The Tiger

The dappled moonlight shone fiercely, but could barely penetrate the dense canopy. The result was a peculiar pseudo-luminance; here and there pillars of sparkling light spiraled down, eventually reaching the forest floor. They illuminated the frantic, ever-changing nature that was the rain forest: mosquitoes danced en mass in a serene ensemble. Crickets, the forest's orchestra, engineered its perpetual melody, one that would last the night long, only, finally, ceasing once the sun cast its first brilliant red tinge into a distant horizon. The air was almost completely still on this night, yet still hung thick with moisture, a consequence of the suffocating humidity, a specter that never subsided.  He made his presence known to all the creatures in this place, lacing their every movement with an uncomfortable heaviness. The slightest breeze, cooling, eased its way through, gently brushing aside lush vegetation, before at last, rustling the Tiger's generous whiskers.

He stood, wrinkling his nose and twitching his ears- tuning them to the very air's frequency. Nothing escaped the Tiger, and even now the slightest rustling bushes or humming insect greeted those soft, pointed ears with ample clarity. But these were of no interest to him, and he discarded them as a bored child might a toy. He stood, crouched low, his body hard with now tensed muscle. Despite his bizarre, unmistakable appearance the darkness enveloped him, concealing his massive figure to the point of complete incognito, and only his eyes, his two shimmering eyes, betrayed the Tiger's presence. Eyes which pierced through any undergrowth, inducing a dread, a fear, in any of his enemies' hearts. It was the Tiger's eyes, more than his teeth or his claws, that they had learned to avoid so desperately. Yellow and bright, they boldly challenged any other creature. But none would answer. Here, the Tiger was king. 

His throne stretched endlessly before him- vast and sublime. It was one the Tiger knew so well; he was born there, he had been raised there, he had hunted there. Tonight, he would hunt again. And he would kill. Bloodshed would always follow the Tiger's hunts, and all were well aware of this.

In the distance, the churning of the shallow stream was pleasant, soothing. It cleared his mind of all thoughts- that was good. He must focus entirely on what he was presently doing, lose himself in the act of killing, of taking a life, of liberating a soul from this world, and allowing it to pass into the next. This was the afterlife, what they in the forest called only the White. The Tiger was not especially religious or sentimental, merely he accepted what he had been told, and what his ancestors had been told. He didn't feel any kind of animosity towards whichever creature he might happen upon tonight- taking a life was a matter of survival, of subsistence. An animal would be no less happy in his next life as he was in the current one, and in this sense the Tiger would never be remorseful following a kill. But nor would he boast about the act- it was not an aspect of life he particularly enjoyed, rather an essential one, like breathing. Certainly it was equally as instinctual to him.

Yes, he was getting closer now. He felt it deep inside him, an energy synonymous with his hunts. He felt the very pulse of his prey, let its scent fill his lungs. Long, slow breaths told him it remained oblivious to the Tiger. Presently, he padded forward, allowing his massive hind legs to gradually transfer weight to his relatively slender front ones. Silence. Through a last section of bush, he emerged on a small cliff that long since surrendered to the tenacity of creepers and moss. Below him stood a Boar, its head dipped, lapping at the clear, freezing stream water; the lifeblood of the forest. Here the moon's glow projected unobstructed, and it refracted and reflected over the surface in thousands of glittering specks. They dazzled the Tiger. The Boar now raised its head, its laryngeal prominence thrusting up and down as it gulped the water. It raised its vile, protruding snout in worry. 


Now was the moment. The Tiger did not hesitate.


His whole mass coiled tightly, he unwound in a fraction of a second, accelerating through the air in a high arc, like a diver. Before the Boar became aware of his freefall, the Tiger was upon it. It screamed, attempting to rear back, but the Tiger, in one expert move, sank his teeth into its soft jugular, silencing it. Blood, hot and red, gushed out generously. An emotion like frenzy overcame him, and he bit and tore at the Boar until only bloody bones remained. The Tiger slowly came to; regained his senses and awareness. It was over, the hideous whims of the malicious night had been satisfied once more. The Tiger was free.


High above the forest, a violently bright Toucan sang out loudly, spreading new of what had taken place. Below, the water tinged pink.