Hunger

A fatal fishing trip

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						The Hunger

	Glen had been saving all of his emotions for this day, as he 
stepped out of his wagon after the long drive from town.  It was a 
beautiful day, with a warm sun and the air filled with birds and 
bugs.  He donned his pre-packed backpack, secured his car, and headed 
for the trail into the mountains.  The forest urged him on, until he 
was almost running from the joy of freedom he felt.  Critters 
scurried from the trail as he headed upwards to Lost Lake; his 
objective still five miles distant.  The fishing was great there, the 
privacy was unparalleled, and the peace was heaven sent.  Since his 
first trip last year, all he could think about was his next 
adventure; but work priorities had always forced him to cancel at the 
last moment.  One day, ready to burst from the stress and the city, 
he dropped his work, stormed into the foremans' office, and begged 
for a week off.  His boss gave him two, and a bonus for his 
devotion.  Glen used this bonus to buy his equipment, and get his car 
in top shape.  With nary a thought of the world he was leaving 
behind, he continued his ascent to the crystal clear lake near the 
summit of Lost Mountain.  

	Lost Mountain had received its' rather distinctive name from 
the number of hikers and climbers that had been lost there.  Although 
it rose majestically between two other like peaks, the series of 
valleys and overhangs made it difficult to survey and search.  Many 
of the forests inhabitants made their homes there, unafraid of human 
invasion.  They would openly frolick in the peaceful pastures and 
sleep undisturbed by the myriad of creeks that descended from the 
glaciated peak.  Beneath the lush coating of moss and ferns, the 
forest floor revealed another secret of minerals, known only to two  
inhabitants; one recently deceased.  The survivor lived in seclusion 
in a primative cabin not far from Lost Lake.  She was stunningly 
beautiful, and with the death of her Father, she, alone, would be 
responsible for her survival. She felt the initial pangs of hunger, 
and knew she would need to feed soon.  Her instincts became keen now, 
and she sensed movements from below.  Clad only in animals skins, she 
strolled down to the waters edge, where she paused to sniff the 
scents in the wind.  With unhurried motions, she shed her moccasins 
and furs, and waded into the waters calm radiance.  She could feel 
the cool waters bathe every pore, and could feel an occasional trout 
brush past her in an embrace of welcome.  One of the cubs from the 
bear family that shared the lake with her sat and watched her bathe 
while nonchalantly knawing on a huckleberry branch.  It was a 
naturists dream.

	Glen continued his journey, still excited about setting up 
his site amoung the towering firs.  He knew there would be enough 
time for dreams and philosophies by the campfire; as for now, he 
purely enjoyed the winds' rustle, and the peaceful trickle of the 
creek that ran adjacent to his path.  Occasionally, he would see a 
squirrel, or catch a glimpse of a fawn in the brush, undisturbed by 
his presence.  The smell of fresh pine was almost overwhelming.  
Several times he stopped just to revel in the natural beauty around 
him.  It took him over three hours to ascend to the basin of the 
glaciated Lost Lake as some of the trail had been lost during a 
recent storm triggered avalanche.  Glen didn't care if it took him 
all day, as the fulfillment of the hike was more than he could ask 
for; he only hoped he could set-up camp before darkness as the 
equipment was new, and he was somewhat unsure of its' use.  Once at 
the basin, the trail abruptly stopped, and he was forced to make his 
own trail through the underbrush.  It was tiring work, but he hardly 
felt the exhaustion through the exhilaration of "conquering the 
wild."  Within 15-minutes he found the clearing where he had camped 
before, unchanged from the way he left it.  He was back in paradise.

	She continued to bathe peacefully, smoothing the crystal 
clear elixer of the lake over her weathered skin.  She was a little 
over five foot tall without an ounce of fat.  Her skin was a golden 
brown except for a brief patch of white near her nipples and around 
her pubis.  She had tiny feet, small breasts, long legs, and a 
perfect curve in her hips.  She carried herself with the grace of a 
doe, her dark brown eyes rivaled a hawks' in their effectiveness.  
She had the agility of a mountain goat and the tenacity of a burro.  
She sensed his presence, and with the dexterity of a trout, swam 
submerged  towards his campsite.  She saw his hook dangling in the 
water void of bait, and watched him intently as he washed his socks 
and lay them carefully on the rocks to dry.  She would wait until it 
was dark. . . 

	Darkness comes quickly to the forests; the trees act as 
natural blinds, and as Glen reeled in his line for the last time, he 
was glad he had brought some freeze-dried rations just in case his 
fishing attempts failed.  From the darkness just beyonds the 
campfires' glow, she continued to watch him,  with all of her senses 
alive to the forest about her.  As Glen reclined with his head on a 
makeshift pillow of rocks, he began to doze amidst the tranquil 
sounds of the lake lapping at his feet.  She seized the opportunity, 
and with the stealth of a mountain lion; crept from the woods; then 
with two  majestic leaps, was on him.  Her two incisors were now 
elongated and formed perfect points that with her first bite, stopped 
the blood flow to his brain.  Her fingers, now crowned with dagger-
sharp nails tore his clothing away as she continued to devour the 
blood from the ruptured arteries in his neck.  With his brain 
starving, his limbs twitched wildly to the garbled messages they were 
receiving.  He voided onto her hand, as she tore his BVD's from his 
semi-erect manhood.  In disgust, she threw his flailing corpse into 
the lake, and dove in after him.

	His body surfaced face down, still jerking with less violent 
twitches now.  With one cuff of her paw, she swept him back onto the 
shore, and studied her feast.  He had a slight but well-muscled 
frame, and was a well-proportioned  meal, she decided.  With eyes 
that would have froze the devil, she  bit firmly on his manhood, 
separating his glans cleanly.  With delicate bites, she chewed the 
savory morsel thoughtfully, savoring the spongy texture, and the  
hint of blood still trapped therin.  With a quick swallow, took 
another bite, tearing the rest of his manhood and part of his 
ballsack off with a  shake of her head. Blood oozed from the open 
wound, and even though Glen was still barely alive, he could only 
watch in terror and shock.  As she chewed the gristle, she gently 
pawed his abdomen and thigh. Savoring the last of his manhood, she 
took a large bite from his pelvis, ripping out the remainder of his 
urinary tract, his bowel, and his gonads at one time.  The last Glen 
saw was her sucking the blood off of one of his gonads as one would 
suck the chile from a stuffed olive. She dined at leisure, and ate 
her fill, then drug his mangled carcass up the hill to the cabin.  
She would fall asleep with her head in his abdominal cavity, dreaming 
of the hunt and the hunger.