The view from my perch is spectacular. I can see the whole city from up here. But it’s not the view most people come to enjoy. This is where teenagers and married men with prostitutes come to play in the back-seats of their cars. This is where cars rock and windows mist up. It’s also the hunting ground of predators. Predators like me.

The lights from the cars below look like thousands of ants scurrying around, oblivious that someone’s lights will soon be snuffed out forever. I watch as one of those ants winds its way up the hill towards me. Its lights dim and brighten as it hugs the turns in the steep road. I step behind the tree so its lights don’t give my position away. It stops a few paces away, close to the edge. The BMW’s bumper is scratched by one of the branches from a bush lining the edge of the cliff.

Moving like a silent panther, I sneak in closer. A balding man in his forties hands a rolled up fifty rand note to a young girl of about sixteen. The girl pushes his blubbery stomach out of the way so she can unbuckle his belt and unzips his pants. The girl looks like she wants to throw up. They don’t know that I’m watching, waiting. Lights come around the bend. I duck out of the way just in time. I’m fast, like lightening. I can’t be pinned down by lights. I can’t be caught by anything. I am all powerful. I am the bringer of death.

I wait for the second car to stop. ‘Love you like a Love Song’ by Selena Gomez streams through the speakers of an old battered Beetle. I hate that song. Two teenagers, not much older than eighteen, climb into the back-seat. The boy probably just got his driver’s license. They kiss passionately, like only young lovers can. They have yet to experience disappointment in love. Perhaps they will experience the greatest disappointment of their short little lives tonight. I have the power to grant them life or take it away. Who will I allow to live?

A light breeze rustles the leaves of the bushes around me.

“That’s good. You like sucking my cock don’t you, you little bitch.” The balding man groans and holds the girls head down.

My decision is made. The blade of the panga is sharp and will hack through bone nicely. It’ll be a slow, painful end. It’s the end he deserves. Using the wooden handle of my panga, I smash the driver’s side window. Glass shatters and the shards cut the girls face. Screams erupt, disturbing my peace of mind. The Beetle’s engine stutters to life. Tires squeal. The teenagers escape. I’m not worried. I didn’t want their heads as trophies. The trophy I’m after is still within my grasp. The fat man stares at me with scared piggy eyes. His mouth is wide open like a dead Monkfish just pulled out of the Atlantic. The girl’s screams pull on my nerves.

Sticking my arm through the hole where the window glass used to be, I unlock the door and pull the man out. The girl jumps out the passenger side door and runs. She runs for her life. Clever girl.

“Please don’t kill me. I’ve got some money. You can have everything I have.” The man blubbers and begs for his life. His pleas will not sway me. It’s pathetic that he hasn’t realised that he’s going to die and there’s nothing he can do about it. Only I can change his fate. I consider letting him live as I bring the panga blade down. He puts his arms up to shield his face. The blade slices through his flabby flesh and strikes bone. He screams just like the girl, only a little more high-pitched. Blood sprays the car tires. I bring the blade down on his arm again. His high-pitched scream reverberates in my ear-drums. He sounds like he’s been castrated. The thought gives me an idea. I look down. His pants are still unzipped. I re-adjust my position and strike down. Blood pools and seeps through his pants, nourishing the earth. I don’t think anyone will be sucking on that again.

His screams fade as he loses consciousness. Damn! I’d hoped he’d stay conscious longer. I can never tell how much a person will be able to take before they pass out, especially these big guys. The smaller ones seem to last longer. Weird.

Sirens sound below. The teenagers or that little whore must have called the cops. Bloody cell phones. I miss the good old days when I had time to hunt my prey properly. But I still have some time before they get here. I contemplate waking him up. A few slaps across the face won’t work. I have to use more extreme measures. My grandmother’s smelling salts under his nose have the required effect. The strong smell of ammonia makes me sneeze. He slowly opens his eyes and realisation flickers. The sirens come closer. Something like hope drifts across his face as he hears them too. Hope quickly disappears as I raise the panga. The fear in his eyes, as I bring the panga down on his short fat neck, gives me a thrill. I am all powerful. I am the bringer of death.

His head rolls a few steps on the uneven ground. The sirens are now only a few minutes away. Picking up my trophy, I walk down the narrow foot path hidden by the shrubs and bushes. Nobody knows about the path. It’s my little secret. A smile pulls at the corner of my lips as I look down at my latest acquisition. He’ll look good on the wall with the rest of my trophies.


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