The Cackle of Hyenas
flash fiction with a bit of horror
It had happened many times before: the girls circling me, the pushing, the hits, the spitting, and the skirt pulled down to my ankles. Like a cackle of hyenas, the girls would glide away to other prey when they grew tired of my non-reaction.
The first time, I was bewildered. Why would they go after me? Did I have the word prey tattooed on my forehead?
Afterwards I would fume. My stomach would clench, the heat would rise from my stomach to my chest. I would bite my lips to stop myself from screaming, “ Why? Why?”
I knew why. They could smell my fear. I was the prey to their predator.
After several incidents, they became complacent to my reactions. The girls could still smell the fear that had enticed them so much in the beginning of the school year. What they didn't notice was that this time, my non-reaction was overlaid with a tint of madness.
The last time, the girls encircled me, I caught glimpses of red lipstick, and fingernails. As the spit hit my face, I saw it tint to red.
I wasn’t shaking in fear. No, this time my lizard brain activated. Every consequence of my actions played out in my hind brain until I knew what I had to do.
Carefully I wiped the spit from my face. I stared at my tormentor, a large well-endowed girl, with all of the hate I could muster. She shrank back just a little. Then she shook her head in defiance. She snorted and spit me again.
My mouth stretched and stretched and stretched showing two rows of shark teeth. The red haze filled my head and all I could see were red objects
Let the screaming begin.
Cyn Bagley © 2012