was no point. What was the use of fighting when now everything that we needed to survive was destroyed- decimated with our blind eyes and hands!

All that mattered now is survival. Every man for themselves. There's no such thing as friends or family here. Here, there's only solitude. We have to stay detached, there isn't a society to go back to afterall. Even if you'll eventually go insane from the confinement, emptiness and loneliness that doesn't matter. Sanity and morality don't matter when there's nothing to apply it to.

Only the strongest of the fittest can survive. As for the weak? Well, they end just up like the city. Demolished. There is no social structure. There is no government. There is no right nor wrong. It's all about survival. It's all about instinct. I crept along, making sure not to make a sound. Which is not easy, since there is debris and the once cold cement roads, are covered in bits and pieces of once beautiful homes. In the air, there is the lingering stench of unknown gases and chemicals. No, they're not deadly. Not anymore anyway. It's crazy how fast the human body can adapt to the ever-changing surroundings. I've gotten used to it by now, I've been doing this for a very long time. It's now become an instinct.

I spotted it. My prey. Although I never know. In this place, we are both prey and predator. It seemed like this one isn't going to last much longer. It's weak. Perfect. That makes my job so much easier. I stealthily made my way to it. It seemed to be laying on all the trash. I would've said it was dead, but no one would just leave their prey to rot out here. Besides, I could see its chest rising and lowering peacefully. It was sleeping. Astounding. It was like asking to be dead. Still, I cautiously pulled out my knife from a hidden pocket in my horribly stained clothes. My clothes were caked in dirt, debris, and blood and at times soaked in sweat. It didn't matter though. Everyone's clothes were like that. Not only were my clothes a mess, but they were a mess. Ripped, torn, screwed. It didn't matter. Everyone's clothes were like that. Why did it even matter what we looked like? All that matters is survival. Surviving is an instinct. My own body was in a similar position. Scars, wounds, bruises you name it. It didn't hurt though. I was used to it. Just like my clothes, my knife was in a horrible condition. It was stained with so much blood, no one would be able to tell that it was once a shiny silver blade of new metal. It was just a mass of brown dried blood. Sadly, it was dull from use. Not like I can find anything else in this barren wasteland. Everyone keeps their weapons for themselves, no matter how bad It is. At least it still works. All the high tech stuff doesn't anymore. It's all been used in the war, so now it's gone or useless.

I had to work fast. I instinctively, stabbed. Stabbed everything vital to quicken the speed of death. I wasn't doing this for morbid fantasies. I was doing it for survival. I was doing it out of instinct. Of course, the prey woke up. Did all the things a normal thing would do. I screamed because of the agonizing pain. Of course, it didn't try to beg for mercy. It didn't spew any curses or hate. It knew, that its time was up. No matter what it did, it wouldn't work. All it could do was feel remorse for itself. It failed. It was weak. As well as scream. The screams died down. Now, limp and lifeless. I cut it up into chunks. I ate it. Raw, because there was no way to cook it. I could've made a fire. But that would've taken too much time and energy. I need the energy for more important things. Surviving. The taste of salty, metallic blood washed over my tongue. I couldn't care less. The taste didn't matter. As for the smell of flesh on my breath? That didn't matter. Nothing matters. At least I'm still surviving. Did I have remorse for my actions? Of course not. I'm numb. I do it all out of instinct.