Lazy Liver

“Liver used to be one of my favorite foods,” said Vulture. “But having it every day from the same spot… it’s just made it a little less special.”

Vulture scraped the ground, kicking up rocks in dust. They breathed heavily in a fit of frustration as they walked around the wooded path.

“I think having easy access to the same food has made me lazy,” Vulture said out loud to anyone willing to listen. They used to travel far and wide, sampling many delicacies. Rabbit brain, falcon eggs, eyes of lamb, whole lizards. The last is especially tasty if you’re able to catch them just after basking in the sun. Sure, Vulture could always give up liver, but it seemed like this was a permanent shift in their palette. Everything else from before had lost its delectable sheen now that they had an ever-reliable source of food.

“We’re supposed to wander the world. Now I’m too lazy to stray too far from the mountain,” they again said out loud with a bit of malaise to no one.

A human suddenly came into view. For a few moments, Vulture and the human shared the same stone path. There was hesitancy from both creatures. Vulture was leery of becoming a meal in and of itself, and the human did not want to disturb the majesty of the vulture.

There was a stalemate for some time. The human would try to move out of the way, but each time, Vulture spread its wings in preparation of escape. This happened a few times until Vulture grew tired of the dance. They flew up into the air, a big whoosh below as they took off. They alighted in a nearby tree just above the path.

The human slowly approached the tree, as that was the direction of the path. Vulture took no chances and again lifted off into the air, their wings anything but quiet on takeoff.

“Sorry,” the human muttered.

Conveniently, it was the middle of the afternoon, and Vulture took this as a sign to feast. They didn’t want to be late, so Vulture set off for the fated mountain.

Through the sky they soared, lakes and rivers shimmering below. Patchworks of land could be seen all around with fields of different colors edging the wide expanses of forest. This might’ve been Vulture’s favorite part of the day: the approach. There was still time to change their mind. To suddenly turn west and follow the sun as it set below the horizon. Maybe Helios would have some wisdom to bestow; he, too, was engaged in a never-ending ouroboros of a task.

Vulture heard humans tell stories of Sisyphus, a clever king doomed to a rocky repetition in Hades. “But aren’t some of us caught in the exact same trap?” wondered Vulture aloud. “I strive to try new things. New, exciting things. Maybe I could be a poet. Maybe I could learn to play the strings. We Vultures are intelligent. And we don’t shove it in people’s faces like those arrogant ravens and crows.” They thought with intensity of the myriad of lives they could be leading instead.

The world had changed all around Vulture, especially lately. Humans erected monumental cities with towers that stretched up towards the sky. Vulture paid the buildings little mind as they preferred to exist on the edges of what the humans had built anyway. Fires burned much of what was left of the dry earth. There were fewer forests and woods to haunt. The humans had defiantly etched their mark into the ground and left parts of it poisoned and inhospitable. Despite their progress, many humans had also grown complacent and lazy, far too separate from their nature. They moved about in a hazy, listless waking slumber always dreaming of something different.

Still, Vulture carried on through the sky compelled by its own nature and the sheer ease and comfort of its existence. It sighed as it landed on the craggy rock before someone in shackles. There was a wince on the face of the bound man. He knew what was coming.

Without ceremony, Vulture dug in and began pecking at the exposed abdomen of the man. The flesh was tough and haggard, but Vulture’s beak tore through without much effort. They ripped open a hole and exposed the prize to the afternoon sun.

Vulture knew not to eat all of the liver, though. By leaving a little piece behind, it would be sure to grow back whole tomorrow. They pecked and they wrenched, all the while the bound man screamed in agony. At this point, Vulture assumed it was just for show as they had devoured this liver countless times before. The pain still couldn’t be that bad, they thought.

Pieces of the liver were torn off and swallowed. Blood splattered everywhere, and the screams echoed off the crags. After a few minutes, Vulture had their fill.

“‘Till tomorrow,” said Vulture as they flew away, blood and guts dripping from their beak.

“Right,” replied Prometheus. “Can’t wait.”