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.
