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Description
It was on days like this that you could see sweat oozing out of the city like it oozed out of the people. The skyline was almost as lethargic as the muggy air, the bleak high-rise buildings laying heavy over the horizon. It was these days that I loved most, the prey easy picking in short shirts and shorter skirts. The heat made them reckless, wanting to get home and not wanting a fight. These were the days that suited me best.

The sun sunk below the buildings as I waited on the park bench, repressed by the fug but invigorated by the thought of what was to come. The girls always cut through this park, thinking it safe from their misleading memories of mothers pushing toddlers on swings. They forgot that safety followed the light, retreating into soon-to-be-lit windows and a thousand battles over vegetables.

The wait was boring, but I wasn't jaded. Tonight was the night, there would be no ruttish thirst left to torture me in the early hours. I stared at the last rays of the sun and listened to the disco thump of some distant party.

Crunch crunch crunch. Here she was. I gazed off at the trees as my prey walked into the corner of my vision. She was wearing black boots with heels. No running for her. A short skirt that covered only the tiniest sliver of her long legs. Heh, well, tonight she was going to get what that clothing advertised.

I let her walk out of my vision, still enthralled by those trees that seemed to so captivate me. I rose, and stretched. Sauntering casually along behind her, I matched my steps to hers, drawing ever closer. Twenty metres. Ten metres. Five metres.

"Piss off." Her voice reached me without her turning round. I ignored it.

"I said piss off. I don't want anything from anyone tonight."

"What makes you think I was following you?" I bantered.

"That question." Her steps were more even now, as balanced as she could be in unsteady shoes. Her pace was slowed and she fiddled with the black bands on her wrists.

"Well, your clothing certainly seems to indicate that you do want something from somebody. Why shouldn't I be the one to give it to you?" She stopped, shoulders slightly hunched, legs spread apart. Balanced but defensive.

"Just piss off," she repeated, still fiddling with her wrists. I drew up behind her and breathed down her neck.

"No." She whirled, I glimpsed her angry face. A punch to the stomach, a strong one, then agony. I choked, and the blade glinted bloody in her hand.

"Cocky. You've done this before. How else could you have shadowed me with such prowess? Good for me that I'm paranoid." I dropped to my knees as her words blurred and her figure multiplied before my eyes. The unfocused ghost trees loomed around her as she stalked away.

It hurt. It hurt. I flopped over onto my side and curled around the hand holding my stomach. I felt the wetness soak into the world around me, until all I knew was the pain, the bloody pain. If I could just move, open my mouth, call for help. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted …

I died.

Description
It was on days like this that you could see sweat oozing out of the city like it oozed out of the people. The skyline was almost as lethargic as the muggy air, the bleak high-rise buildings laying heavy over the horizon. It was these days that I loved most, the prey easy picking in short shirts and shorter skirts. The heat made them reckless, wanting to get home and not wanting a fight. These were the days that suited me best.

The sun sunk below the buildings as I waited on the park bench, repressed by the fug but invigorated by the thought of what was to come. The girls always cut through this park, thinking it safe from their misleading memories of mothers pushing toddlers on swings. They forgot that safety followed the light, retreating into soon-to-be-lit windows and a thousand battles over vegetables.

The wait was boring, but I wasn't jaded. Tonight was the night, there would be no ruttish thirst left to torture me in the early hours. I stared at the last rays of the sun and listened to the disco thump of some distant party.

Crunch crunch crunch. Here she was. I gazed off at the trees as my prey walked into the corner of my vision. She was wearing black boots with heels. No running for her. A short skirt that covered only the tiniest sliver of her long legs. Heh, well, tonight she was going to get what that clothing advertised.

I let her walk out of my vision, still enthralled by those trees that seemed to so captivate me. I rose, and stretched. Sauntering casually along behind her, I matched my steps to hers, drawing ever closer. Twenty metres. Ten metres. Five metres.

"Piss off." Her voice reached me without her turning round. I ignored it.

"I said piss off. I don't want anything from anyone tonight."

"What makes you think I was following you?" I bantered.

"That question." Her steps were more even now, as balanced as she could be in unsteady shoes. Her pace was slowed and she fiddled with the black bands on her wrists.

"Well, your clothing certainly seems to indicate that you do want something from somebody. Why shouldn't I be the one to give it to you?" She stopped, shoulders slightly hunched, legs spread apart. Balanced but defensive.

"Just piss off," she repeated, still fiddling with her wrists. I drew up behind her and breathed down her neck.

"No." She whirled, I glimpsed her angry face. A punch to the stomach, a strong one, then agony. I choked, and the blade glinted bloody in her hand.

"Cocky. You've done this before. How else could you have shadowed me with such prowess? Good for me that I'm paranoid." I dropped to my knees as her words blurred and her figure multiplied before my eyes. The unfocused ghost trees loomed around her as she stalked away.

It hurt. It hurt. I flopped over onto my side and curled around the hand holding my stomach. I felt the wetness soak into the world around me, until all I knew was the pain, the bloody pain. If I could just move, open my mouth, call for help. I didn't want to die. I wanted to live. I wanted …

I died.