Predator

PREDATOR

         The night tastes like copper wire. I’m coiled, crouching—Shhh. Here comes one now. Her heels spike the pavement. She’s confident, cold steel. I prefer them meek, soft butter. But this one—I’m drawn. Look. Her dress shifts like a second skin. I bristle behind the bushes, ready to puncture her casing; to peal, suckle, knead her into that sorry little girl who whimpers for her daddy. But when I leap, she grabs me mid-air. Her eyes burn. A curve of her lips reveals a fang as she whispers, “Not this time.”