A black feather from a passing crow was falling to the ground. A skulk of starving foxes looked up in unison as if their senses were networked through a single Wi-fi hotspot. The collective growling of their stomachs made the ground beneath them rumble. So much so, one fox inadvertently shook loose a lint dookie from its barely used foxhole. In normal times, it would have been ridiculed for such indecency, but today, in desperate times of exorbitant hunger, shame has been eradicated, and thus they proceeded.
The oldest, and perhaps the wisest of the group stopped the moment it was certain the feather was not a cigar. Its refined taste superseded the trivial pangs of hunger. But this is a digression, best left for tomorrow.
The remaining foxes followed the floating feather. The committee of vultures above appeared to parody the scurrying scavengers. The ensuing shadows were nothing short of chaotic.
One fox thought this an appropriate moment to attack the largest fox with its teeth and jaws. It lunged and gnawed off the unsuspecting fox’s hind area, rendering it dead immediately. As the fox licked the blood, it realized the wing was worthless. The real bang for the buck was in this fallen fox.
Satisfied by this incredible newfound taste for cannibalism, it went in for seconds, which led to another fox biting deeply into its vulnerable neck. The result was devastating as well as lethal. This led to a chain of events with the outcome of fur, guts and blood all over the place.
The final surviving fox recognized for the first time the riches of pacifism. It sniffed the twitching corpse before tasting. It was good, in fact, excellent was its last thought before dropping dead. Turns out, its palate had a kindred relationship with morality. Fox eat fox is a cardinal sin rewarded by instantaneous death.
The puzzled vultures circled slowly. One said, “So that happened.” As if that were a cue, they swooped down and picked the carcass clean leaving behind only fox bones.