HUNTING
When his original
home crumbled around him, Jean-Claude wandered rootless for decades, flitting
at night from one roost to another – until he found the strip joint and could
sleep through the day undisturbed.
Hidden in the folds
of dusty curtains, he scanned the clientele to pick his victim, then lurked in
the street to swoop when they staggered out. A slit throat covered his
handiwork before he slid them quietly into the river.
His secret night-life
went smoothly – until the woman upstairs hung garlic up to dry. Unable to
get past, Jean-Claude was trapped.
Rat blood isn’t as
tasty as human.
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Thanks to Rochelle, who hangs out at https://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/ for the photo that prompted this story. Follow the blue frog trail on her blog to read what other writers from all over the world wrote from the same prompt.
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My story was written between bouts of housework - keeping our apartment spotless for another viewing. If you want to see what it looks like spick and span, click on the Apartment for sale page at the top of this blog.
Thank you for visiting - and please leave a comment so I know I'm not talking to myself!
