[Roderick sees nothing else. It's impossible for a human being to be anything less than entranced by a predator, impossible for a man like Roderick to be anything less than enthralled by its motions, its cleverness, the sway of a snake's thin, muscular body in tall grass. He is not, has never been, will never be prey, but in the hierarchy - there is always a hierarchy - he knows where he falls.]
[He was less than Joe. Then he became more. Now, he is less than Hannibal. He has pride - so much pride - but not enough to defy reality.]
[The knives he used were sharp. He did not love the girls' pain as much as he loved the moment, just before they died, when they knew they were going to, when they saw him making them more than they had ever been, could have ever been, before. So he made it easy on them, as easy as he could. But this--]
[It's like being bludgeoned open. There is no time between the twitch of Hannibal's muscles and the forward motion. The shank, the pain, that's nothing, Roderick's felt pain before, pain is just pain, but the butter knife is pressure against his skin, cleaving slow and he can feel bruises form, he can feel--]
[This is the moment before death. He shouldn't fight.]
[He strikes out at random nevertheless, even as he feels his strength leaving already, trickling away with the heavy pulse he feels in his head that pushes his blood out of his body. He can feel himself dying.]
spam }
[He was less than Joe. Then he became more. Now, he is less than Hannibal. He has pride - so much pride - but not enough to defy reality.]
[The knives he used were sharp. He did not love the girls' pain as much as he loved the moment, just before they died, when they knew they were going to, when they saw him making them more than they had ever been, could have ever been, before. So he made it easy on them, as easy as he could. But this--]
[It's like being bludgeoned open. There is no time between the twitch of Hannibal's muscles and the forward motion. The shank, the pain, that's nothing, Roderick's felt pain before, pain is just pain, but the butter knife is pressure against his skin, cleaving slow and he can feel bruises form, he can feel--]
[This is the moment before death. He shouldn't fight.]
[He strikes out at random nevertheless, even as he feels his strength leaving already, trickling away with the heavy pulse he feels in his head that pushes his blood out of his body. He can feel himself dying.]
[He doesn't want to die like this.]