Konráð J. Brynjarsson

 
To feel the shiver run up and down my spine in anticipation, as I bring myself closer towards the brink, closer to the edge of pure pleasure, pure ecstasy, bliss. I feel my fingers start to itch, they too long for the rush, they await. My hart beats at a steady pace, hard and fast. I am alive as never before, I see the sweat pearls form in my pours, and I feel every muscle in my body, tensing, relaxing as they wait. I can hardly feel the cold air around me, so lost am I in sensing my own body, savoring its anticipation.

I feel the firmness of the handle in my right hand; I feel the sweat forming on my hand inside the glove. The evening breeze is quite chilly but it bothers me only mildly and I totally forget about is when I hear footsteps approaching. They creek on the hard gravel path and soon I hear the steady sound of breathing. I tense, all muscles honed for this exact moment. The footsteps come closer. I raise my hand, catching the reflection of my face in the cold steel. They are right beside me now. I spring, and the ruby red liquid drips on the ground. A beastly yell escapes my lips.

I collapse onto my bed, exhausted after the adrenalin left my body. Well fed and at peace, the beast of man sleeps, the sleep of the hunter who has caught and killed his prey.


skríbentar Konráð J. þegar klukkan slær 02:41