I stalk My Prey.
I am the master of the world.
I sense everything. My eyes can see the
fleas on an animal’s back two hundred metres away.
My nose can smell the fear of The Stalked through
miles of jungle. My eyes can sense the slightest
tremor in the skin of the lizards high above in the
trees.
I slither quietly through the jungle,
noting the location of everything. I stay low to the
ground, blending in with the sights and sounds.
I respect my prey, for he is
admirable, despite his many flaws. Everyone can not
be as perfect as I.
I hope by killing My Prey, I can
survive long enough to mate, and pass on my genes.
I near my prey, quiet as
ever. My claws tear into the ground, shredding the
ferns as I will shred My Prey.
I tense as My Prey
approaches. I hope I will succeed.
I stalk My Prey.
I am the master of the world.
I know everything. My
night-vision goggles can detect a mouse asleep under a tree.
My GPS can pinpoint my location, accurate to a few
footsteps. My laptop can tell me everything I need to know
about My Prey, and hid weaknesses.
I crash loudly through the jungle,
ignoring all but My Target. I stomp through the
underbrush, waking all creatures.
I am full of contempt for my prey. He
The Essay on The Jungle 11
In the "Gilded Age" immigrants from all over the world became part of America's working nation in hopes of finding a new and better life for themselves and their families. As more and more new families moved to America with high hopes, more and more people fell victims to the organized society, politics, and institutions better described as, the system. The system was like a jungle, implying that ...
is backward, and knows nothing. I am perfect.
I hope by killing My Prey, I can afford to
buy a new convertible, and buy a house on Rodeo Drive.
I near my prey, loud as ever. I slide the safety off
on my gun, powerful enough to knock a monkey out of a
tree a mile away.
I am confident as My Prey approaches. I will succeed.
I fire.
I pounce.
