Out Fishing For Urban Sharks

20260408

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

I slither from my burrow and taste the air. Ah, rain will be rolling in soon. Perfect hunting weather. All I need to do is find a good spot.
But first, I should prepare my bait. What kind of prey am I in the mood for? Hmm… I could Guise myself as a sex worker. That attracts all kinds of deviants. However, plenty of deviants who’ll stop to pick up a desperate, rain-soaked whore from the side of the road and book a room for her are so sweet it curdles my appetite. Killing them is no fun. And I’m too hungry to feel playful. Another time.
A schoolgirl, then. The form builds with the ease of practice. The trick is to look just old enough that people don’t expect your parents are around the corner, but young enough to seem an easy mark. There is a broad class of predators who are drawn to an innocent on the cusp of womanhood, like sharks to water.
My mouth waters in anticipation of their cowardly lust, perhaps glee and feelings of petty power if I have time… then their shock, their fear, and finally their mangled flesh… far more luscious than any shark. And wonderfully filling.
I form a short skirt and the kind of tights which go see-through when wet. A blouse which makes it look like I’m trying to appear a few years older than I am, and which shows off a strappy training bra in a way that’ll make them whisper, if only in their hearts, “she’s asking for it”. A pair of beginner heels, the kind someone without practice can’t run in.
For the finishing touch, I fish out the tube of mascara from its hiding place and carefully apply a heavy coat. I can never convincingly imitate it, and the sight of poorly applied makeup smeared and dripping in the rain does wonders on enthralling my prey.
They take one look at me and think they know exactly what I am, and then I’ve good as won our little game.
Now. Where haven’t I been, recently? It doesn’t do to let cases pile up in one part of the city. The pesky police will realise something’s up, and even if they won’t guess something like me, they have the ability to be a pain. And, despite what you might expect, the beasts I hunt do often have people who care enough to report them missing.
I wonder - do these people not realise the company they’re keeping? Sometimes even sharing a job, a home, a life with? Or do they simply not mind?
If the former, well, I suppose that’s the sort of thing which happens, when you can’t taste emotions and intent wafting on the breeze. When eyes don’t whisper thoughts to you. What a precarious existence.
Whereas, for the latter… surely then they can’t mind what I’m doing, so will get over the loss soon enough.
Either way, the question is idle. I am what I am and see no problem with what I do. Indeed, I consider it civic service.
Clouds roil overhead as I skip towards the theatre district. I’ll wait for the rain to begin. Get properly soaked. Then find an isolated bus stop and lay in wait. What will I catch today?

Prompt was “People look at me and think they know all about me, and that is how I win.”