Reckless

There was so much blood. Red waves pulsed onto the leaf-scattered ground. Seeping into the softly packed dirt. Nothing could survive such loss.

A small twitch. A gasp of breath.

He felt cold and shivered. A day starting like any other had suddenly turned into a struggle for survival. At the drop of a hat, a quick outing became fateful. A vice-like grip enclosed his neck. The evening sky seemed to darken way too quickly. Fateful indeed. Time seemed so slow down and speed up at odd intervals. How long had he been lying here?

A sharp stab.

The temperature seemed to keep rapidly dropping. He had never been so cold. His panic had subsided into confusion. Disconnection from the world around him. He had never considered death as he had never really considered his full existence. Danger had always seemed so abstract.

Danger was very real.

She surveyed him surgically. Cold. Detached. He was still struggling, but she was patient. It wouldn’t be long. She could wait. Her large, black eyes swept the countryside. A light fog hung over the field. Fog was good. Protection from unwanted eyes.

A sharp crack.

She swiveled her head around. Alert. Dusk was a risky time to be out. She usually liked to wait for the cover of darkness, but she was hungry for the hunt. A skilled stalker. A deadly assassin. She waited for another noise. Silence. She turned her attention back to her prey.

An explosion of adrenaline.

By the time he realized he was being hunted, it was too late. He was exposed; it was a choice to take the shortcut across the field. He had done it a million times, right? Those stupid deer; they had distracted him. He paused to look. Anyone would have looked. Right?

Self-assurance quickly turned to panic. He could hear the pounding behind him. No time to look; he launched into a sprint. Heart pounding in his ears. He wasn't trapped. If he could get to the cover at the other side of the clearing, he would be safe. He would make it.

The crushing weight. The piercing blow.

The rush of success swept through her body. He was fast, but she was faster. Ready for every move. Every vain escape route. His failure proved she had made the right decision. His mistake solidified him as the right target. She would return home satiated. Victorious. Knowing for at least another day, she could rest, until the craving for the hunt returned.

A quick decision. He was young. Impulsive.

It was an evening of exploration. His pace was jaunty as he neared the end of the wooded trail. From his post in the tree, he could see the path was clear. A fresh breeze across his face. The evening was surprisingly warm. Confident, he continued to the clearing.

Reckless.

She had been watching him. There wasn’t much her eyes missed. Camouflaged in her position, she couldn’t believe her luck. Usually, she had to wait hours before spotted such a willing soul. A volunteer. She didn’t dare move as he made a quick pause at the edge of the clearing. She tensed, ready to strike.

The moment of truth.

She was hungry. It had been a full day since her last kill and the craving had returned. Her loft in the barn provided a great vantage point over the field below. A slight rustling in the distance caught her attention. A flicker of leaves in the bush. The small patter of feet. How wonderful someone should wander right into her hunting ground.

As the sun waned, she turned her pale face toward the sky. Stretching her perfect body. Designed to kill. Tactically engineered for death. Who would be so foolish as to cross her path?

Who?