He didnât quite understand the mechanics behind it. Maybe from lack of experience ? Itâs not like he l i k e d doing that to people. It wasnât for fun. ( Though ⌠that didnât mean it wasnât amusing. )
But, still, it just didnât make any sense. How a few scant electrical impulses, a beat here and there, firing neurons and flowing, writhing, warm and slick and pulsating viscera could eliminate weight. If anything, a dead body should be lighter - devoid a heavy spirit or soul, racing thoughts and fear and hate and love. All those things surely weighed something.
No, the corpse was heavy. And had to be drug. It left a trail in itâs wake, negating their bared foot prints in the soft, terra cotta earth.
That mustâve been it. Even without clunky shoes or watches ( and missing a few chunks from the whole ), the body had no will to move, resulting in a dead weight. Resulting in a pain in the ass more like it.
â Canât you lift his legs anymore ? â
â Thumper â was smaller than him in height, always, but had more bulk in this form. It mustâve been fat rather than muscle. â Bambi â felt he was doing all the work.
Pointless work really, because the simple solution wouldâve been to leave it where it was. But, appearing human did not allow for such misconduct; silly little social contract, the frivolities that came with man. Bambi let out a little, airy giggle at the thought, looking down to his hands. Snow white knuckles and rust brown fingers. He didnât like the look of dried blood; it lost that vivid chroma that made his stomach turn and heart flutter. At least his hands matched his feet; the earth was staining them a nice russet, up to his ankles. Again, he didnât do these things for fun, that was foolâs play, and Bambi â well, he w a s a bit of a fool. But he had enough wisdom to respect life. After all, he was life, and his dominion was life itself ⌠the dilapidated and low life of moss covered rocks and maggot filled crowns, but life nonetheless.
â We should move with more purpose if we wish to finish by dawn, Thumper. â
A lot of the time, Thumper had no idea what was going on in Bambi's mind. It seemed to change as readily as the seasons. Or like butterfly, flitting around from one flower to the next. Never staying in one place for longer than a moment or two.
Thumper was known to be a little fidgety from time to time. He had been accused of being unable to stay still -- but even he couldn't keep up with Bambi's ideas on any given day.
Today their night revolved around the man laying at their feet. Or... what was once a man, laying at their feet.
Whoever he had been, Thumper had no connection to him. He didnât know him, or know anything about his life -- but as far as he knew, neither did Bambi. Â For whatever reason however, Bambi had felt the need to drag him out into the woods and hide him. He didnât question it. All he knew was that he was getting tired.Â
Releasing an exhausted sigh, the smaller of the two slumped down slightly and brought his arm up to wipe the forming perspiration from his brow. He wiped it off, but also succeeded in smearing his forehead with the dirt that had collected on his sweaterâs sleeve.
"I was lifting his legs." He shot back with mild annoyance. Annoyance that was brought about from the strain of lifting something much heavier than anything he was used to -- and for much longer. "As much as I could, anyways..." He said, looking down at the cold and lifeless human at their feet. "Youâre lifting the easy part."
Wiping his brow again, he leaned down and took the man's ankles in both his hands. Leaning down, he attempted to reposition the man's legs, one under each arm, and moved forward with a grunt, shooting his accomplice a hurried look.
"How much further do we have to go?"
theartofmadeline