Three Blind Mice. Three Blind Mice.
An old man stood there in the middle of a dark room. His eyes skimmed the area looking for any detail that was out of place - even if it were slightly to the right. This was his home, both physically and mentally. It's been this way for the longest time. This was "The Thrill of the Hunt."
At this moment and time, the old man was the predator. And THEY were the prey. To him this was a classic game of cat and mouse. He was the cat, and they were the mice. Adrenaline got the old man's blood pumping.
The mice on the other hand did not feel the same adrenaline. Unlike the cat that was in it for sport, they were merely trying to survive. As prey they had no way that they could fight against the predator and instead they could depend on flight in this moment.
The old man, as both the cat and the predator, stood like a beacon – not only as a sign of bad but also a sign for good for the mice. To the mice themselves he stood there as a reminder of what was in store for them, that if they fall prey to him than he would take their lives – it's why they hide from his sight. But it was also a flicker of hope, if they kept him in their sights then he couldn't sneak up on them. So long as they kept their distance at arm's length, they had a chance to run away and survive.
The cat stood there in silence. Watching. Listening. Waiting. It would only take just one mistake on the mice's part. Then it would be over. He would have won-
Click!
-And there it was. The cat quickly pounced. The lone mouse tried to fight back but the cat was easily able to disarm him and pin him down on the ground. Fear stained the mouse's face while the cat's own was distorted and disfigured by his own gleaming smile. The mouse screamed out in pain as the cat crushed its feeble arms in his grasp.
The cat's heart pumped faster. He could feel the eyes of the remaining prey glued on the situation. Both were frozen in fear, bones shaking to the core as they watched the cat play with the mouse. The Cat smiled deeply. He wanted to enjoy this moment of the intoxicating fear that he felt towards him.
He yanked the mouse into the air. The little critter squealing echoed through the basement room as pain rippled through his entire small frame.
There was sudden movement coming from behind the cat, I found another, he thought gleefully. He clawed at the mice in its grasp – tearing into it's belly like a child looking for candy inside of a pinata. The mouse screamed out in pain as blood sputtered out of his mouth as its body convulsed.
Screams could be heard from behind the cat, almost as if echoing the mouse in the predator's claws. The cat, from ear to ear, smiled a smile that would even put the Cheshire cat to shame.
Blood gurgled from the mouse's mouth as it chocked on the life that was leaving it's body. The cat's face, now the old man, was painted red.
The mouse's body, either from blood loss or shock, went limp. Whatever the reason was it was clear that the little rodent lost the will to continue its fight for survival. The old man, proud of his kill, dropped the mouse's body.
The small child's body fell to the ground. For that small little boy, once a mouse, the hunt was over. But for the old man it was far from the end of this play time. A huge smile was plastered deep on his face as the blood that caked his skin seemed to feel to emit steam as it clashed with the adrenaline that was coursing through his veins.
The child that he had just cut to ribbons with the knife in his hand was no longer moving. It's life, which was nothing compared to the old man, was no longer lingering. The predator had caught its prey.
But the hunt wasn't over for the cat just yet. He could hear them in the darkness of his basement. The mice scurried about as they attempted to hide from their predator.
The old man smiled his dreadful smile. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins once more. The hunt was on.
Two Blind Mice. Two Blind Mice.