Snapshot: The Hunter
by Gilda Lily

His blood boiled as his body thrummed with the wild energy of a sex-crazed maniac. He needed. He craved. He wanted! His eyes glittered in the dark as he sought out his prey. Or was he the hunted instead of the hunter? His naked skin was sheened in sweat, his feral eyes darting about in frantic motion for the one whose body would slake his thirst.

The sounds of the concrete jungle reverberated around him as he stalked, his breathing shallow as his silent padding continued, his mouth watering as he glided through darkness. There! His heart hammered. There he was: his prey, his flesh, his food, splashed in red and as delicious as a drumstick. He pounced.

A cry was torn out of the trembling throat of the prey, the naked body squirming and twisting, frantic to get away. Fingers clawed at the

countertop as he was dragged down, down, down to the cold abyss...

"Okay! Okay! Jeez, Benny, who woulda thought that me cookin' some

meatballs and sausage would get you all fired up?" Benny didn't answer. He was too busy savoring a mouthful of Italian meatballs and sausage.