I am a predator. Created by an architectural genius, who designed me to have such swift elegance, yet such thunderous power.

Today, I will hunt again. My offspring need feeding and so do I. I often wonder whether starvation is good for me. It intrigues me to think something so deadly and threatening to my existence, may in fact be an advantage. Why? It fuels the soul, it kindles rage and hunger for a kill. It means I will eat and feed my babies. It means an unsuspecting creature will die tonight.

During the day, I admire the spectacular suburban landscape. I’ve seen the city, and it’s not a place for a creature like me. The city is grey and dull, the air thick with exhaust. It’s as if the city is trapped in a bubble, a bubble poisoning the once exquisite environment into a grimy grey industrial home. Which can only really be described as, ‘artificial’. Creatures like me, however, now thrive In the garden of Earth. The vibrant green of the treetops and grass, spectacularly clashing with the blues, whites and browns to create a picturesque masterpiece. However, this beauty is drained when the sun sets and the moon takes over. The moon, the torch for a murderer. When the moon flexes in the pitch-black sky, I leave for the hunt.

The day in the forests is so much different to the night. In the day, creatures will confidently go about their business; feeding, playing, resting, mating, exploring, anything they want to. But at night, even the largest of creatures will scurry back to their homes to sleep and cower away in the shadows. I do not sleep often. It is not a routine or prescription for me. Whilst one sleeps, they are vulnerable, and vulnerability is something I must always avoid.

Some may think my life is boring or repetitive. Well, its guaranteed those people haven’t ever needed to work to survive. Once used to it, it becomes a game. One must hunt for survival. It’s as simple as that, until you get to my age. Then you must hunt for you offspring’s survival, then your own. This is more difficult. Soon, killing another being will become habit. A lack of it will lead to a thriving thirst to pierce the flesh of an inferior being. To penetrate the tender skin of a rabbit, snake or squirrel. Now, I have a lust for it. I must kill tonight or face the consequences. I must dart down through the sky, the whipping cold caressing my body as I plummet down from the moonlight, through the treetops to the ground. Here, (and to my victims surprise) I will puncture the fragile bones of my prey, leaving no remorse. After all,

I am a predator.