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After Tantalus stopped reaching, his shoulders ached and he no

longer felt pain elsewhere. He curled inward within

the small island he could create by lowering himself.

He meditated on hunger and yearning. He brought

his forehead to the ground and bent over his knees.

The cool, moist soil a tongue's dart from his lips made him thirstier.

It smelled clean, although he knew it was made of rot and silt, fish

excrement and broken vegetation. He considered apples: gnawed

mealy pulp, gulped into a stomach full of venom. The journey

through the miles of tripe below his belly; its nauseating

conclusion. He still wanted apples. He still wanted

to vomit them before they were too degraded and become

empty and pure, although thirstier. He still wanted

the water to cover his head and stop his nose and mouth.

After Tantalus stopped reaching everyone called

his hunched shoulders and concave stomach and chapped lips beautiful.

Cain walked past and asked what he'd sacrificed, and Tantalus replied,

Flesh.

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