Devoid of anything close to being human
She walks in the shadow between worlds
Not listening to anyone or thing
Not caring for anyone or thing
A lack of conscience is inadequate to describe it
She sees the street thug walking toward her
His knife is drawn
She dawdles just for a moment
Slips into the alley
He follows in pursuit
In the Stygian blackness the hunter feels he is safe
She knows he is not
With a the flare of a kick
The knife leaves his hand
The hunter becomes the hunted
The assassin of souls is wakened
The strap of her purse becomes a garrote
He is on his knees
Choking
Wheezing
Gasping for air
His last sight is looking up her skirt
She walks off into the night
Looking to hunt again.