Where I roam... - II

Every morning, I would follow the same routine. The same feeling of not knowing where I was, the same images of blades in my head and the same feeling of being back there. Back in the jungle. Home did not have anything left for me. My wife had taken the kids and left me, I had no friends in particular. Whatever I was, I was among the wet trees and the crawling vines. And sitting here, on my bed, staring at the ants crawling outside, I felt like an alien, like a trapped animal.

And so I waited, waited for a calling, waiting for someone to call me back in the jungle and get back to what I was best at doing. I picked up my bottle of vodka from the side table and sipped on it. That burning sensation in my throat lingered for a moment or two and then disappeared. I wondered what the animals must be doing now ? I started to lift my self from the bed and crouched down on to the floor. Like a cheetah, I waited, waited for the prey. I leaped up and sprang to grab it but it ran away. Disgusted at my failure, I stood up. Looked at myself in the mirror, I transformed my hand into the shape of the claw and then I teased it. The refelction teased me back, I moved backwards and so did he and then in an instant I pounced at him and hit him hard on his chest. He looked at me for a second and then broke into a million pieces. I was the master, I was the king. I was the killer.