Bleak eyes stared from deep shadows, watched through the dark as clear as day. Long ears listened to the crunch of leaves and the brushing of foliage. Its nostrils flared; its tongue licked the air. It used every sense to learn its target, to know it before it decided whether or not to pursue. This one carried an unpleasant scent, which often meant the hunt would not be worthwhile. It would continue to wait until something appealing was found.
It sat still and silent, skin blending with whatever concealed its body. Only its eyes moved. Only they had life in its statuesque form. Not even its chest would expand from a breath. It consumed oxygen slow and shallow. Its muscles turned rigid, firming themselves in place. Doing so meant it would never tire, never lose its posture; its balance was perfected in survival.
An alluring taste landed on its tongue, so powerful it nearly perked up, breaking from its position of choice. It inhaled deeply, invigorated by this potential catch. But the prey wasn’t alone. Another traveled in stride. Normally it only hunted lone game. Any more, and risk threatened its continuance.
This night it decided the meal would be worth the risk. It wanted like it never had. It needed to taste that flesh. To consume, to indulge; a feeling alien to a mind that until then, had been content with local nourishment.
It waited until they were close, so close it began to salivate from the smell of this new animal. It prepared itself, built up tension in its legs, and sprung forward too fast for its quarry to react. It sliced its clawed finger through the lower leg of the larger of the two, the one it didn’t desire. This was to incapacitate it, keep it from interfering with what it needed to do. The tall one fell to the ground and grabbed at its wound. It cried out in pain.
It then turned to the one it craved. It stared back with wide, frightened eyes as its body trembled.
Eager to taste the frightened thing, it pounced, holding it down on the ground. The prey wriggled as it tried to free itself, but its meager strength could not compete. The predator slipped its slender tongue from its mouth and ran it up its captive’s face. The salty fear whetted its appetite. It opened its maw and bit into hot skin, ripped away muscle with its pointed teeth, and began to chew.
∼ Lee Andrew Forman
© Copyright Lee Andrew Forman. All Rights Reserved.
Pen of the Damned 