PREY.

He sits at the corner of the bar,
fades into the shadows.
Unnoticed, non discript
among the regulars.
He eyes the dark haired woman.

Well nourished female, 130 pounds,
5 foot 6 (or thereabouts)
Red rose tattoo across left upper arm,
hands tied behind her back, feet bound.

She sips her drink, laughs at a joke.
He watches, waits.

Stab wounds to her chest.
Cause of death strangulation,
evidence of ****** assault.
Evidence of mutilation.

She  leaves, waves from the door.

Excitement swells his veins,
tightens his chest.
He starts to follow.
Someone shouts: “g’night Cinnemon!”

He retreats back into the shadow.
Prey can’t have a name.