A malignancy of apex predators is on the prowl. They maneuver at night from bar to bar, fanning out as solitary hunters. It’s the birds they’re after. White silkie hen, Blue-throated fantail, Lady Amherst’s Pheasant, and European Shag. They beguile with confabulation, bald-faced lies, and a killer smile. Like poison candy, the birds swallow it all, falling all over themselves preening, tweeting, and chirping, in party-dress pink and lollapalooza-red. But the apex predator turns it on and off like a spigot. No one hears their mournful howl, the subterranean grieving of an imposter; emotions threatening to dysregulate. Prey—idealized, devalued, and discarded. "On The Prowl" was published in Backwards Trajectory January, 2022
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