Posting note: Read all the way to the end. Refuse to be a victim.
by Clint Cook
March 20, 2001
I am a predator.
I am the guy your mother warned you about. You believe I am only found lurking in the shadows, but I am a master of disguise. I can be anyone, anywhere. I can be the quiet employee in the cubicle down the hall; I can be the cute hunk at the bar. I can be your neighbor. I can be your ex. It really doesn't matter because when I strike I will become the monster of your worse nightmare. You would be horrified to know my demons, my friends, my life. Your pain, my creation, is the fuel for my soul.
My only concern is me. Sometimes I need a quick crack fix, sometimes I only want to dominate; sometimes I just wish to lash out. My needs are supreme, your pain, your sorrow your suffering are nothing. In fact, I glory in the pain I create. There are many of you to choose from.
There are laws against my deeds, but laws are for cowards, too weak to act and think for themselves. Yes, I am above the law, I see no reason for it, and it doesn't apply to me. You take comfort knowing the police are there to serve and protect. Just 3 little digits away - 911 and they come. The police are nothing more than a nuisance, easily avoided. I choose when and where to strike. I choose whom to attack. You will never have time to call. I will not wait for them to arrive. When I strike, 5 minutes become a lifetime, your lifetime. I become a god - I decide what will happen to you. I choose your fate.
I choose you.
You are such an easy prey. You jog alone. You flash your drivers license, giving me your address. You keep late hours, at the office. You have a routine. I know where you are, where you will be, and when you will be there. You make it easy for me. I choose where; I choose when, and you are powerless to stop me. I have infinite patience.
I lay in wait
I see you coming, no one is near, now is the perfect time, you are the perfect victim. I will strike and leave you bruised and bleeding - if you cooperate. If you resist, if you fight, you will die. I have no conscience. Your pain, your life, mean nothing to me. I am impossible to ignore. I will not go away.
I step out.
I see the sudden shock in you eyes; I see the fear. I know I have chosen well. There is more than fear; you find a determination, a burst of courage. So you will resist. You will fight. I know how to deal with the uncooperative. I have come prepared; resistance will only make it worse. My adrenalin starts to flow. I know I will have you, own you.
I come closer.
I see you are scared. I know you are looking for a way out. Aw! but you are brave. You have a slow burning confidence none of my previous victims have had. This excites me. I must teach you that you are powerless against me. I am large; you are small. Your struggle will be futile. I have no reason to wait.
I pick up my pace.
You should turn and flee. You should plead for mercy, for your life. You should search for the help that will never come. Yet you hold your ground. You eyes never leaving mine. You know what I want. I can see it. I've seen it numerous times before. Yet you stand there, waiting for my attack. Why? You just standing, waiting. You know what I am, the predator, you are the prey. You know the rules, but you do no play by them. Suddenly, I am not so sure. My uncertainty boils into a rage.
You shout. I hear nothing, my focus is you, your words are meaningless. From nowhere, from somewhere a gun materializes in your hand. I now understand your strange confidence. You are not the small one. You are not the weak one. I understand why you didn't flee. I know why there was no pleading for mercy. You play by the rules but they are your rules, not mine. You will not be the prey. I am no longer the predator. I know I must stop, I am the one who should flee. I can't let you win. You are mine. I will not turn back. I will not retreat. I have waited to long. I make the rules - not you. I am seething.
I see a flash.
I am slammed to the ground. I must have been struck by lighting, that would explain the flash, the thunder. I try to rise, but my legs refuse to obey. My arms are heavy. My lungs are burning. I grab my chest; I see blood on my hands, on the ground. The blood has to be yours, it can't be mine. I knew I would have you. I knew I would win, my rules-not yours. Why are you standing, why am I on the ground? I am confused. I look up. I see your face. I see your hands. I see your gun. Now I remember - the gun! You, my victim, my prey, you have turned against me. You have shot me.
I try to scream.
I understand. I am dieing. I refuse. I am in charge, I determine fate. It is you, not I who is supposed to lie bruised and bleeding. My tears are powerless. I beg you to help me. Why won't you help me? You can't help me. No one can help me now. Look what you've done! Look at me! My screams are as empty as the screams of victims past. My life's blood is streaming into the ground. Where is your pity, your mercy, I do not deserve this. This is not how it happens. I make the rules. I decide your fate. It was your turn to die, not mine. Please help me... You must help me.... I was the predator....
[This message has been edited by Panther (edited March 22, 2001).]