Shadu: Remember, this story is called "In the Mind of a Killer". This is so insight. Think "extended metaphor", just in case you couldn't get it. I don't want any flamers on that issue.
Chapter 3
Lion
In the darkness, he waits. In the tall grass, he waits. He waits in shrouds, no one noticing his presence.
He waits.
He waits until the time is right, and his target is within range. He waits until almost every factor is in his favor.
The lion is waiting.
He crouches low on his haunches, tensing his muscles, tightening every one. He is ready for the attack. His prey is close at hand.
And he still waits for the time is not yet to strike. Many more factors must be in place before the lion can make his kill. He cannot lunge out and be successful, not yet. The pieces are not in place.
Everything is calculated, timed. He knows just what to do to accomplish his goal. He knows exactly what must be in place before his success is assured.
His claws flex in and out in anticipation as he sees the prey graze in front of him, unsuspecting of the danger. It has no idea what its fate has become.
Prey, luscious prey.
His intent eyes watch, watch as though this is the last scrap of food left on earth. He is intent and alert, hearing, seeing, smelling, tasting everything around him. The air brushes past, urging him to go.
He creeps forward.
The prey starts. It heard something, something in the wind. One ear swivels around, then the other. Its head rotates, looking for anything suspicion. The lion sinks back down to avoid detection, waiting for the prey to return to its stupor, to its false sense of security.
Slowly, slowly, the prey begins to graze again, and the lion waits a little longer before creeping forward again, ever so slowly.
One paw in front of the other in a slow motion.
And faster, and more rapid the steps come until it is running at a pace his prey cannot outrun. The others let out shrill cries of terror and flee as the lion darts forward, ensnaring the prey's neck in its powerful and deadly jaws.
Blood, luscious blood, fills the predator's mouth as the others watch in horror, their comrade dying at the hands of a brutal killer.
The prey fights, trying to capture its life back from the hunter, but it is no use. Its fights lessen until it lies on the ground, motionless, all life and vigor gone.
Ah, the kill is such a beautiful thing. The hunt is a thrill, but the kill is what you live for.
The lion raises its head and lets out a loud triumphant roar, warning the others of their future fate.
They understand now; they're next.