Savages

There’s a loud bang and your head jerks to the direction of the noise. Your heart races and your brain is on fire.

What? What’s that?

The rational mind jumps in. Its just the door to a semi’s trailer.

No fear. All is well.

The thought remains though. A what if, a state of latent alertness. You return to your game of Words With Friends, passing the time of your corporate lunch break. Wishing you could go home and crack a beer and stay outside. The urges are overpowering.

Go somewhere safe.

As you return to the office, the accountant from down the hall sits alone with his Starbucks. He’s a nice guy, but today there’s something very off-putting. His body language, his breathing, the way he plays with his fingers looking down at the table. It comes to your attention his foot is tapping nervously. He never does that. Something isn’t right.

Go home.

Back at your desk the chatter of sheep fill your ears. The coffee shop talk never ends. Between reports on inventory and shipping, you are obessed by the image of his hands. The way he rubbed at his palm under his left hand’s ring finger. The white stripe.

Hide.

Another bang. Then another. Screams.

You knew. You always knew, but you’ve been conditioned to forget what millions of years have taught. Forget the signs. He’s a nice guy. Now all that is left is to wait and beg, or to risk and be what you should of been all along: a savage.

Hunt, protect, kill, survive.

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2 responses to “Savages

  1. Pingback: Linkage Is Good For You: Septemberish | Society of Amateur Gentlemen

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