Across the sunlit savannah of the Kalahari, an impala senses a sudden change in her surroundings. God given animal instincts trigger a warning. With its spotted golden coat hairs tingling with anticipation, the cheetah crouches its feet and leaps to action. The chase begins. The impala gallops for dear life, kicking up sand behind her as the cheetah growls, blinking the sand out of his eyes. The muscles in his body heat up in fury, at her insolence. The impala knows he will never let go of her; he is a ruthless beast and will slash and devour her while her red life force stains the grasslands.
She gallops over a bush. The cheetah leaps over it with finesse and ease. She attempts taking a sharp right, hoping his speed makes him head straight for a few steps longer, but to no avail. The cheetah is well versed in the art of the hunt. He is close. She knows it. She feels his breath on him. Her death is imminent. The cheetah knows it too. His body is heating up with the activity and it is time for the final pounce.
“It is over. God, make it a quick death please”, thinks the impala.
“This is it. You are mine to eat”, the cheetah ruminates in silence and lunges with his claws pointed towards her, fangs dripping saliva in anticipation of piercing her neck. She closes her eyes, and can feel his claw touch her skin.
The cheetah falls to the ground, lifeless, as a thunderous sound echoes across the savannah. The impala scurries away, thanking god for the intervention. A few feet away, the camouflaged hunter steps up, out from the bush and proceeds to collect his trophy of the day.