Everything one owns is valuable. Every possession has a history behind it. My possessions, too, have a history. They are artefacts. Souvenirs from my hunts. Sometimes a tooth, sometimes a toe. It's always something from my prey.
Step 1 - The Hunt. Step 2 - The Shot. Step 3 - The Souvenir. Rinse and repeat. I keep it all in a huge showcase in my basement.
Sometimes, I wish I could proudly display it to everyone. But alas, my hunting is illegal. They don't know. They never will. They all think my life is so ordinary - even mundane. But they don't know what I do late at night - I'm a hunter. And a hunter's life is never boring.
And that is why, even now, I'm mourning my prized collection. Even now, as the sirens pierce through the thin and crisp morning air, even now, as my head hangs in misery. And I knew this was coming, I knew since last evening. I knew when he was plucking out my brightly painted nails, taking a souvenir from his prey. I knew, but I had hoped that it would happen sooner. That the sirens would save me from hell. But now, it was too late. As I stared at my still body on the stretcher and the rescuers, trying desperately to save me, it was too late. And then too, I thought about my souvenirs. My taxidermy collection, my hunted animals' ivory teeth and tusks. I was a hunter my whole life, and I thought I was stronger than the animals. But I was the prey too.
Mankind was my hunter.
YOU ARE READING
Phobia
HorrorIntroducing you to the land of the lawless... What would happen if murderers never got caught? If people gave free rein to their emotions and temptations? Deep dark wishes? Bloodshed would be widespread. The world would be ruled by sins and impulses...
