The Hunt

I think a lot of us don’t think much about the hunt anymore. That it is something primitive. Hunters understand it, of course. But most everyone thinks they are civilized and beyond such things.

Which is silly, of course.

You’ve felt it. The thrill of the hunt. Maybe it came in the form of making a sale. Or when you found that store that would let you stack coupons just so, and you got that laptop for a few hundred off. Hell, even that moment when the vegan finally, finally finds that brand of cheese that melts or tastes just right.

I can hear the sounds of our feet, slapping on the cement. The sound of heavy boots and soft flesh… sometimes dry, sometimes splashing in the puddles.

Most hunts don’t last very long, or rather, they don’t last long when the quarry is in sight and the chase begins. But sometimes they can be long.

I’m panting now, like a beast. My tongue lolls out like a dog’s. The smell of my sweat is whipped away in the wind of my passing. You are close, so very close.

This hunt is ending soon. Ahead, I see no escape.

This is how mankind is meant to live.

I feel your claw-like nails as you push me down into the concrete. I close my eyes as water splashes up into my face.

I smell your fetid breath as your teeth chew out my throat.

I’ve never felt so alive.

Nightmare Fuel 2016, Day 15
A version of this story will appear in the October 2017 issue of Blood Moon Rising Magazine.

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