Far Far Away; Or Not

In a land far, far away…. What a Joke. Humans have come to need distance to feel safe. I think as I walk down one of their busy streets, watching. If something is far, far away it can’t reach out and touch you. If it was a long time ago, well, it can’t still be watching, can it? So, they take something that scares them and sanitize it with distance and time to make it small and safe.

But the thing is, I live among them. I walk their streets and shop in their stores. I stand in the same lines they stand in, building in their small ritual comforts into their day. Coffee in the morning, lights off at night before bed, hugs and promises to be home soon. The list goes on and on. Here in their streets, I do not even need to hide in the shadows anymore. They do not see me. Most only see what they expect to see. I chuckle at my earlier thought of Far Far Away again.

I walk among them, watching. No, I am not watching tonight. I am hungry. I am hunting. In their stories, I would live in a forest, somewhere dark, not like their well lite streets with their artificial stars. I snarl inside my head. I do not need a forest. Their streets work just fine. Humans have this thing about light being a boundary. The same way they perceive distance and time as one.

I turn the corner and start down another street, but in the air I catch the scent I was looking for. Not fear, fear is a sound, not a smell. Humans get that wrong, too. No, the scent I catch on the wind is uncertainty, anxiety, depression. I smell prey. I move faster, not too fast, but I do increase my slow pace. Excitement builds in my chest, my heart beats faster. Too bad they can’t hear me coming. I catch a reflection in one of the many windows I pass. It is mine. It looks close enough to human that no one would really notice without taking a closer look. Well, I chuckle, no one looks anymore, we are far, far away. I amuse myself.

I know these streets better than they do. I know that the perfect spot is just ahead. I quicken my pace. My prey does not. I am closer now. The street is not “crowded,” but is busier than I would like. Just a few too many out tonight, but my hunger burns as my ears follow the sound of my prey. I slow down. Give it more room, more time.

Ahead my prey speeds up and starts making a call. Somewhere deep inside, some old part of him hears me. Too bad he has no idea what he hears, or why his heart has started beating faster. Does he think of fairy tales? His fear comes loud now, driving my heart faster. I can’t rush. I must be careful.

I try to distract myself. Once Upon A Time, I murmur barely out loud. that is another one, another favorite use to push us backwards. They use that word ‘once’ as if it means never again. Now I am angry. I have hunted through every century they have tried to bury me in. Every time they have tried to hide me behind a wall of time.

My heart beats harder now, fueled by the anger. I must be careful. I slow my steps. I make a point of stopping when he hesitates. I give distance to make him feel safe again. I give him false hope. My favorite kind of hope.

I distracted myself further with my thoughts, allowing a bit more room. Once upon a time, long ago, in a land far, far away. I whisper to myself a little too loudly. My prey looks back over his shoulder. Our eyes almost meet. Almost. I am too old for a simple mistake like that. I let him see just enough uncertainty, just barely enough to convince him that nothing is really there.

He looks away quickly and sighs, ashamed and embarrassed by his own imagination. He walks faster in his shame. Unsure, unsettled, but confident it was nothing. His mistake.

We are getting closer to the spot where an alley opens, and a street light has gone dark. The place I was waiting for, leading him to. I quicken my steps, but not their sound. I close silently. I can smell his musky cologne. I hear and feel his fear thundering in his chest.

Closer. I match my steps to his, covering my sound with his own. My mouth is watering. I can already taste him on my tongue. My heart feels the rhythm of the hunt, of the coming kill.

Closer. No one else is near us now. They have all moved to the lit side of the street without knowing it. They move like a herd. I laugh at the thought and how true it is.

I quickly close the distance with the prey. Timing it with the clarity of hundreds of years of practice. I take him in the open under the darkened lamp. I carry him into the alley in one smooth jump, and he is mine.

So much for Far, Far Away. No happy endings in this tale. No hidden Morals. Just Truth. I think as I eat.

I wonder if anyone will write about this. Will it become another fairy tale? How will they hide this one, where it can’t hurt anyone? Where no one will be cut by the truth? What opening will they use? Once upon a time? A long time ago? Does it matter? They all would be wrong.

This story should start like a headline. But it will not. They will clean it up and sanitize it as they always do. They will hide it, cover it up.

Or maybe they will use my favorite opening, “In a land far, far away.” I laugh out loud as I leave the alley. Those I pass wonder what I am laughing at.