The Hunter and not the Hunted
Contributor
Written by
Sussan Khadem
May 2016
Contributor
Written by
Sussan Khadem
May 2016

The fox growls at her and she considers retracing her steps and retreating back out of the park, but she has made her way towards her home now, and to return back the way in which she came would be to accept defeat and to allow the fox to overpower her. It is dark, it is dusk and the park is deserted, it is just her and the fox, face to face in the clearing. They are facing each other, each of them seemingly ready to pounce. She strikes first.

A razor blade in her handbag is extended, the click-click-click of the extended blade sounds out in the night. Her pupils expand and her brown eyes turn to black. There is a growling inside of her to match the growling of the fox, they are each staring at each other as though they are both aware that either one of them could pounce at any minute. The extended razor blade in her right hand shines in the night light and she sees the glimmer of the eyes of the fox reflected in the blade. She hunts the fox then. She is the hunter, not the hunted. It momentarily tries to flee, but she is too strong for it. She stabs the fox feeling the knife catch in between layers of fur and flesh. She momentarily loses her balance in her stiletto heels, but recovers herself. The fox is whimpering inside her hands. A cry of a thousand sorrows ending in her murder of the hunter who has become the hunted. The blood saturates her blade as well as her hand and she sinks her teeth into the meat. The whimpering of the fox stops and her teeth are gnawing at the flesh; Gluttony; A feast of flesh and blood. She chews into the flesh and rips the meat away from the fur. The agony is over now and all that is left is the meat. She chews into the raw flesh and carves further into the fur. The fox’s heart is ripped right out from the carcass and she devours it using both of her hands, the razor blade relinquished to the floor now. She is full now, and she is safe too. She completes her journey through the park, her clacking stiletto heels echoing across the pavement, she wipes away a smear of blood from off her face and wipes her hands down her leggings. She retrieves the house keys from her handbag and unlocks her front door, ready to retire to bed. It has been a very long day.

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