The Ache
Her hands they ached and craved. Craved flesh, craved the bones buried within it. The ache reached higher into to her heart. It begged to be filled. A night like this meant the ache would be satisfied.
The moon high and bright, the shadows long and deep, easy places for her to hide. For her to fade, leap and stalk in. Stalk she would. Her prey thought that the moon was the prey’s moon. Painting the entire landscape silver. They were wrong, oh so deliciously wrong. No, this moon was a hunter’s moon.
A soft breeze brought the pungent scent of liquor. Steps irregular, landing unevenly on the pavement. Young and confident the prey was. She could hear the slurred vocals sounds that her prey made as it wandered unknowingly toward her shadow.
The shadows were deep and long that night. That night her hands no longer ached or craved. No they were deliciously wet and content.
The moon high and bright, the shadows long and deep, easy places for her to hide. For her to fade, leap and stalk in. Stalk she would. Her prey thought that the moon was the prey’s moon. Painting the entire landscape silver. They were wrong, oh so deliciously wrong. No, this moon was a hunter’s moon.
A soft breeze brought the pungent scent of liquor. Steps irregular, landing unevenly on the pavement. Young and confident the prey was. She could hear the slurred vocals sounds that her prey made as it wandered unknowingly toward her shadow.
The shadows were deep and long that night. That night her hands no longer ached or craved. No they were deliciously wet and content.