She was scared. She always was. She used to believe that there would come a
time when walking the streets alone at night would hold no fear for her. But there it was, lying like a deadweight in the pit of her stomach. Her constant companion every step of the way. All around her, the noise of another Saturday night rose up and danced through the air in a demented waltz of cries, shrieks and chanting. As she turned into a deserted side street, the noise seemed to withdraw, almost as if it was afraid to penetrate the darkness she now found herself in. Staring up ahead, she saw that only one street lamp was working. But it was enough to show her that she was no longer alone. Lumbering forward in ungainly steps was the huge, looming silhouette of a man. She stopped. He kept coming. Had he seen her? Their eyes met. He had. Opening his mouth in surprise, the man stumbled over his feet and crashed to the pavement, something spilling of his hands as he did so. She waited. The man didn’t move. Moving cautiously forward, her beautiful, red coat shining in the light from the street lamp, she sniffed at what the man
had dropped. It was a box of some sort. Tearing it open with her teeth and paws she found meat. Hot meat. The vixen licked her lips. She wouldn’t go hungry tonight.