My eyes are bloodshot. My stomach is tight. I am the predator. An animal who feeds and maintains itself by killing and consuming other animals. I hunt, I kill to survive. If I did not kill I would die or, more likely, grow weak and become the prey of some other predator. We exist everywhere. In every corner of every planet of every universe, anywhere and everywhere one chooses to look, we are there. We feed off of others and others feed off of us. Whether cat, dog, shark or human; we kill to thrive and thrive on killing. That goes for each one of us. No matter what kind of animal each member of that species kills, without even considering it, to better itself. 

I am the human animal. We have gotten our predatorial ways down to a science and made them to a crime. I supersede those laws, however. I have freed my body from the restraining cloth of humans and thus from their law as well.

I perch, scanning the distance slowly. I search for my prey. My eyes flow slowly, smoothly hither and fro. My body remains, like granite: unmoving.


I wait.


I wait for my prey to arrive. I do not know how long I wait, I simply do it. Time has no meaning to me. Only the hunger in my stomach means anything to me and I have long since learned to live with that, because it is always there. The hunger never goes.

Finally! My prey appears suddenly. First I catch it's scent, then see it moving, perpendicular to me, across the horizon. I am forth without hesitation. Springing from my perch, I hit the ground with a dull noise, as of bread dough on a carpeted floor. My body and mind are one. Thought and action are one. Thought is action and action thought. There is no difference. Every command is executed immediately and every movement is a command. My body embraces my true (animal) nature.

I feel it. It fears. It fears many things, but most of all that which it does not yet know. The fear exudes from it. It has no {cognition, conscious, cognoscente} notion of my presence, yet on some level, deep from its history, it knows I am coming and it fears. It knows I am coming because I must come. It too is a Predator and so somehow knows that it will also, one day - inevitably, become the prey. In anticipation of the feast of flesh that shall follow, saliva floods into my mouth, like Pavlov's dog when it heard the dinner bell. I can almost taste the saltiness of its blood already and my heartbeat quickens.

As I dart through the low branches and underbrush my body weaves and sways, dodging the same automatically. I am the wind rustling through the trees. I am grace, like the cheetah tearing across the plain to bring down the gazelle. My prey continues to move quickly, knowing, yet unknowledgeable of what is about to come. My heart beats faster and faster as the hunt overtakes me.

I bear down on my prey and it finally, consciously recognizes my presence. The smell of raw fear burns through the air, exciting my olfactory senses. More saliva rushes into my mouth. Adrenaline crashes through my veins like a tidal wave. My body is in, I am in, a state of ecstasy. I pray that the kill will last, that it shan't be over so quickly, that I shall have time to savor it.

My Prey bolts. I thrill. All too often it simply freezes with panic, causing the experience to end all too quickly. But it dashes into the wood from the path it had been on, hoping against all hope to lose me. The chase is on, though, and I shan't lose. I shan't because I am superior, I am the predator. I was designed, born and breed for the hunt, for the kill. The human predator, the best, most efficient in the world. In my world, if I don't kill, I'll get weak then I will be killed. It is an unforgiving survival of the fittest. In my world there is no place for macho or ego or pride. These are things that get you killed before your time. In my world the best way to survive is to let your instincts take over. If you try to think when you shouldn't be thinking, just one stray thought, and you're dead. Here, the conscious mind is a hindrance.

My feet pound the ground beneath me. Earth flies up behind me. I whiz through the branches it has pushed aside before they can snap back into place. It is young and strong. That is good as far as I'm concerned. But despite its youth it loses ground to me. My hot breath beats down on its neck. I have my chance. I spring through the air letting out a fierce growl. It turns, facing the encounter. I reach out to grapple it, to bring it down with my momentum. As I come down it rolls back, vaulting me over it. I hit the ground rolling and spring up, on my feet; facing my prey again in a split second. It doesn't run anymore. It realizes the futility of the chase. Its long mane is tangled and dirty. Sweat pours down its face. It closes on me. It seems that there is after all some of the predator in this one.


<<Material until close of bracket is not recommended for the <<squeamish or weak of heart.


I let out a primal yell, snarl and growl as I spring into the engagement. I long for physical contact. I grapple with my prey and we both tumble to the ground. It is a kind of macabre sexual encounter. We are locked. Our flesh is pressed hard together. My nails dig into its skin. It pounds on me. Kicking, screaming, it tries in vain to injure me. In vain because it does not play by the same rules as I do. Namely it is still restricted by rules of conduct, by traditional thinking. My mouth closes down on its neck. I taste first its sweet sweat, then some blood trickles into my mouth. There are no rules of conduct when your life is on the line and if you hold back at all, you are dead. It only trickles a little because I haven't yet gone for the main-line. I savor the taste.

One of my hands reaches up instinctively to its face, where it finds the eyes and soft flesh waiting to be torn and torn out. It is thrashing violently though, trying to throw me off it. It seems to finally realize the urgency of its situation, but all to late. I push my thumb down into its eye. I release my mouth's grip on its throat and begin licking the sweet sweat from its face before I clamp my mouth onto its; biting off its tongue, then lips. As my thumb drives deeper into the socket, it is overwhelmed by my savagery, by my brutality. For me, however, these acts are pure, beautiful, the way things should be. Predator and prey locked in a deadly struggle. The strongest the most fit shall survive. Despite its savaged mouth, it releases a scream of bloody terror as my thumb finally wrenches its eye from the socket. I drink in the terror.

Our encounter is almost over, My jaw clamps down onto its throat. Main-line! The blood squirts in quick spurts into my mouth. In my panting furry I am unable to drink it all down and much of the blood escapes my mouth smearing over my face and chest. I am in love.

Its screaming renews briefly: I rip into its arm with my teeth, letting the blood vessels in its throat spurt their life-juices all over my body. It is the climax of our ritual dance.

My body covered with its blood, I gnaw at the arm of my prey's still writhing shell. Long raspy breaths still come from its body. I do so enjoy being able to gnaw on the still-live body of my prey, because dead meat is so very uninteresting. I listen to the myriad of little sounds that the body makes while still struggling vainly to hold onto life. Life that precious and mysterious gift. It doesn't scream anymore. The screaming has long since died away. Now there is only the raspy breathing, the sound of my panting and my licking of blood from it and me.>>


Then it gathers its strength and forces a noise out of its mouth that takes the shape of a word.

It says, "Why?"

It asked me, "why?"? I question myself, barely able to comprehend how it could ask that most basic of all questions. Doesn't it understand that this is what happens when society forces a man to suppress the instincts which are his birthright? And when this happens it can come to pass that the man can no longer withstand the pressure from inside. It is then at this point when the man turns against that society which drove him all of those years. Drove him to reject his nature, to reject himself. And when a man finally rejects society and embraces his instincts, his natural, instinctual, reaction is to hate the society that drove him all of those years. Just as the dog who has been abused by his master hates and will one day rebel against that master, biting the hand that beat him into submission. This man does not hate any particular person, but the society as a whole, as a separate entity. Then the man feeds on the society, the way it had fed on him all those years. He feeds, one member at a time, slowly eroding the society and its members belief that society is functional.

It must understand, I do not hate people, I love people. I hate society. I hate what society forces people to do, to become. But I love people. If I did not, I would not go through all of this trouble to try to save people from society. Civilization is the most uncivilized thing on our planet. But how to explain this to IT?

I then cradle the eyeless head of my prey in my lap and stroke its bloody, dirty hair with my bloody, dirty hand. I rock back and forth looking at the torn, twisted creature I hold and a tear wells up in my eye and I say to it, "because I love you."

I weep long and hard and while doing so, its raspy breathing stops and what was once a human being is no longer a human being, for that precious, inexplicable thing called life is gone from its body.