Polar Bears
Symphonic sirens serenade me from afar;
distinctive, delectable scents tickle and tantalise:
my senses awash with anticipation
as, finally, I lay eyes on my prey.
Slowly and surreptitiously,
I draw ever closer to my quarry.
Prancing and playing, oblivious to the danger I present,
their movements trigger something deep inside:
something ancient...
something powerful...
something dark.
The need to bite, to rend, to feed, is all-consuming;
but I am no monster, driven by base desires.
Salivating, I cast off my instinctive urges,
instead focusing on a solitary sentinel
positioned on the periphery of the pack.
Suddenly, it jerks its head in my direction.
Keeping my back down, I drop as low as I can,
pressing myself into the frozen ground.
Enormous paws clamp across my jet-black snout,
effectively camouflaging me against the ice,
as my mother taught me and her mother before her.
I remain motionless, barely even breathing...
time stretches interminably and,
just when age-old bestial instincts threaten to re-emerge,
the sentry finally returns its attention
to its frolicking brethren.
I skulk ever-closer...
closer...
closer...
and then:
I POUNCE!
Swinging my massive right paw in a blur of motion,
I land a surgical strike on my unwitting victim's neck.
Fulgurating talons sink deep into its flesh,
gouging multiple parallel crimson furrows.
In the ensuing chaos, the rest of the herd scatters,
thwarting my hopes of snaring a second kill.
I cast a gaze at the pitiful creature pinned beneath me,
somehow still clutching to life.
Unmoved by its whimpered mewls,
I tear out the remnants of its throat with my teeth.
My roar reverberates around the landscape,
before I feast on the still-steaming corpse at my feet.
Seconds later, a response... weaker, but no less fearsome
and my heretofore unseen protégé progeny
suddenly bounds across the tundra towards me.
I step to one side and he immediately buries his head
in the ragged opening I've already torn in the carcass.
Masticating noisily, he savours his first taste of blubber.
I note with satisfaction his scarlet-stained snout
and the viscera-drenched fur around his maw.
He has learnt his lesson well.
Whatever your impression of us, know this:
we are not cute;
we are not cuddly.
We are furry furies,
snow-encrusted behemoths
and apex predators:
the absolute pinnacle of the food chain.
Should our paths ever cross, you'd do well to remember that.
---------
3 December 2017
For Julia Ward's "Polar Bears" contest.
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