#12 The Hunter

I’ve never seen my own reflection while I’m hunting but I’ve got my guesses –

Glistening eyes, wide pupils, messed up hair and fallen branches sticking to my dresses.

The gloomy forest is distracted by the rhythm of my leather boots sneaking up the hill.

I’ve been hunting all night and I’ll shoot you down once you stop being still.

Sinister scents in the breeze, I inhale the evil thoughts rising in my spine.

The next night-traveller I see is going to be pickled in blood and brine.

My hunt is not over until the first civilian sheds blood and moans through stabs,

My hunt is not done until they try to reproduce my cruelty in some highbrow labs.

There’s a rustle in the nearby trail, there’s the sound of someone walking.

I approach the noise and I steady my bones, I let my eyes do the talking.

Finally I see him – 10 yards away, bolting through the pitch-black darkness,

Rolled up sleeves, brand shoes and a lit cigarette – cool yet harmless.

Wherever he goes, I follow, Buck 119 Special residing in my left palm.

I’ve known this forest since I was five, I hear it humming ancient psalms.

He senses my footsteps only when it’s too late, his left lung decompresses.

Still don’t want to see my own reflection while I’m hunting. I’ve got my guesses.