The Stalker

JackalShe lies in wait, patiently stalking her prey.  Watching his every move.  Plotting his next sighting.  And when she gets her shot, it makes all the waiting worth while.

Man Hunter.  Man Stalker.  It takes a special breed of woman to plot her strategies in the face of all kinds of roadblocks.  Like a wife.  But that never stops the determined ones.

The determined ones have a steely one-track mind.  How to win the prize.  They plastered his picture up at their work so they can adore him daily.  They weasel their way into his favorite activities, like fishing.  They go on a fad diet to lose the pudge they usually carry.  Then the real work begins.

They ply the target with alcohol, his main weakness and addiction, time after time, knowing it drives the wedge further into the relationship with the wife.  They have observed how the prey becomes drunk and stupid.


And when the timing is right, they strike.  They let nothing stop them, not even the man’s little boy as a witness to the total lack of morals and values that was to follow.  They gave no thought to the pain they would cause.


The prey took the bait, just as she knew he would.  She had done her homework well.  He swallowed her in, hook, line and sinker.  This one she would not throw back.


They did not plan on getting caught that night.  Or did they?  Hard to know what machinations drive the stalker mind.  The prey was such an easy target.  Almost too easy.  She could toy with him, like a cat with a mouse.  A little more alcohol and she was the puppet master.

What followed after the stalker’s successful hunt was the usual bloody carnage left behind.  The spoils of a kill are not a pretty picture, so we shall not dwell further on the pain and suffering that followed.  Suffice it to say that it was quite considerable.

On the one hand, she was a good stalker.

On the other hand she was the worst kind of stalker.  The husband stealing kind.


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