Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Waiting for a Massacre

Once again we can hear him breathing outside. He has been here before. He lurks. His stealth and cunning are unmatched. I have witnessed his brutality first hand. Even with the reinforced barrier he manages to slip through taking with him the life of many of my close family and friends. The violent screams and quick snapping of bones echo above the brisk wind and the fear within our humble abode.

We wait. With the night upon us, we wait. He tends to attack only at night. The young, the weak, and elderly are his victims of choice. Our children are morsels and do nothing to appease his tremendous appetite. Broken necks, running around with out any sense of direction from a grisly beheading. I have witnessed his brutality since my birth, yet I have not fallen victim.

I like to imagine how he chooses his victims. I day dream about being him. To have the power over another that he does. To mercilessly maim and kill at will as he does. My hunger has never been that great. My blood lust meter has never operated in such a way. We wait. It is a cold evening and most of us are huddled together shivering and snuggling close for warmth. Perfect conditions for him to be on the prowl. An eerie uncertainty fills the room as we all know, but don't speak it. Perfect conditions for him...

By the light of the moon I can see that most of the others are asleep. Their breaths the only sign of the nocturnal massacre that awaits. Once again the howl of the wind makes itself audible. A slight wheezing is heard from another section of the room. Mrs. Little's newest infant may be congested. I worry that this may alert him to our slumber and give him invitation..

I begin to nod off and am quickly alerted to a twig breaking outside. Fearful, I listen. I can hear muddled voices but can not make out any coherent phrases. They are here. Not just him, but they. How many? 2? 3? I nudge the nearest body to me and motion that something is outside.

They burst through the front door and the nightmare begins. Instantly everyone is screaming and bleeding in complete chaotic disarray. I glance over and see the leg of my sister torn off. She is hobbled and screeching. My mother's heart is exposed. Her chest ripped open. She lay dead on the floor. I leap onto one of the killers backs and begin assaulting him with every ounce of my being. He tosses me to the side like a rag doll and is unamused by my heroics. He glares down at me. I am sure I am going to become another statistic...

A loud BOOM stops the commotion. The killers know the sound of the explosion can be only one thing. They flee. As fast as their four legs will carry them they flee. The farmer has heard our screams. He made his way to our coop and saved us this night. This night. Those foxes will be back. Many more will die, but not tonight..


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