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Formerly Worktown Words

A Random Encounter by Kathleen Proctor

 

The mission of the predator is explicit, no mercy, no quarter given. There is no space for regrets, only a sense of gratification, satisfaction in a job well done. The completion of a perfect execution, a satiation of blood lust until the next time, but the intervals between these  feedings are getting shorter, the hunger always rising, reaching a  climax demanding to be fed immediately. 

Sometimes the predator meticulously plans his moves, makes a premeditated strike, a conscious eruption of violence towards his chosen victim, at other times, it is the result of a simple chance encounter, a spur of the moment decision, a quick, rapid fix.

The execution is not always swift, it is often prolonged, drawn out, but the end is always brutal. Escape is not an option, begging for mercy will fall on deaf ears, the predator will not be swayed. The word empathy is not in his vocabulary, he knows only about power, dominance and the desire to obliterate.The deed is done, a life dispatched, mission accomplished, craving saturated until it happens again, it seems easier each time. He carves another notch on the handle of his knife, this one smaller than the last, space is at a premium.                                                                                                                                                                  

He does not turn to look back at the pathetic tangle of flesh and bone tied up with some left over blue curtain cord, semi buried in a shallow, unmarked grave and left to be found by a passing man and his dog.

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