Posted by Sawney Beane on June 24, 2007 at 22:43:52:
The Collected Works of Sawney Beane: Volume #106
HUNTER
by Sawney Beane
21 December 2003
964 words
DISTRIBUTION NOTICE and DISCLAIMER: Sawney Beane requests that any distribution of this work of fiction remain within the realm of social responsibility. This story is suitable neither for minors nor for the seeming majority of adults who have difficulty distinguishing fantasy from reality. It is pure fantasy, which means that, for whatever reason, someone has found it interesting to think about the events depicted herein. It does not in any way mean that the author would like to see this fantasy become reality, so if you are the type of person who might be swayed into doing something irrational by reading a work of fiction, the author respectfully requests that you decline to read further.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Sawney Beane, originally a native of Edinburgh, lived for twenty-five years in a cave on the coast of County Galloway, subsisting on the flesh of unfortunate travellers, roughly a thousand of them all told. He and his wife raised a large family of eight sons, six daughters, eighteen grandsons, and fourteen granddaughters. Eventually, the family was captured, and the whole lot was brutally and unjustifiably tortured and executed without trial. Since his death in the early 17th century, Beane has reformed his ways and now confines his atrocities to his literary endeavours.
WARNING: This story contains references to snuff and non-consensual gynophagia. If you find such things offensive, please steer clear; you have been warned.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Probably the closest thing to a true story I've ever written. Can you guess the airport?
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I spot my prey just after stepping off of the plane and walking up the jetway to gate K16. I didn't see her on the plane, so she must have just come off of one of the innumerable other flights at this airport. I know immediately upon seeing her, that she will be my next victim.
She is tall and slim with long dark hair. I see her face as she walks past me; there is an apparent innocence in her dark, almost Asian eyes. He skin is a flawless mocha colour, perfect. She wears shorts that reveal most of her lusciously tanned legs and a top that reveals most of the trim expanse of her belly. Whoever invented belly shirts must have been a cannibal sympathizer, because they allow you to see immediately the quality of your quarry's flesh. This one is perfect. The hunt begins.
I keep a cautious distance at first, slowing my walk as I get to the crowded hallway. She has stopped to peer anxiously at the monitors hanging from the ceiling near the gate. Eventually, she finds the information she needs and drags her roller bag down the smooth floor of the terminal. I give chase.
She is twenty feet in front of me, and she is not aware that she is dead in the sights of the most dangerous modern predator possible. She has no idea that this will be her last day on Earth. She has no idea how fragile her life really is. How easily I will end it. We are passing Gate K12, and her fate gets closer with every gate we pass.
The true irony is that she probably doesn't even realize that she is prey. She doesn't realize that she is meat, and she doesn't realize that there are predators in this very airport that will use her flesh for its ultimate purpose. Certainly she is wary of rapists and muggers and other such crass amateurs, but she would never suspect that she is being stalked by a real modern cannibal. Gate K9.
Her rump roasts move alluringly inside her tight denim shorts as she walks, and the bare skin of her lower back slides smoothly from side to side. She has a hypnotizing walk, the kind that draws a cannibal like blood draws a shark. I find my eyes fixed on my prey, sliding from side to side following her graceful movements.
We're at Gate K5. She stops briefly and looks tentatively across at the food court to her left. Inside is a Chinese fast food restaurant, a McDonalds, a pizza place, and several other disgusting purveyors of crap. I pray that she will not pollute her body so close to its final meal. As if taking a psychic cue from her pursuer twenty feet behind her, she swings her meaty hips into motion and continues on. The K gates on the right have now joined with the H gates on the left in this Y-shaped terminal as we walk by Gate K3. The long hallway is lined with flags of many nations, which she looks at with a careless glance, but I am focused only on my prey.
How amazing it is that this girl cannot imagine how close she is to death. She doesn't know that she will never use her return ticket. She doesn't know that this morning was the last sunrise she will ever see. She doesn't know that the sand is running out of her small hourglass. She will not make it to her destination. She will be mine soon, entirely mine.
I follow cautiously as she reaches Gate K1. She pauses briefly to glance at the postcards in a rack in the magazine shop on her right. She doesn't buy one though. What would she write? "Hi, just writing to tell you that today I was captured by a cannibal who will devour my sexy body and leave me nothing but a pile of bones and hair. Wish you were here!" I smile at the absurdity of this thought.
We are at the main hallway. Terminals 1 and 2 are off to our left. She glances towards the flurry of activity just in front of us as grandmothers and babies are patted down in the security area. I am gaining on her as she pauses to figure out where to go. Now is the time to capture her while she is hesitating. Soon she will be mine.
Just then, just as I am within ten feet of her and can smell the tantalizing aroma of her delicious body, she abruptly turns sharply to the right and saunters off towards the L concourse. My own path leads down the escalator to the baggage claim area. My prey has eluded me, and soon she will be boarding a plane to God knows where. She will be thousands of miles away, and she will never know how close she came to destiny today.
Shit! This always happens-every damn time. I continue my trajectory and reach the escalator a much-disheartened predator. I glance at her one final time as she round the corner down the L concourse. Her silky hair, that luscious rump, those succulent legs, the trim belly-how close these came to being mine! Now they are flying away from me, and I will never see them again. It's miserable luck for a hungry predator.
As I reach the bottom of the escalator, my sad hungry glower turns to a miniscule smile, reaching only the corners of my fierce lips. After all, there will be other quarry. No doubt a suitable target will present herself by the time I get onto the rental car shuttle. Someday I will find a rabbit that doesn't get away-someday.