Mount Apikuni ii: bugs, underfoot

vaguey vague, for @Barracuda

it had started one night, when her father had taken her maidenhead. quickly, brutally, with no care given to preparation. he had thrust so forcefully that she bled, and she would not walk right for days. but as he lost himself inside her, she smiled. for in his blissful post-sex stupor, she had seized his throat in her jaws and squeezed, tight.

with a pop, she pierced the skin, and the large vein underneath. he'd bled to death in minutes, eyes staring frantically at her, even in death. she licked the blood from her muzzle and left.

she was one day short of a year old. it was her first kill.

but really, it started long before that. it was vengeance for every time her father--she preferred the term seed donor--raped her mother, and made his sons watch. it was reparation for when he'd killed her, after she'd dared to fight back against him. it was payback for what he had done to her sisters, and to her.

it was, simply, what he deserved. she regretted none of it. and while she had planned to stop there, she learned that her father was a symptom of the problem. after mistreatment, assault, gaslighting. . .she realized that her life with her father was merely a microcosm of the world as a whole. men were cruel, brutish creatures. their one purpose was to further the species by providing seed. beyond that, their sense of importance was entirely inflated by their own ego, their own cocksure--pun intended--sense of self.

she stalked up the mountain, ignoring the scent of wolves here. bruised and battered. she was angry, now. thinking of that night. but more than anything, she was determined.

they were bugs, underfoot. step quickly enough and

they'd die--but if you missed

they would live

and breed more

and more

and more

and