Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

the house. It was scarily neat, yet I could smell the pile of edible refuse just inside the nearest tree line. It had sustained me while I stalked the juicy prey walking briskly with a pained look on his features.
    Watching was interesting. I always lost him as he left the vicinity of his home, and not for a lack of trying. But his routine was constant, as was his supplies, so it did not matter. The scraps of out of date food were sufficient, but I could almost taste the delicacies that I smelled being cooked, partially eaten and then unknowingly thrown to my disposal. Mouth-watering.
    I need to stock up and get my fill: I will raid his house soon.
    Gah! When will my thoughts stop being about food? Yet my responsibilities will have to wait. For now I am starving for real food hinted by the refuse I'm now savouring, that few of the villagers I've passed on the run could ever create.
    ~ Jacob, musings
     
    "First things first," said the house owner conversationally, awkwardly averting his gaze, "Are you decent?"
    Jacob stood alert in the kitchen. He stared at the enigma in front of him. Tactically, the owner of this property had brilliantly incapacitated him: finding Jacob giving in to his natural instincts; then manipulating his pride and vanity to leave him in this compromising position, and give him no other option than to do as instructed. Jacob seemed to be at a disadvantage, with only a baking tray occupying his hands and a full stomach figuratively handy.
    Yet the owner did not realise the lengths Jacob could go – such distances brought him to this position in the first place, after all. But for now , Jacob thought, I will see if this could turn to my benefit . The violet circles under the owner's eyes impinged upon Jacob's vindictiveness. The evident strain pulled at Jacob's conscience, so his plans of escape using brute force or speed seemed less likely and more distant, as if reproaching him.
    Jacob tensed his already strained muscles as he realised he was standing silent whilst thinking. Embarrassed again, he said with spite, "I am covered if that's what you mean." The owner boldly turned and clinically looked him over, even after the venomous line. He leant against the wall by the door, blocking off the closest exit, mildly flushed. Held in the arm against the wall was a navy bundle of cloth, and in the other, a large plastic bag – containing the prophesised cleaning supplies – in front of him. Jacob was shocked that, given the situation, someone would keep their word, not to mention to actually expect it to be followed. Again, conflicting emotions of indignation and surprise left him momentarily speechless, especially over something as trivial as spilt food. It was only very ripe!
    "That's good," the owner dismissively replied. He awkwardly threw the bundle of cloth to Jacob and then, after placing the bag on the floor, averted his gaze to look out of the window, absently rubbing his hands in thought.
    With deeper breaths, and with a hesitant and breathless voice, the owner continued, "Second thing, well, second. I am Jeremy. And, as you may have guessed from my reaction, this is my home and I have more important Duties around than to waste time protecting it. Consider that a warning against a wandering curiosity and further trouble. So then, what is your name?"
    As Jeremy talked, continuing to lay down his law with gusto, Jacob turned to action. Two could play at this game , he thought; and reasoned, it was only fair . So, while Jeremy nattered, Jacob began some underhanded tactics of his own.
    Jacob had initially tried to hold the overflowing bundle in one hand while maintaining his modesty with the other. Now , he thought, Jeremy will get a taste of his own medicine . He then elaborately tugged the bundle into shape, just as Jeremy turned, and deliberately removed the warmed and now misted tray to the side, placing it on the counter and into Jeremy's vision .
    Jacob then put on the cloth – a large robe – that was almost certainly the largest Jeremy owned. It barely reached his mid-thigh and could not fit the bulk of his upper arms in their respective holes.
    To add to the figurative insult to injury to Jeremy, Jacob quickly tore off the sleeves to allow his limbs through; the now gaping holes were lined with torn threads, the consequence of their final debacle. As the fabric tore and snapped, Jacob saw an equally violent flinch pass through Jeremy. Jacob smiled at his victory as Jeremy merely