
It hunted every night. The yard beyond the fence was no longer green โ only churned soil, flattened nests, and the silent remnants of creatures that once dared to live. Its claws left marks on the earth; its eyes glowed, unbothered by mercy or consequence.

The owner watched from the porch, coffee in hand. The red stains on the ground were vivid, undeniable, but the porchlight made it all seem orderly, almost clean. โIt is necessary,โ the owner whispered, though their voice shook. โIt is protection.โ
Neighbors leaned from the street. โThere is nothing left,โ they said. The owner shook their head. โOnly fear imagines injustice,โ they replied.
Still, it returned night after night, dragging remnants, proud of hunts it did not need, a predator untrained in restraint. The porchlight gleamed off its fur, illuminating the soil, but not the absence โ not the life stolen, not the small cries that could not be heard.
The yard lay silent. Even the wind seemed afraid. Yet in that silence, the truth lingered: the hunt was endless, the complicity quiet, and the light of convenience far brighter than the voice of conscience.
#nostr #gaza #palestine