I walk slowly, stalking the prey I noticed a few hours ago. It doesn't know I'm there yet. I love this part. The thrill of the chase. I slowly raise my bow and arrow. I prefer old-fashion weapons. I guess I'm nostalgic. Snap. I stepped on a twig. My prey turns around. Before it can fully process what happened, my arrow pierces its heart. Finally, I was starting to get cold. It is dark out. I walk over, opening my bag. I lay it on the ground. I delicately lift my kill, so as not to damage it. I place it in the bag, which I pick up. It is heavy. I carry it to my car, slowly, because I limp. A stupid hunting accident from a few years ago. I then drive back to where I live, just above the restaurant I own. Once I get there, I put the bag in the freezer and go to sleep.
The next day, I go down to the restaurant kitchen where I place last night's kill on a large table. I take out my favourite cookbook, written by Jerri the Ppack. I look through the pages, trying to decide what to make. After a while, I decide on the stew. I proceed to preparing the meat. Yes, last night's kill will be perfect for this recipe. I carefully start cutting, separating the tender meat from the bones. Many people don't like this part, but I actually enjoy it. It calms me.
Once I am done, I put the meat in a large pot along with some oil and start cooking it. I add in some beef broth, rosemary, parsley and pepper. After an hour, it is ready. I take a small spoon to sample it. It tastes even better than it smells. It is delicious. It is the most refined meal I have ever sampled.
The meat is especially tender and combined with the vegetables and spices, it is probably one of my best masterpieces. It also looks perfect. The meat is a beautiful golden brown. The sauce is thick, though not too much. The carrots are a gorgeous orange-brown and the potatoes a light brown, having both been stained by the beef broth. The dish is sprinkled with spices of different shades of green.
I get rid of the waste just as my employees start arriving. They start going about their tasks and I tell them that the stew, served with rice, will be tonight's special. My sous-chefs start preparing the other meals on the menu: pasta, steak, sandwiches, etc.
Soon after we open for business, customers slowly start trickling in. There is an old couple, probably in their late seventies. They have trouble walking, but you can tell that they are still very much in love, even after so many years together. I was never really good at relationships. I always put my restaurant before everything else.
There are parents with their two children, a little girl, around ten years old and a little boy, probably closer to seven. They are so adorable. The parents look tired, but happy. They probably had a long day at work but seeing their children put a smile back on their faces. Speaking of the children, they are fighting. I think the boy pulled his sister's hair.
There is a group of young teenagers. Five of them, I think. They're happy, at that age when you don't have a care in the world, when you think you can do anything. I left that age a long time ago. I often wish I could go back to those simpler days.
There is a beautiful young woman. Her eyes are a striking green and her hair is black, dark black, darker than night. She sits alone at a table in the corner next to the window. She looks shy, unaware of how beautiful she is.
I like observing the people in my restaurant. You can learn a lot about someone by watching how they act in a restaurant.
Almost immediately after they sit, they ask where the appetizing smell comes from. Upon learning that it was from my special stew, they order it. After having eaten, they all say, without exception, that it is the most scrumptious dinner they have ever eaten.
A week passes before I get a chance to go hunt again. I walk slowly, stalking the young woman I noticed a few hours ago. She doesn't know I'm there yet. I love this part. The thrill of the chase. I slowly raise my bow and arrow. I prefer old-fashion weapons. I guess I'm nostalgic. Snap. I stepped on a twig. The woman turns around. Before she can fully process what happened, my arrow pierces her heart.
Author's note: Please leave comments! I would love to make it better!
