Not Like This by Ava Strong

Author:Ava Strong [Strong, Ava]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ava Strong
Published: 2021-12-30T00:00:00+00:00

***

The small toy poodle nibbled at his finger, licking the peanut butter free and then circling the velvet on the poker table twice before settling in a comfortable position by one of the corners.

For his part, he leaned back, wearing his smoker's jacket, sitting in a rocking chair. His feet were crossed on the ottoman, his red, silk slippers left by the door.

“Good Cookie,” he murmured, wiping the residue of the peanut butter off on the dog's ears. He scratched the creature, listening to the quiet tinkle of a bell as he did.

Then, he returned his attention to the two items held in the same hand.

His cigar was pressed between two knuckles. The small, leather journal though, with the press-clippings, the faces... This he kept cupped in his palm, one leather corner resting against his curled fingers.

He let out a little sigh of satisfaction, puffing on the cigar and retrieving his journal where it flopped against his chest.

He blew a ring of smoke, watching it curl towards the ceiling. He'd always liked smoke, liked fire... Even more than he'd like women in his youth. Women had liked him too... up until a point. Up until they found out what he'd wanted from them.

He smiled, taking another long puff of smoke and blowing it towards the ceiling again.

Granted, his tastes had changed in recent years. Now, he glanced back towards his notebook, flipping through a few pages. Names and pictures and articles skipped by under his fingers. He frowned at each one, feeling a curling resentment form in his gut.

Residue. Dross. Waste.

All of them.

They'd cheated death. Cheated their betters.

They were scum. The reason the world collapsed. The reason humans were so weak. They were an insult to everyone he'd ever respected. Everyone that had ever mattered. Those daring souls so brave enough to face the moors of a moral society and flout their decrees in their face. To move past the genetic lies and shackles attached by bleeding hearts and preachers.

The true form of humankind was the way it had always been. The way that life was.

DNA didn't dance—it screamed.

Life didn't persist, it dominated.

There was only room enough for one species on this planet, and so humans had conquered, controlled. Even in botany, trees, plants, shrubs would overgrow, conquering ground. And that was how it was meant to be.

He puffed his cigar and blew a ring towards the ceiling. He reached out, scratching with the cigar-holding hand behind his dog's ears, using his lower fingers. Some ash trickled onto the poker table, but the poodle didn't seem to mind.

He smirked at the creature. His hand caressing its neck.

He liked dogs. Liked how compliant they were. He like them small, of course—he wouldn't risk the chance of ever allowing something that might fight back—perish the thought. The toy poodle ate as best it could without most of its teeth... but eventually... eventually even Cookie was going to perish.

Survival of the fittest.

And these names, these people in his book were not that.

He glared as he arrived at one of the pictures pasted to a page.

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