Cat and Mouse, by Amber Averay
Running, running. Faster. Go!
Run little mouse, as quickly as you can.
Your heart is racing, blood thundering in your ears.
I can hear it, relishing your gasping breaths.
The panicked sobs tearing from your tortured lungs,
The shadows swirling like mist as you dart through them.
I follow slowly, deliberately, knowing your path.
I’ve trailed you before. Many times, in fact.
This is dangerous. This is predictable.
I know you. I know what you think, where you go.
I know the prints your tread leaves in the dirt.
I know the scent of your terror.
I know you.
You think you’re being quiet.
You believe you’re stealthily crashing through brush and grass.
I smile to myself, inhaling your perfume.
It’s intoxicating. It’s delicious.
You can’t outrun me. But try. Please.
I need this.
I need you.
I need your pain, your fear.
You spring to the left, and I chuckle silently.
I know where you are. I know everything about you.
You burst from the shadows, blade glittering.
Your eyes are wild. Teeth bared in a snarl.
I laugh. You’re adorable.
The blood dripping from a scratch on your cheek glistens.
I want to taste it.
You lunge forward, aiming for my throat.
I catch the blade, skin slicing open.
Laughter bursts free as you gasp.
Eyes widen with fear.
It’s beautiful. It’s magical.
I fling the knife aside, blood pattering to the ground.
I grin, stalking forward, licking at my wound without breaking eye contact.
You gulp, lungs pumping.
Then you spin and run again.
I hear the tiniest snicker of amusement trail back to me.
You’re enjoying yourself.
I knew you would.
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