“Whatever it takes,” he nodded to himself. “Can’t be weighed down with concerns about others. Won’t get anywhere like that.” His eyes strayed to the golden shimmer that was splayed next to the red counter. It was a number larger than anyone had ever had. But not enough. It was never enough. He always needed more. Because stopping meant losing. Stopping meant someone would catch up.

   There was a chime. The number flickered. Six billion nine hundred million ninety-nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine. His smile widened. The golden number ticked upwards. He glanced back at the red numbers. He had done it. No one would ever be as rich as he was. He was the ultimate. He had everything. The freedom to do whatever he wanted, the power to control the world.

   Almost. The numbers leered. There was more. There was still more he could do. His movements stilled. He stared at the golden numbers that beamed his pride and obsession. Almost.


A small excerpt of a flash fiction I am working on. Exploring the depths of greed.

That All-Consuming Hunger

It is a strange hunger that drives them. Their bellies already bulging from their previous meal, they attack the next one with a fervor unnaturally bright in their eyes. Teeth rip into the kill, devouring, snarling. Claws extend, sinking into the flesh of another that got too close to what is theirs.

Barely able to stand, its belly is so large, so unbalanced, one of the feeding creature gorges, choking down flesh with eyes wilder than nature intended. More, it wants. Always more.

And when it finishes, it can no longer move. It lies down next to the carcass, uncaring of the vultures that swoop, of the bones that will soon begin to reek of decay. Despite its expanded stomach, its face is unnaturally thin, skin and fur stretched over sharp bones. It lies there, breaths short. Its lungs are barely able to expand. Its tongue lolls, eyes unfocused.

And as a storm approaches, it is unable to move to safety. It bears the winds that bite, and the sand that tears. It bleeds uncaringly and the ground soaks it up, forever thirsty.

It only lifts its head when the scent of wounded prey approaches once more. It drags itself forward, a pathetic sight. Battered, swollen with greed, it hunts once more.