Stone crouched on the roof of the New York public library, still as a boulder; his eyes staring straight ahead as he observed the bodies marching down the sidewalks like ants. It always amused him that the incarnates on the ground never looked up, never smiled at each other, and never saw the world around them except for the material things they had made.
Gargoyles had been made by church men to protect churches and public buildings from evil influences. There ugly expressions scared the evil spirits that liked to eat from the essences of the embodied. In the past gargoyles were friends and even were invited to nest and to safeguard them. Now they were just legends and myths.
Stone snapped at a shadow that settled down next to him. “Why do you protect these things?” it asked him.
Stone refused to answer. He knew that how tempting it was to talk to one of these spirits. They were cunning. He had talked once before and let one go. Now he regretted his action because that one became a demon and was able to hurt many.
He slowly moved his body towards the shadow so that the bodies would not see him move in their peripheral vision. Sometimes there was one who was more aware than the others.
“They are just sheep.” It said. It looked down at them, probably picking out the best one to eat from. “They are like fine wine.” Then it laughed. “Oh you don’t drink wine.”
Then it was over. The spirit was being crunched slowly in Stone’s mouth. It had a fine fresh taste of rotted flesh in a swamp. He waited for the next one to come along. There would be more. There always was.