Killing Perfection
By Sarga
Written/Posted November 9, 2008
Description: White silk shifts softly, whispering an enticing entreaty. Gently coaxing, it is as if its owner is unaware of the foible. It is the ultimate deception. He is always in control. One-shot ficlet.
Feet slide across the ground, not even leaves whispering their discontent at being disturbed. The master walks among them, as welcome here as any leaf, rabbit or stone. The very trees shiver in awe of his ethereal presence.
It is too still in this early morning, time being on the cusp of real day – too late for the nocturnal creatures, too early for those who would wake in the light. The average being would attribute this stillness to the unusual hour. The average being would be none the wiser.
He is not the average being.
White silk shifts softly, whispering an enticing entreaty to an unseen invader. Offering its secrets for only the keenest of ears, the delicate fabric seems to disobey its master, rebelling by speaking in a voice it should be denied.
"I am here!" it calls. Gently coaxing, it is as if its owner is unaware of the foible, unable to control the sounds it makes just to spite him. It is the ultimate deception.
He is always in control.
Alert senses pick up the subtle shift of scent in the air. There is no wind. If there had been perhaps the invader would have been able to stay downwind, she would have been able to get that much-needed head-start. If she had been downwind – and very careful – she would have been able to slip away unnoticed. If she had been less greedy, she would have been able to live another day.
Silk shifts again, another siren call, and the invader can no longer resist temptation. The forest swells in anticipation and glee, knowing soon it will be safe once more.
It is over before it begins, a blinding flash of green uncoiling faster than even the demon eye can perceive – except for his own. It is over and the unnatural silence will end soon, the fearful creatures' burden lifted. The invader, that unwelcome predator, has been dispatched.
The siren's song ceases.
He continues onward, the only evidence of his existence in the mangled pile of flesh that had dared to endanger what is his. Letting the body remain in plain sight for the carrion to devour, he continues his patrol, knowing this area will take care of itself with such an obvious warning. As clear as any billboard, the corpse speaks to those who know the language...
He is Lord and Master here.
He is killing perfection.