Just as expected, the metal vehicle stopped at the third bend. For a long moment, it stood still in the middle of the road, and nothing happened. Then, the door opened, and his prey climbed out. He watched as it emerged into the freezing air, huddling into its clothes and fussing with its hat.

In front of it lay a dark shape resting on its flank, lit up by the yellow beams from the vehicle. The snow hadn’t buried the figure yet, and its bristly fur glistened in the night.

His prey approached the carcass of the wild boar that he had earlier placed on that spot. It seemed to be deliberating how to load the boar onto its vehicle, to take it away and feast on its flesh.

Watching his prey, he prepared to pounce. He shifted until he was behind it, then walked out of the woods. The snow muffled the sound of his footsteps. It was, he thought, like walking on clouds.

His hands were itching to go. But his heart was calm. There was no rush, no urgency. Only the need to take a life, just like the winter took the life of the flowers and the grass.

He stopped just a few steps away from his foul-smelling prey. Standing in the blizzard, he waited for it to become aware of his presence and turn to face him, revealing the eyes he had recently begun to recognize, and the likes of which he had not seen in any other animal except his own species; they reminded him of dirty river water after a flood. They were murky and treacherous, and slippery, too.

His prey had been hunching over the carcass, but now straightened its back and turned its head to stare through the flurries of snow at the figure that now blocked its way back to its vehicle. It stood up. He could tell from its expression that it still hadn’t realized the truth.

It hadn’t realized that those who scorn life must forfeit their own someday.

It hadn’t realized that those who prey on the weak will sooner or later find someone on their path who is stronger than they are.

It hadn’t realized that it was already as good as dead.

-47-

-47-

How far gone am I? I feel lost, even though my mind is still working. What will become of me when the real confusion sets in? (Confusion: that’s what I’m going to call it.) I suppose the tiredness of these past few hours can only worsen my condition, instead of keeping my synapses firing, and stimulating the brain cells I’ve got left, those that aren’t already moribund. I don’t even want to think about those that have already died.