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Hello lovelies. I wrote for the International Cheetah Day Challenge! I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did. Getting the emotions right was certainly a tricky deal. In case you don't know, the International Cheedah Day is day where every artist of every level uploads cheetah related art in order to raise awareness for these spotted, fluffy felines. Cheetahs are an endangered species. Narrowing habitats, poachers, angry farmers demanding retribution for their murdered cattle are slowly culling the numbers of these beautiful felines. Though they are the fastest sprinters in the animal world, no creature can ever hope of outrunning a bullet.

Here's the link to a great DA journal. Please check it out: http://bcbdrums.deviantart.com/journal/The-Intern...

And the official site. http://www.cheetah.org/?nd=IntlCheetahDay

You CAN make a difference, no matter how small it may seem.

And now...story time. Hope you enjoy.

***

The sun bore down on his skin and the earth rumbled under his bottom.

"How long, Jean Long?"

"Yong enough. Just sit xier an enjoy xie ride."

Chris swallowed. Moisture dried even inside his throat. He hated the sun. It bit into his pale flesh, searing it like some well cooked mutton. He didn't know Africa was such a barren country until two months ago, when he stepped off the plane. Even now he remembered it. The gasoline smell, the heat, and the stench of sweat as the poor economic class passengers blocked the exit.

He blinked. A warm breeze caressed his moist skin. Chris reached over the pile of sacks and drew a water bottle out of the freezing crate. The cold liquid felt heavenly on his parched lips. Worries slowly evaporated, replaced with cool relief. That lasted around 10 seconds. Jen Yong, commonly referred to as Jean Long due to his long hair and feminine appearance, snatched the bottle and emptied it with three large gulps.

"Don' relax, American. Prey is always vigilant. Is the way of xie hunter," he made a quick gesture. "All three of us."

"Yeah. It's the eighth time you tell me," Chris said. His hands began to sweat. The prospect of killing unnerved him ever since their first encounter. How many had been after that? The rhino and lion during first week, then more lions, more rhinos, even an elephant. Chris couldn't tell when the kills happened. He always felt nervous before, and he always forgot after. Maybe the life of a poacher wasn't for him. Others could kill without hesitation. Chris did that even before eating his meals. Just thinking of where the meat comes from scared away his appetite.

Yet he knew better than admitting weakness. The Chinese could smell it like tuna in a pile of rice. They were a team, he said. A pride. And prides were only as strong as their members. In the animal kingdom, redundancy meant death.

And he made that clear enough when Chris took the deal two months ago.

"You're nervous, American," Jen said, squinting his thin mahogany eyes. "Two months shoulda purged that weakness. Maybe you--"

"Maybe you should shut the fuck up, Jean," Chris snapped. "You're the woman. Don't make me remind you that."

"Xia xia, whatevah," the asian laughed, scratching his neck. "We see who woman is when we find cheetah."

"We certainly will," Chris grumbled. His jaw felt tense, like every muscle in his body. Why couldn't he summon this kind of courage when he wanted? Where it mattered? Debts were not paid by slacking. Damn it! Two foreigners he barely knew took the lion's share from the earnings, and Chris did nothing to confront them. What right did he have to, when he was the weakling? He made a single kill, and even that was contested. Narubu made a show how Chris shot a dead animal, and Jen agreed with every word the black man said.

"We crossed the border," Narubu's African accent was thick and strong, like a lion's growl. "Is hot enough. Cheetahs should be easy to find. They seek shade under rock or tree." "Easy kill," Jen smiled, touching Chris's shoulder. "Is easy money, American. Why so worried?"

Chris frowned, ebon eyebrows locking together like the waves of a black sea. "Just am. Maybe not all the rangers are taking a break to go to this fucking...what's its name?"

"Fire festival," Jen dropped on the pile of sacks, caressing his hair with a hand and a leg with another. "Is important for black men who can't afford. Free food, free women, free drink."

"Free kills," Chris laughed nervously. A pathetic cough left his throat. He hoped the others paid no attention.

"Only when we do it. Is easy to hunt cheetah, American. They fast when hunt, but not faster than a bullet."

"Right," Chris said. Trees and vegetation flew past on either side as the jeep took a turn off the road. It was quite an enjoyable day. The wind blew, vegetation was all around, and the birds sang their endless song. If only this was a real safari...

Chris scratched his wrist. He hated the prospect of hunting cheetahs. He watched documentaries about them back at his apartment in Ohio. Chris realized he didn't like them. It was more than that. They fascinated him, with their lithe bodies, graceful leaps and relentless determination. When lions, hyenas and even scavengers stole their prey, they somehow found a way to keep going.

Chris blinked as a wave of regret rushed over him. Why couldn't he be the same? Choosing the easy way got him nothing. He was a thirty seven years old with no wife, no job, and no home, if he didn't come up with enough money to pay the debts he owed from gambling during his drunken fits.

The jeep slowed to a stop. Jen signaled Chris to remain silent and leaned over to the driver's window.

"He spotted some," Jen swung the black, sniper rifle over his shoulder. Chris followed his example. He picked the brown scope rifle and jumped from the back of the jeep. The earth felt dry and dusty under his boots.

"I've seen two moving near that tree," Narubu whispered as he gazed through a sophisticated pair of binoculars. "Should be no more than a mile away. Lets go."

"Why can't we take the jeep?"

For that question, Chris ended up with a bag on his shoulder.

"Too loud," Narubu scowled. "Attracts attention. You liked safe, American. We play like you said."

Chris didn't like that last snarl. He wanted to ask more questions. Why were they hunting cheetahs? What was the exact value? Who bought them? All of these flew around his head until Jen poked his back with the barrel of his gun. He knew what that meant. Now was not the time.

"We move," he pointed to Narubu, who already gained a dozen leaps ahead of them. "Right."

The pair ran steadily to avoid exhaustion. Chris tried to maintain his pace. Left, right, left, right, deep breath. Repeat. And again. His left side was hurting as if he'd been shot when they finally stopped. Narubu, who crouched behind a bush, shot him a disapproving look. "Fat no good. Took too long, American."

Two months and they didn't even learn my fucking name, Chris wanted to say. "No good," he gasped instead. Hot air entered his mouth, tickling a most arid throat.

"We can arrange for you to eat less," Jen said, crouching near the group.

"Or we can--" "Talk after hunt," Narubu hissed, summoning the binoculars again. "Prey is to the right, and seen no one nearby. Lets go."

He got up on his feet.

"Now?" Chris asked.

"There is only two cheetah. Maybe you would like to rest instead?" The hunter's voice dripped venom and spite.

"No," Chris drawled. He hoped his voice didn't shake in the same manner as his legs.

"Then you make the kill," Narubu motioned to Jen and pointed northeast. He aimed his rifle to his right. "We'll secure the perimeter."

Chris coughed, banishing that stupid why from his throat. Of course he knew the reason for this. He nodded, grabbed his rifle and passed between the two men as if they were statues. Grass rose all around him. Spiny bushes were the real threat, and Chris kept an eye out for those.

"Ouch!" He cursed. Apparently not well enough. He massaged his right ankle briefly, eyes fixed on the baobab tree looming to his left. He couldn't see anything golden in a field of gold, but he knew the cheetahs were there. He caught sight of black a few seconds ago. Steeling his nerves, Chris willed himself forward. One step at a time.

"Take it easy. They're just animals. Some dumb animals," whispers mixed in with nature's song. Insects buzzed, competing with those accursed birds. Chris wiped his forehead and peeked through his scope. Behind the rows of grass, he could clearly see the spotted hides of two cheetahs. They lay piled into one another, a mixture of spots and paws and heads and tails. One of them yawned, tail flicking lazily. Vividly male, that one.

Chris swallowed and propped the rifle on his shoulder. He had to be quick. The more he loitered, the weaker he became. He looked through the scope. A cheetah's head came into view. Then some crimson. What was that? He moved the scope slightly. With eyes closed, one of the cats slid its tongue over his brother's neck. Chris' breath stopped for a second. Just the time needed for the other cat to join the grooming session.

"Fuck me," the rifle dropped. Sweat sank in the linen leggings as the meaty hands grabbed the rifle once more. Damned beasts. Why did they have to be so cute. Why now?! Chris bit his lip, drawing blood. A deep breath followed. He had to calm his agitated mind. Had to calm his racing heart. Hunting required focus. Yes. Focus and awareness of one's surroundings.

But Chris got none of that. He kept his scope fixed on the cats...or rather, switching between them. Tremors took his aim and indecision paralyzed his finger. Damn it! "They will die anyway, you idiot! You are doing them a kindness," Chris hissed, tensing his grip. "They're both male. Not like the species takes a gaping blow."

But killing cared not for gender. Taking a life always felt the same. A horrible, sinking feeling that made Chris' guts begging for release. It was happening right now as nausea started to settle in. Chris groaned. He tried to think of his life. His future. His gain. And that's when he pressed the trigger. The rebound threw him off balance. Ears whistling, Chris scrambled up on his legs. The scope found its way to his eye just before another gunshot followed. The rifle zapped around, trying to find the cheetahs. They were nowhere to be found.

Boom! Another gunshot cracked the air like an ethereal whip. Chris ran. He looked around, heart racing, mind blocked, hands sweating. Where were they?! No answer came. The silence of death scared the nearby creatures away and veiled the land with an eerie blanket. Chris calmed down a bit during the five minutes he wandered around. He went behind the baobab, here and there, until he found one of the cheetahs bleeding near a spiked bush.

Chris tasted bile as he approached the creature. A protrusion found its way on the side of the neck. Crimson water oozed out of the hole, covering the cheetah's spots with lines of red. Chris' legs buckled. His knees met the hard ground, and a hand rushed for balance. It happened to land on the cheetah's muscular shoulder. It was fluffy and lukewarm to the touch.

A gag spat saliva into the air. This didn't feel right. Why was it still warm? Chris touched the creature's head, checked its eyes, touched its nose. No breath was there to greet him. He exposed the cheetah's fangs briefly. They were bone white, sign of a healthy age and physique. Chris pried them apart. That tongue. He wanted to feel it before nausea took him in its earnest.

"Blhuuueaaaah!" He turned his head quickly and puked in the grass.

"...ob, ...erican..."

Chris spat, lifting his head.

"Good job."

Claps. Claps and false praise. The harbinger had a long, dark hair, squinty eyes, and an ugly face to boot. Chris could only watch as Jen approach, unfolding a brown sack that found its way before him.

"Bag it up. African is doing the same with his."

"...on...Don't want to..."

"Yet you will. We killed them, you bag one up," Jen turned, rifle hung over his shoulder. "Make yourself useful, American. Prove that you can DO SOMETHING."

He shouted those last words. The bastard. How could anyone be so heartless? Chris took several breaths and flung the dead cheetah into the sack. He felt sick and breathless. Only when the creature's tail disappeared into its new den Chris realized he was on the verge of crying. Collapsing over the corpse, he sobbed. A poacher. That was the answer to the earlier question. A man like him, claiming lives to augment his own. Memories flooded in. His parents were the first. Their insults cut like daggers through his skin. Worthless, maggot, lazy, leech. Words like that mixed in with other, more creative bashing as a wife replaced them. Why can't you get a job? How can anyone live such a pathetic existence? Different person, same words. When bosses and friends replaced his closest relatives, Chris shut his eyes and screamed.

When he opened them, they all disappeared. He was in the grass, hung over a corpse like it was a deceased pet.

"I am sorry," he said. Tears stung his eyes, but with a quick snatch of his hand, he wiped his eyes, grabbed the sack and left.

Narubu and Jen Yong waited by the jeep with chocolate bars in their hands and frown on their faces.

"Took too long," Narubu rudely picked the sack and threw it on the back of the car. "Jump in there. Have five more hours before the sun sets. "

Chris froze. "What does that mean?"

"We'll be finding more prey, American," Jen's condescending voice felt like a whip on bare skin. "How do you people say? Buckle up?"

Chris sighed. He was in no shape nor mood to pick a fight. Instead, he went past Jean Long's smirking female face and hopped in front of the two bulged sacks. The clack of the rifle attracted his attention. Jen took a sack, weighted it, and passed it to Chris. "Big ones, these males. Going to fech a good price."

"You worry about that, Jean," Chris taunted. "It's what women do. Count the money." He put the corpse on his right, grimaced in disgust.

"Yeh," Jen laughed. "I will have something to count when we sell. Will you? American?" Those squinty eyes begged to be punched. He wouldn't laugh and smirk like a boy then. "We'll see."

The engine came to life with a rumbling roar. Chris took hold of a metal bar for extra balance. They were on the move for such a brief time. Chris noted no change in scenery or mood when the car stopped.

"Female, four cubs," Narubu's voice shook with excitement.

"Maybe you find runts easier to kill. Eh, American?"

Chris just took his rifle and bagged his words like he did the cheetah. The trio walked towards an rocky outcrop. Kopje, the locals called them. These rock formations served as great vantage points and comfortable dens. Chris knew who inhabited them before catching the sight of five shapes lounging in the shade. Four smaller ones moved around a fifth, jumping on the smaller rocks and playing with one another.

The wind brought in the scent of vegetation, still water and death. Chris welcomed the stench. It distracted him from the cheetah family. Rocks and trees weren't particularly interesting today, but he forced himself to look at them. Anything was better than the cheetahs. Even Narubu's permanent scowl and missing ear. The man chanced a look at Chris, but said nothing. He was like a rock. Sturdy, unmoving, and still. He probably was in the police force before turning to poaching. Chris noticed some familiarity in the man's movements and speech, but he couldn't be certain. The Narubu he saw now was the self centered, greedy man he met two months ago.

"Focus on task, Young. Or be rewarded the same."

Chris was surprised to hear his family name. His tongue swirled briefly before he found the right words to speak.

"I purged my weakness," Chris lied. "My shot will be as deadly as my conviction." "Good, because--"

"Tourists!" came Jen's shrilling voice. The men swore as they found cover behind two spindly trees. The foliage was rich and thick. Chris could barely see the white car approaching the kopje. Speckles of color dotted the vehicle. That thing was piled with visitors whose cameras blinked and flashed like lightning on stormy day.

"Ghh," Narubu sighed. "This such bad moment."

"Where's our jeep?"

"On other side of xie kopxie, American," Jen said. "Tourists no problem. Just have to wait until xey leave."

"Stealth. And patience," Narubu whispered.

Chris hardly felt reassured. Every minute spent in that hideout allowed for worries to breed. He retreated near a tree, feigning a pathetic excuse. In truth, he was scared. Scared of what his fellow poachers would think when he misses the shot again. The finality of failure weighted his shoulders like a sack of boulders. The comparison made his mind leap. The jeep was there, with its flaking dark paint and the muddy wheels. The front was the same, but the back. That told of a different story. A dozen...thirty, perhaps more sacks filled the empty space where he and Jen sat. Jen wasn't even there. He counted money on the front seat, grinning like the ugly girl he was. Narubu frowned. Concentration did that to him. He pointed to Chris and said something. It was not the finger he pointed.

Chris stared in the barrel of the rifle before the familiar shot exploded from its muzzle. A shiver brought him back to the cold reality. The two poachers whispered among themselves, moving hands to emphasize certain words. Chris barely heard what they were talking. All he caught was the word kill and leaving.

He joined them, tense with apprehension.

"Tourists are leaving," Narubu said. "We wait ten minutes, then kill the beasts. No checking this time."

"We'll do," Jen confirmed.

"I..." Both men looked at Chris. Their contorted faces spoke more than any tongue could.

"I can't."

Chris winced. Narubu's hand was on his shoulder, gripping his bones in a steel embrace. "You can, and you will. Purge the weakness."

"Yeh. Stop playing, American. Is kill time now," Jen added nonchalantly.

"Mhm." A rifle pointed towards the cheetahs. The cream one. Narubu's weapon.

"And you go first. Kill mother, prove strength. We watch."

Was that a trap? Chris couldn't tell. His head hurt too much. Adrenaline surged through his body, flaring only the primal instincts. Fight of flight. He would've chose flight if he didn't have two poachers with their guns pointed at his back. So the only option was...

"Kill," Chris whispered. "No choice. There is none. I...have to...to kill them."

Was that true? Chris took in the sights of the cheetahs. Each step brought him closer to the amalgamation of spots and fur. The mother looked in his direction, ears twitching. Did she spot him? Chris could not tell. He walked, rifle in hand. He was close enough now. Peeking through the scope, he stared...

....straight into the female's amber eyes. They glistened like liquid honey in the evening sun. So much life resided in therein in that sparkle. Something that hasn't been touched by the taint of death. She licked her nose. A cub arched his little head, licking his mother's chin. The sight made Chris' heart skipped a beat. That was cute, and warm, and...

Chris released a long sigh. He wanted a family too, but less children. If they were as energetic as those bundle of fur, he would have had trouble raising them all.

But you can, something inside him said. You only need the money. God knows, Chris. You are an ugly thing. Your nose is scrunched up like some old hag's. Lips the width of fresh worms. And eyes? They're of different colors. Like what the hell dude? Someone didn't make up their mind.

It was a friend. John, probably. That narcissistic bastard loved to brag.

Yet women can love you. Leave chubby face aside, jeez. You look like a marshmallow, but money man! Women love money, and through money love you!

"Screw you, John," Chris muttered. He never took such a shallow advice to the heart. Yet he was right. Money were the key to everything. Chris pressed a finger against the trigger, feeling the smooth texture. He had the mother in sight. She was leaning, allowing her four cubs to jump over and play on top of her.

What a lovely sight. Chris swallowed, hoping to dull the lump forming in his throat. The cubs were so young and...fragile. They carelessly enjoyed the simple joys life brought them, caring not for the man with the gun. They pawed and bit, chirping in annoyance whenever a sibling got the best of them. Mother rarely interfered, except when she licked one of her young. Whether it was love or something else, Chris could not know.

"Kill them already!" Narubu's voice cut through the air a scythe. The cheetahs heard it too. The female raised on all fours, snarling, while her cubs looked in Chris' direction.

"Hide, you fools," Chris said, hands trembling with anticipation. They didn't. Adjusting his rifle, Chris aimed the female. It was no or never. His family, or hers. Chris touched the trigger. It didn't seem such a hard choice. They were animals. Animals were inferior. It was their fault for not hiding when poachers took them in their aim.

Chris almost pressed the trigger, but the female moved. She picked one of the cubs in her jaws, wandering frantically around the place. Did she come to her senses? Chris squeezed the rifle, heart racing madly. She needed more time. Maybe if--

"American!" Chris turned around. Even from a hundred paces away, he noticed the disapproving stare of the two men. They sizzled and churned, waiting to erupt. He lowered his rifle and walked towards them, head bowed in defeat.

"You are worse than worthless," Narubu hissed. "We worked for two months. Two! How many animals you killed?"

Jen laughed.

"Eight?" The black man lifted eight fingers, then formed a fist. "That's pathetic. Jen did thirty two. I did twenty. So tell me American..." Narubu lessened the distance until he and Chris were face to face.

"Where the fuck is your head?"

Nausea settled in, but not before Chris smashed the back of his rifle in Narubu's face. The man groaned and backed away.

"What are you--"

Chris gathered his rifle, aimed. And pressed the trigger.

Jen fell in an instant, like the animals he shot. Narubu shouted something. Chris didn't hear. He only felt the blinding pain exploding from his belly. His ears rang from the gunshots, and every sense seemed useless. Everything was a blur. Chris reloaded his rifle. He didn't know how or why, but something told him to do it. He placed the barrel in Narubu's face just as the black man did the same. Chris started at the cream barrel between his eyes and pushed.

Another gunshot followed. Darkness threatened to settle, but a blink dispersed it. This wasn't death. It hurt too much. A hand rushed to his waist. Something warm oozed out of there. Warm and slippery, Chris groaned, Life was fleeing his body, and for the stupidest decision he ever took. Why didn't he kill the animals? How was murdering his companions any easier?

Nobody would answer those questions. Fatigue settled at an alarming rate. Chris blinked. Even that felt bothersome. Numbness ran across his spine, spreading through every part of his body. At least that dulled the pain.

Chris chanced a look at the cheetahs. He hoped they were safe. He hoped they... ...were here? The female loomed before him, her fur blazing like gold in the sunlight. She lowered her head, sniffing. Chris lifted a hand. He tried to. The weakness was overpowering, and dots of light blocked his vision. Why? He wanted to touch. Feel the warmth of that fur. Know he made the right decision. Touch....at least once....before....darkness took everything.

***

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