Author: rakku PM
There were two men in a boat. There was a man in the ice. Once upon a time, the man was a person. Once upon a time, the man had a name. But now, the man is a dead body. And now, the man's name is food. —The glacier loomed in disapproval, but was ignored.Rated: Fiction T - English - Horror/Suspense - Words: 562 - Reviews: 4 - Favs: 2 - Published: 06-04-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2920607
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There were two men in a boat. There was a man in the ice. Once upon a time, the man was a person. Once upon a time, the man had a name. But now, the man is a dead body. And now, the man's name is food. —The glacier loomed in disapproval, but was ignored.
Prompt: a picture of a glacier.
AN: Yeah, I kind of took the prompt and ran with it... I wasn't really intending to write this, but someone requested it so. Yeeeeah. /shifty sideways glance
Plus it was, um, interesting to try? ^^;;
A man was wedged into one of the larger cracks in the glacier, head lolling and eyes vacant.
A dead man.
A dead man in a sweater, which should have been dark blue, dyed rusty red.
The blood had dried a long time ago.
Chips of broken ice tumbled from the distant tip of the glacier, crumbling as they rolled down, down, down. A stray chunk of ice bounced off the dead man's head, into the waters below.
The ice was blue, the sea bluer, and the man's frozen lips were the bluest of them all.
There was a man in the ice. And once upon a time, the man had a name.
But not anymore.
Once upon a time, the man was a person. But now the man was a thing, a frozen chunk of meat.
And meat could be classified as food.
Two men stared up at the glacier which had no end.
—It had been an accident, really. The ice spike had fallen by itself, onto the unsuspecting man underneath and none of them had had anything to do with it. Honest.
The fact that the two of them had, maybe a little, for a moment considered – only considered! – taking an ice pick to the third man's head was irrelevant. Because he was already dead.
They had stuck the corpse in the ice, for it unnerved them to have a dead man in the boat, taking up all the space. They needed a place to sleep, after all.
Tossing him straight into the sea would just make him fish food... which was such a waste, really.
One less mouth to feed, more rations for the remaining two.
The glacier loomed in disapproval, but it was ignored.
Their bright red life vests were practically useless, hardly enough to ensure safety – a boatful of men had perished, earlier, by simply freezing to death in the sea after a huge fish capsized their craft. Despite the prominent colour, the vests were still too small and insignificant amongst the vast span of icy blue to attract the attention of a rescue party, and never enough to keep them warm. And the cold only made them hungrier.
Foodfoodfood... the only thing they desired.
The range of their thoughts was narrowing as the light faded from the glacier's peaks, taking the sun's meagre warmth with it. It left them only one main concern: SURVIVAL.
The consumption itself was nowhere near as disgusting as either of them expected it to be – no scent of rotting flesh, for the ice acted as natural freezer, keeping the meat perfectly fresh and edible.
By the next day, the dead man was missing an arm. (He didn't need it anyway.)