We Leopards - Memento as Prose

Journal entry from August 15th 2015

Journal entry from August 15th 2015

We leopards, we cheetahs of the concrete jungle's hidden crevices.

We of the street.

We in the shadows. 

We run wild and we run fast.  

Just as we live. 

  

Your resistance to acknowledge our existence is a testament to our vilification. 

All we need is sustenance. 

What is so frightening about that?

Sometimes we don't know why and some of us ceased to care. 

We simply seek it out to shut it out.

To silence our minds, a shroud to obstruct the brutality of our hunt. 

To obtain and maintain our vacuous life, we simultaneously annihilate whatever stands in the way. 

We lunge and dash without a clue as to which direction we ought to be heading. 

Running faster now, briefly to vacate or reconsider;

 only to return to the chase. 

Desperate in our attempts to figure out what drives our vessel, but far more inclined to  satiate the need. 

 However  intimidating we may be, you must know that we were once delicate creatures. 

At one time merely cubs, before our beings went asunder.   

Something along the way went wrong, perhaps terribly. 

Now the teeth that would have playfully nibbled at the hand that fed, will rip it from your limb. 

Only pondering for an instant 

"Why in the fuck did just I do that?" 

Then, on to the next one. 

You are one misstep from being among us. 

One neuron. One bad decision. 

One last eviction notice. 

One boss that doesn't like the look of you. 

We know that you see us in your peripherals. That is why you avert your eyes. 

Reflections that you are unable to admit exist. 

Keep this in mind the next time you walk by and pretend you didn't hear us, see us, smell us.

Tell me,

 What is the light without the  shadow? 

All our cunning, velocity, intellect and vigilance, you never thought that we  possess. 

We have insidious demands, what don't you understand?.

Our will to survive and adapt to whatever comes our way. 

To stand up even when knocked down and stomped upon. 

We will rise, even from the dead. 

I know I have and have seen my brethren do so as well. 

We survive with valor, some will lose the fight but never the hunt. 

One thing is certain, we will be moving on. 

Even death will not stop our ethereal tenacity.

This is New York City, it may not be 1982 but we do what we have to, 

what we need to. 

We  go for the kill.

 Bally-mother fucking-hoo. 

Mary Catherine, Cowardice Queen