THE VULTURE.

He knew it would be a good day. He was sure there would be a kill perhaps more than one.

The clouds were dark and ready to burst; he could smell the rain it would be here soon. Precipitation increased the chance of a kill tenfold. The prey couldn’t hear or see the danger coming.

Perched high up, he took in the landscape miles and miles of brown plains, some with pockets of trees, and some with large watering holes. The highway cut between the fields like a never ending runway.

Though he felt hunger, he couldn’t sate his yearning, just wait. Something caught the corner of his eye then he heard the scream. He swooped his heart pulsating, his adrenalin flowing.

He knew he had to fly fast as there would be others who would have heard the scream too.

The rain was heavy now which was impeding his progress if others had started before him then the chase would be in vain. He chanced a glance behind him and saw the competition or at least some of them in the distance; their eyes glowing in the gloomy conditions. They too were slowed by the weather.

He pushed for a little more speed, flying fast almost reckless. He had to; he didn’t know when the next offering would be available. The last month hadn’t been good, one kill, a couple of lucky escapes and a minor confrontation, nothing that would sustain his flock.

He heard the others before he saw them a lot of others must be a big one he mused. He rounded the bend and took in the mayhem. The first was lying on its back incapacitated (he smiled), the other lay on its side. Not bad he thought, possibly two carcasses to haul back to his den. He was pleased to see he was the first of “his kind” here.

The woman was crying her makeup running in the rain. Her husband, he assumed, was lying motionless on the ground, the shattered windscreen telling of his journey.  

The police and ambulance officers were working on extricating the victim of the other car. It looked like a teen boy, or maybe a girl, hard to tell these days.

The vulture knew the man and the teenager were of no use to him. He needed to be able to communicate. He dug into his shirt pocket and pulled out his card.

He donned a solemn face, (though he felt nothing,) and headed for the woman. As he approached he mumbled his condolences and handed her his card…

                            JOE’S GO & TOW

                            ALWAYS THERE FOR YOU NEEDS

                            PH; 333-6667.      

 437 words.              THE END.