Lion

Stars blinking back on.  Midsummer thundersquall passed.  Lion sign again dominant light years beyond the spinning surface of a blue rock hurtling through oblivion.  Things to me seem absolutely still.  As perched on a ledge I survey my terrain.

Vapor rises from the sidewalk below.  Lactic acid burns throughout my tawny body, which is taut while relaxed, like a cat’s.

Just finished exercising for hours.  I lick tightly-strung flexible sinews, perfectly aligned and attuned.  Huge legs and arms.  Ankle thick wrists.  Dark heavy veins snaking into impossibly muscular claws, which can easily snap bones in their grip.  I stretch my back and purr content.

Milliliters run into pools carving ditch mud like river gorges were created by glacier melt floods.

A mosquito whines, tracking me in infrared, cool.  However, the insect is reactive, no freer to pursue its whimsy than is a flower leaning towards the sun.  It performs only the necessities: sexual intercourse, eating, defection, death – these actions mean everything and nothing to it.  Does a mosquito’s conscience suffer because its kind claims more human lives each year than all other killers combined?  Course not.  It is nothing but an annoyance, which feeds at my inattention, is crushed at my will.

It brushes my sensitive cheek skin and I snatch it, extinguish a life; feel fine about it.

(Later.)

Lying on a park bench like a bum I evaluated potential prey.  Knowing no quarry could ever survive one devastatingly accurate strike; feeling the power-euphoria, the titillating anticipation of the hunter.  Randomness gave me an insurmountable advantage, but.  I wanted a big man.  For example, a cop.  Armed, ostensibly alert, ready to meet his death like a Zulu patrolling the bush he is ready.  For such is his duty.  His destiny, even, if he believes in such a thing.  What would that make the controller of his destiny, then? 

Right. 

Anyways his lifetime is but ephemeral, and mine is…

Or, I could stalk a woman VERY easily, just to see…

But this is crazy thoughts…  Isn’t it? 

Pedestrians circumvented the unlit park via the illuminated circumference path rather than risking the short cut of its vast vacant fields.  Prairie ground.  It was fun to lie in the tall grass playing with my genitals as they hurried purposefully past.  Sometimes I hid right near the exit to the el-train station, where no one suspected danger yet.  Where an uncertain victim might pause, gazing into the darkness, letting her eyes adjust.  Not looking over her shoulder but wondering instead what was out there.

Not comprehending that she saturated the air, her perfume fairly billowing up to where I was perched on a limb, feeling the heat emanate off her body, piqued.

The coathook I wasn’t that worried the cops were ever gonna find was a twisted stilletto instrument about twice the thickness of a hanger.  It fit perfectly into a closed-fist grip; its tip lined up with the radial bone in the forearm to provide maximal stab-force.  Use the body’s design to its greatest advantage.  Punch with the skeleton.  One strike deadly indeed.  Puncture the carotid artery.  A quick removal, a massive firehose hemorrhaging, and the victim immediately crumples in shock, brain dead.  Alternatively the femoral artery, the thinking man’s suicide vein.  Plunging my stabber into this hot throbbing target (how sexy must it be to a mosquito!) also precipitates inevitable rapid fatality. Then the hook is wiped, re-inserted into the drywall to gaze at like a trophy, and who detects anything?

The thing is I don’t like to clean it; it arouses more me wet.

She decided to risk it.  Risk what?  I can see all the way across the grass, there’s nobody here.  Plus I’ve got this mace and this whistle.  I’ll just clutch those and cross quickly.  God, I’m so tired.  I just want to get home and turn on the TV and pop that leftover tortellini in the microwave and open some wine, maybe soak in a hot bath…  (She committed to crossing the field.)

I waited until I could no longer hear her footfalls.  Lingered, until she had all-the-way disappeared, then dropped down and easily followed her trail.  Tracked her cunt on the trot.

There she was, striding down the sidewalk on the other side, chatting on her phone, unconcerned, now that she’d “made it”.  The simple perfect weapon whispered: So easy.  Hurry up softly behind her.  Silence her protest with a strong hand over the mouth.  Puncture her throat with the other-mindedness of squashing a bug.  Stare into her pleading eyes as they bolt open then fade to black.

Her bouquet marked the air strongly; I pursued from a distance of blocks.  Eventually she arrived at and entered her residence.  I squatted on haunches, utterly still, a gargoyle.  All these neighbors snoring peacefully; illusions of safety; I could enter any one of these places and do anything I wanted and escape undetected…  One light left.  The bathroom.  She snuffed it out, and the apartment fell dark.  Now.

I tiptoe-rushed to a large oak, shimmied it, and draped my long body along a great branch like a leopard, level with her wide open third story window.  So innocent.  So unaware.  So uninhibited…

I gripped death and inspected it.  Lust coursing.  Pupils flared.  I saw her hot veins emptying out onto our naked skin, her flesh growing cold as I bathed in her salty red soup, tasting it, playing with it, drawing weird designs on our bodies in it; ink and vermilion.  A gruesome mania.  Closer. 

She rubbed her eyes, yawned, scratched herself, farted.  So real.  Is this what a woman does / is? What’s the difference between her and the rest of the faceless?  Her bedroom is the center of her everything, as everyone’s is alone late at night.  This place is subject to her will rather than to chaos (she deludes herself).  She has exerted her personality here.   I can know this woman.  Penetrate her sanctuary, hear her breathe, bask in her scent… 

My prey.  I am slave to my instinct.  But I will master my discipline.  For the now.  In the morning when you have gone I will break in and prowl through your laundry hamper, bring your soiled panties to my face and luxuriate in your particular pheromones.  I will burrow in your still-warm sheets with your underthings on my face and pleasure myself several times.  I will know you like no man ever has.  I will determine your ultimate fate – mañana, mama.  But for now…  Sleep, love, and I will watch over you.   No one will touch you (tonight).

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s