The Hunter and the Hunted

The little bird was skipping along in the grass. It was on the lookout for some nice juicy worms in the grass. There were nice juicy worms in this patch of grass. It was the hunter in it’s own little patch of the world. The worms would have trembled in their boots, if they had boots or could experience fear.

The little boy with the catapult was looking for his prey. It had to be something he could knock out with the stone in his catapult. That limited his options to small animals – birds, rats and the like, maybe a snake. He would try to kill a snake if he just wasn’t so terrified of them. Spiders would do as well, he wasn’t afraid of the tiny spiders. He made up his mind to get that little blue bird today.

The assassin aimed his cross-hair square in the middle of the boys head. He was being paid his usual fee for this job. The usual fee was quite a tidy sum. It was fair compensation, he felt, for not having any sort of real life. He never lived in one place too long or kept one name for too long either.

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