Evolution
By
Lazette Gifford
Copyright 2012, Lazette Gifford
Gangs had fought their useless battle in the
alley, losers dragging their dead and injured away as the winners jeered. Then the conquerors passed so close to
Alishin he could almost taste the blood on their clothing. Rank emotion filled the air like the scent of
flowers in spring.
He hungered.
They never saw Alishin; humans rarely
did. If the strutting victors had
noticed the tall, dark-shrouded figure in the shadows, they would have known
their true place as prey and not victor.
Humans, though, never willingly looked upward to see what stood above
them in the evolutionary ladder.
The triumphant gang left the battlefield,
their crass jokes and harsh laughter fading in the night. Soon...
Alishin would have one of those tasty morsels
tonight. He knew the patterns of his particular
prey. He waited, patient for his reward in the hunt.
As he knew he would, the prey -- reeking of
blood and sex -- returned after midnight, sniffing around the killing grounds,
looking for another battle and the addictive taste of conquest. Alishin had laid the trap in a simple game of
chance . . . as all hunts are games of chance, in one way or another.
The prey found the open door and swaggered inside,
unafraid, his hand on the knife in his belt.
A table, draped in black cloth, stood beneath a flickering bulb. Chance lay in the dice on the shadowed
surface, and the boy picked them up, laughing.
Even though he didn't understand, the prey's heart beat harder. Taking chances and gambling were part of his
life.
Alishin closed his eyes, savoring the scent
of adrenaline surging through the human and flavoring the blood and meat. Oh yes, far sweeter than a dull kill in the
shadows with no feel for the hunt. The
boy threw and his heartbeat soared as the dice rolled.
Trap sprung.
"Never throw the dice before you know
the game," Alishin said as he stepped forward, the wisdom wasted on this
one, of course. The dice stopped on double skulls.
They always did.
The boy's heart pounded, the pulse beating in
the neck as the prey started to back away.
Alishin smiled and grabbed an arm, strength stilling any hope of
escape. His fingers caught and twisted
the head, exposing the neck where the blood pumped, the scent of adrenaline
intoxicating. He bent close, his lips
near the boy's ear.
"The game is called evolution,
human," he said softly. "The
higher species is always the better hunter."
But as Alishin bit into the pliant neck he
wondered if he would ever dare
to look up. . . .
The End
442 words
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