The Hunt

By Sebastian Tolhurst

Humans are unique, living the life of the omnivore among our kind, being at times predator, at others prey. Most of the time I am prey. I walk down the street with my head bowed. My eyes furtively glance down dark allies, looking for movement beyond the light. I move as my reptilian brain tells me too, never making eye contact. Now and then I see one of the herd pulled down. I never react; I just keep my head down and keep moving, glad it wasn’t me.

Once a month though, I become the predator, my transformation usually fueled by drink. Then I stalk the streets, head high, chest puffed out. I'm looking for my prey. I know it well; the small men walking with their eyes on the sidewalk, brain screaming danger at every turn. So I will walk until one gives me an excuse. The prey will bump into me by accident. They always apologize profusely, but their efforts are wasted. I use the excuse to pounce, battering them until my blood lust is sated. Then like a snake who has gorged, I retreat, my appetite for blood satisfied until next month.