Soul Food

By Paul E. Martens

They are a quick lot, these humans. They dart about, rushing here, there, everywhere, as if something were chasing them. They speak quickly, as well. I have to remember the sounds they
make, then replay them in my memory at a slower speed to decipher their words. And my mission is not made any easier by the way they perceive it, and therefore me. To them, the fact that I have come to eat one of them automatically makes me a monster.