This flesh is a memory, he thought as he continued to chew through the trembling belly of his dying friend. The initial screams had long since faded into wet whimpers as blood filled the same lungs that laughed with him just that morning. The meat on the face was becoming lax, he noted, soon the blood will turn sour.
He hadn't been like this before they arrived.
Something about the friend's childhood cabin by the lake, something in the water he reckoned, had made him this way but hadn't touched his friend. He was born anew as a starving infant of a thing - his dear friend now his first meal as the reality he once knew to be certainty now frayed and decayed to make way for the present.
Distantly past the harsh snap each rib made as he broke it free to gnaw off the meat, he heard others like him whispering their gentle welcomes. They wanted him to head outside and join them in the lake and he would. He would as soon as his friend no longer sustained him.
It would not be long.
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