The Prey

He always knew that no one but he knows the touch of loneliness. And with loneliness, it mattered only that he accepted her company, and he partook in her fate-that of closing the door silently on the rest of the world. Now that the two have become one, the world had become silent in return.

That night, it rained incessantly. Torrential rain fell from the sky and plowed the world in a thousand small craters, and seemed to have washed it off of all that had come before this moment. Heaven wept in abandon, so it seemed, or maybe it was heaven’s blood-poured out to color the world with the indelible traces of hope. Whatever the case, it rained for all time-it rained for all men.

The rain is growing worse, he thought, as he climbed down the tree upon which he had perched. Over three hours had passed, since he and his dog Shepherd arrived at the plateau, for solitude-for relief. He hunted for relief, always for relief, even during the war when aiming at the terrorist mean preserving freedom. And freedom too was relief.
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