The Flesh For The Fleas.

I knew all of this; my birth, my life- everything, led up to this very exact moment. To be the flesh that the fleas feed on. The fuel for the greedy leechers who crave the blood of others but not their own. They yearn for the meal that will sustain their bodies- supple of others flesh, yet still craving more. They crawl towards me, eager and excited, beady eyes ravaging me, as if they had already devoured me. I lay there, ever so still. I do not scream; I do not move. This was my purpose. The flesh the fleas consume.