Beware, beware! I am tireless and hungry, prowling about for heedless prey that knows no notion of looking over their shoulders. My fangs may sink deeper than the swirls of a whirlpool, blood will run like river’s tempo, and death will rain like clouded blessings.
No fleeting foot escapes my watchful gaze, for every bush and every branch obeys my call. The coat of Kingship christens my fur from orange and black to that of Majesty. No tree may fall without my term, and no death may call without my word.
Many may look upon my gall with awe; as such, pride surrounds my soul in oceanic feeling. I am lone in hunting, taking what the jungle offers in its divinity. Holy be the trees and bountiful be the leaves. ROAR! And the birds take aflight to heaven with chirps of trepidation, their wings of fear a sign to all of my might.
Remarkable be the hunt, and remarkable be death when blood rushes and coils the veins of life itself with speed and agility so ushered in a panic. My tail lurches in anticipation for blood, where blood flows, and how blood spills. No rage nor violence may coat my soul, only the sweetness of survival. For Kings are clay, and clay must feed.
When, at last, my bite succumbs to success, the prey falls with gasps for God. But I am God upon then and only then. I am the arbiter of the womb of Earth to the birth of Purgatory. My feet may take me in circles around their bleeding carcasses; they are mine. And, upon their Earth, their vessel, their clay of meat and bone, I feed. I feed and devour and nourish to rule and reign another day.
For every day, I hunt and kill to live and rule. No love may found me; nay, only passion and lust and death and conquer. I am the lone hunter of majestic righteousness, of beauty, and of silent, poignant thought. ROAR, ROAR! May the jungle, in all its green and serenity, drown in the decibels of death rendered asunder.
Check out my YouTube channel! I make create stories on there as well and tell them in a different type of format: Mr. X