Time for a well-earned dinner.

You go back to the teenager’s bedroom and yank out the mattress and pillows and drag them to the back near the porch door. You set them down and start carving through the bloody leg, ripping the skin free and slicing the thick muscle into thin strips before taking out your tiny makeshift pan; made of some old soda cans and a tiny but powerful lighter.

Within a couple of hours, you’re chomping down on your strips of sabretooth meat, and you even found some spare salt in the kitchen to top them off. The meat is tough, hardly the best prosciutto you’ve ever had, but you scarf the shit down anyway. As you chew in the dark, you can hear excited cheers and screeches a ways away.

You pause and lower your flame before getting up and crouching by the dirty kitchen window; peeking outside. It’s hard to see through the grime and the dark, but you can make out the large, hairy cavemen hooting in the middle of the road.

A few of them had dragged your sabretooth’s carcass away; chopping it up with stone tools and swatting away oncoming monkeys. They seemed obviously very happy; leering at each other in their stupid fucking language. One burly one had another bent over, grunting as he thrust into her next to the tiger’s corpse. The woman caveman - you assumed - hooted happily, and the others laughed and continued chopping.

With that image in your mind, you quietly trudge back to your mattress and roll into it, tiredness seeping into your bones. You worry about sleeping with all the feasting and fucking just a few meters outside, but you don’t even realize when the darkness takes you.