Perfume of Night
The smell of innocence lingered in the air, its tangible taste cutting through the night air like the faint call of a ready queen.
The neighbourhood had been quiet of late, bereft of this particular candy. It had been replaced with the scream of sirens and lights, scattering feet, bitter odours that drove excitement away and kept night things in the deeper shadows.
The cat lifted its head, casting about for the perfume that appealed to its darker self. The tang of the waning moon only heightened the thin stream of bliss that floated past the eager nostrils. The cruel mouth gaped a little, taking the sweetness deep into its lungs, savouring the cloying flavour. The smell had once been familiar here, a lure that drew many of his kind to this street. He had been drawn tonight by this delicious memory and anticipation left small beads of saliva caught on the short fur. Innocence was only the appetizer; the main course would be along shortly.
Shadows rippled in the doorway as the feet came nearer. Soon the prize would give itself to that perfect moment when innocence drowns in a flood of brief and glorious fear.
The feet had second thoughts. They slowed, hesitated, turned, and then made for the light. The cat shivered, cleaned the moist whiskers, and then curled itself into a ball. The winds of the night would fail to intrude upon its sleep and innocence would have to keep itself busy elsewhere.
[Minx is a writer from Cornwall, the ‘toe’ of England. No point in living here unless you like pasties, surfing, and a life that is mostly cut off from the rest of society! She writes science fantasy novels, short stories, flash fiction, and weird poetry.]