Eat, Prey, Love

Eat, Prey, Love: A Short Story

It is a dance. A game, if you will.

The hunt.

Turning my head, I take a glance behind me. The wood has a serene calm that only exists in the early hours of the morning. I turn my head upwards. The trees tower above me, their branches grazing each other gingerly. Taking my hand, I scratch the scruff of my facial hair.

From the time I was a mere pup, a phrase my father had instilled into me had been, "Don't play with your food." But as I grew older, I found that hunting had become quite formulaic. And as I matured, I realized there was so much more I could do with my prey to satisfy certain primal urges.

Thrash. I dart my head around, looking this way and that.

Nothing.

Peering through the trees, I take a step forward and squint through bushes. For a second I thought I had seen a flash of red. I begin to move more cautiously. An ethereal calm has encompassed my surroundings. It's too calm. Especially for my liking.

I have always been well equipped for hunting in any circumstances, but silence has always been aggravating for me. Nothing is ever quiet in a forest, there is always a sign of life; a rustle of a bush, birds twittering, a wolf's howl.

I feel my claws trying to pierce through the rough, calloused skin at my fingertips, as if they're begging me to shift. And I almost do, until I see her.

At first, I believe my imagination is playing with me again, but it isn't until I hear her speak that I realize she is, in fact, there, kneeling on the forest floor picking wildflowers. From my distance it appears that she is only a mere thirty feet away from me. I can't help but chuckle to myself at this.

Such an easy kill, I think.

Treading forward, I feel my instincts beginning to take over my body, the hunger in my stomach beginning to stir like a wicked storm on a calm day, and something else. Something that makes my blood pump twice as fast as I inch closer and closer toward her. As she comes more into focus, I observe her more intently. She is a curved figure with chestnut hair and ivory skin; a cloak of deep, dark red covers her.

All I can hear is the roar of my own heart beating. It's as if everything has slowed down. So much so, that I don't even realize I've stepped on a dead branch, until her head snaps up like a startled doe.

My first instinct is to run, but when I see her, now only fifteen feet away, I realize I've come too close to back away now. So, instead, I look at her nonchalantly and I smile.

It has been weeks since I have seen a real human, even longer a woman, and I can't help but take her in. From her cascading dark hair, to her full womanly hips, I see no ill manner in having some fun and playing my favourite game.

I ask her name, but she remains a silent. I inch closer, but she begins to back away. Looking down, I see crimson on her hands. I feel her gaze follow mine until she too looks at her hand, only then realizing she had cut her hand on the small dagger she was using to cut at the wildflowers. She looks concerned, as she watches more blood bubble and pool out of the large cut across her palm.

I feel myself staring intently at it. My surroundings have slowed yet again. I watch each and every morsel drip from the wound onto the flowers beneath it, bright ruby splattering onto the white canvas of flowers.

I feel the trance snap as she tries to clot the blood with the hem of her cloak. Fortunately, she is unsuccessful, and I see my opportunity.

I rip a strip of cloth from the hem of my shirt and walk towards her. Instead of backing away from me, she stays still and stares. I hold the strip up and motion for her to give me her hand. At first she hesitates, but eventually she gives in.