Little Inklings 2023

25 DEATH FROM ABOVE By: Lucas Lafosse-Marin ’27 The leaves and branches of the tightly interlocked trees are blown past as I blaze through the forest. The smell of musk and dew fills my nose, trees and leaves are all I can see, and the singing of birds and howling of monkeys saturate my ears. That’s what I’m looking for, the sound of prey. I make a tight turn around the trunk of a kapok tree, its green leaves brushing against my skull. I push through the air, condens- ing it into a jet and propelling me forward. That’s when I see a young Howler monkey holding on to a branch, reaching out to grab a small orange fruit. It turns its head, eyes full of terror and realization, before howling like it’s never howled before. It knows. I am the king here and it knows. I choose who lives and dies here. I have the power to end any here and I’m hungry. Its mother furiously swings to save her young, clinging to each branch of the trees it calls home and propelling itself further. But those trees are mine, and so is the child. I sweep forward, angling my tail to turn towards the monkeys, and I dive. I stop my fall, and fly forward with enough strength to kill a bear. I sweep above the poor monkey, my claws reaching out, before they find their target. Like scythes, they sink into its soft body, crushing its bones and ending its life. Blood oozes from where I struck. I let the wind carry me up to the high branches where I make my nest, my small hatchlings lay, desperate for food. I rip the monkey to pieces and feed it to them. They gobble up the bloody chunks of flesh ravenously. They shall grow up to be strong eagles. Worthy heirs to the legacy set by their ancestors. Sometimes I worry for them. Their mother and my mate were shot down by a strange hairless monkey, but this is how it is in the jungle. Death sits in every shadow and you can only hope to be the one dealing it out. The monkey learned this, I suppose. Its death gives new life, that will give more death, for more life. I can not let this disturb me, for I am an eagle and I must do what it takes to survive. Killing is woven into every fiber of my being, but I must not let it consume me. My claws are a tool, not a toy, but they are meant to be used. I rest my head on my shoulder to sleep, to live, to kill again.