Pretty Little Bones

I saw you in the coffee shop, and I knew then that you were perfect. You were so fine, beautiful, fragile. You were a songbird, and the way you flitted around and called and sang (you even sang for Christ's sake!) Well, I just knew it then.

I want to break your pretty little bones. You don't even know me, and you didn't see me watching you. You don't yet know my game. You don't know yet that you're the perfect prey. You're the one I've been waiting for. You are the reason I ever began this hunt, and, in this moment, when I discovered you and I knew, I realized, and I felt complete.

You won't know me until you're caught, my dear quarry. Now fly home, you beautiful bird.

I followed you home. I hid myself away until you were inside so you would continue not to notice me. It wasn't hard; you fly over my head, light on the air and vaguely self-important. I have to restrain myself from pouncing then; you just make me want this so desperately.

I risked a peek into the window. I could never do it here. You've got a family, and they all seem to love you so dearly. Hell, it almost makes me sick, or I guess that's the odd feeling I got in my stomach. Anyway, they probably could and definitely would all kill me if I so much as looked in your direction the wrong way. I ain't chancing things.

But make no mistake, I will have you. I will find you in the right place, and I will know when it's right, and I will get you. I will devastate you. I will break you. I will own you.

You have ruined this. Now it's gonna be worse for you, you beautiful fucking bird. Today you saw me. I don't know how or why, but over that coffee you always drink with the boy I have now assumed to be your significant other (and occasionally with friends in tow) you have spotted me. You have locked eyes with me no less! It was a split second; it was fleeting, but it was enough. Those big, beautiful doe eyes of yours caught my predatory gaze.

You're a smart fucking bird. I can tell it unnerves you, my dark, hungry eyes, but you try to shake it off. Still, that momentary panic in your face in those watery blue eyeballs sets off a reaction in your male companion. I can see you two mumbling, muttering, and whispering nervously.

You have made this so much more difficult than it needed to be. You have made this so much worse. I drop my stare and contemplate fleeing. If I ever did, don't you think for a moment in that pretty little elfen head of yours that I wouldn't find your trail again. I would, as sure as your nervous heart pounds in that delicate ribcage I would.

You are trying to make this better, aren't you, you smart little fucker? You are trying to tell your boyfriend that it was nothing, that you overreacted, that you're just paranoid because a pretty little bird like you must get predatory stares all the time. He doesn't buy it, and he shouldn't. You made this mess, you little fucking whore, now you'll lie in it.

Your boyfriend isn't so smart. He keeps looking for me. You dare not point because you know you've already made this worse than it needed to be. I can't tell what he'd do if he found me. He probably wants to destroy me in any way he can because he wants to be a good boyfriend or maybe because he is, because I scared you and you're his precious little bird. He loves you, I bet. He must love you a lot, and it makes me sick like your family made me sick, only somehow worse.

Something in his eyes, however, says he will not and cannot fight me or confront me. He's a fucking coward, I bet, and you can do better. Well, hell, maybe you can't. Maybe he's just a nonconfrontational-to-a-fault catch. I can't say because, frankly, he's collateral. I don't care about him. He is not in this, not unless he forces his way in, and I have the door locked so tightly...or at least, I thought I did from the start.

In the end, you both leave. You both try to seem casual, but I know you are running scared. You walk too briskly to be casual, and everything about the pair of you screams escape.

Oh, you better fucking believe I will find you.

I lay low for a long week. I'm practically starved by its end. You just don't go anywhere alone, do you? At least, not anywhere that I know.

But I'm cautiously getting better. Now I believe I can follow you to school. I can almost find you anywhere. You just wait.

Here! Here we are! The moment is now! This is not the best territory, but it is the only time and the only place, and I, master of the game I otherwise am, cannot wait any longer. For all my talk, you might just get away if I wait, and I can't risk that, can I?

You are running late; you lagged behind the herd. We are almost alone. I take my chance anyway. You cry out more in shock and fear than pain when I leap from behind your car and take you down to the pavement.

"Get off me!" I have to admire you for that one. It's not smart, but it's gutsy. It's like your puffing out your little feathers. Then, you see who I am, and the wheels turn in that pretty head. I punch that face repeatedly while it tries to express almost recognition. You flail and kick and scream. You stupid little songbird, don't you know that makes me want you more?

There are people coming, I am not finished. I wish i had all the time in the world to make this perfect, but I will have to settle for quick.

I manage to slam your head into the pavement beneath us; this slows you down considerably. I stand so I can kick you as hard as I can in your little ribs. You double over, gasping and crying, and I love it, so I do it again and again.

But now, I am surely caught. I wish, and it's my one deepest regret from this whole game, that I could curbstomp you. I can practically feel your skull under my boot. I stomp and kick at your non-curb-eating head presently, and it would almost be as good except I miss.

A monster of a woman has me restrained on the pavement before I can ever make that glorious contact, but all things considered I feel it was a game well-played.

Maybe someday we can finish it.