Beauty & the Beast

In a field afar stood a man on his two legs and a beast on his four. Both came out swinging, tongues darting and slashing, sharp and swift to kill.

The man struck first, “Filthy feral beast! Know that you are forever cursed to graze, chew and suck from the teat of your masters!”

Then there was a clap, and then a crash from the beast’s sheer hoofs against the rugged, craggy grounds screeching, “You preach boldly, and yet you and I tarry in the same mud and shit! You who fleece fowls; scheming, smiling and then skinning those you leave bloody and naked!”

Then the man forcing a chilling grin, thrust his foil into its great bowels, “You shall be gutted, roasted and stuffed with every precious herb and nut! And your herd shall make great sport!” he spouted, as the beast howled.

Then suddenly there was a great crack! And the sky was filled with blood and thunder, and the winds broke out in tears. Tears that bled into every crack and crease in the face of the ground. The face of which bowed into a glittering stream, in which both man and beast saw their own true reflections.

The beast saw himself dressed in dark rich robes, speckled with bright white patches that glistened like silk, as if tears dangled off his finely thread fur. The lens in his eye reflecting a most warming glow, one that makes the soul growl and fills the belly with a most fattening light.

But the man spat and split his tongue, for he saw his great gown soaked and stained, the fray of his well-worn cuffs and his once shiny trinkets appeared as gaudy rust. His feet ached and yawned, and the once pristine leather soles of his shoes seemed to gape and whine, and tear in anguish. His face was rough and wrought with the sores of a harsh life, a blemished conscience covered in a thick hard skin.

Then the beast remarked, “Now you see that your talk is nothing but a great flatulence, inflating your own misery, an incense of fierce poverty! And within your bowels lies the stinking brown shades of your deceit!”

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