Horny Eyes was still a live wire in my skull. Vision was pink-filtered and morally ambiguous, like reality had been put on a Tinder boost and forgot what shame means.
I didn't want to ID my food. Some truths are like expired milk — better unseen. So I decided ignorance was a flavor and ordered three helpings. Eat first, maybe cry later. But I wasn't savage enough to gnaw raw meat like a demonic raccoon on a budget — I needed fire. Civilization's little miracle and my only shield against accidentally inventing a new type of tetanus.
Therefore, I went to the basics.
I placed the dead creature on the ground and felt around for some stones.
With Horny Eyes, even rocks looked like they were trying to flirt with me — pebbles with agendas. Still, I found two decent ones and began clacking them like a primitive drummer who'd lost his mind.
I know that fire could attract some beings, but I don't give a fuck at the moment.
