series1bk2.8.2

 

With twigs cracking crisply under furtive foot,  alert to a sense of imminence, hearing a new fugue of crepuscular sound, I creep the glades, laden with gun and bullets like a bandolero. Standing there in the guise of primal hunter, one-tracked in obsession for a fresh kill, the shrill flutter of a bird spluttering into flight ignites my tiger pounce in a lethal explosion. Chosen numbers on the spun wheel of fate dictate randomly the consequences, as I flee the trees, grasping my prey, afraid of capture, but happily risking the brink of retribution.      Some past event like that might switch the line,      and change my history to sharp decline.