The blood is warm as it flows into my mouth and down my throat. It washes over my tongue, and I savor the full taste and experience of my prey. It covers all of my taste buds and I find myself falling into feral ecstasy. A father. Out and about with his mistress. I taste the zest of fear in the stream and realize how I screwed up the kill. It always tasted better when they least expected it, when they didn’t know that this would be the final night of their pathetic, short lives. I feel a grip on my shoulder.
