The Snipe is clever.
The Snipe is patient.
It waits by the kettle, by the radiator, by the computer monitor occasionally ticking its eye like an ancient lizard. It is in for the long haul. It plays the long game. It plays to win.
It waits for its prey with a lipstick smile and the bat of an eyelash. It lures its victim in with a sticky tongue of kind words, of sweetness, of sugary betrayal. It offers the sharpened claws of fake friendship. The piercing tooth of confidence.
Once you are in its cooing clutches it sucks out every intimacy, every near silent secret.
It doesn’t digest. It doesn’t consume.
It stores them away. It stockpiles them. Hardens them into little balls of armour shattering ammunition. While the world sleeps the Snipe is up all night making bullets.
Being a coward, afraid of its own dirty work, it offers these to a greater power. With instructions of where lies its victims palpitating heart.
It has no mercy. But it will offer a shoulder to cry on so that it may take suck again. Its appetite is insatiable.
But some of us are prepared. Some of us have been bitten before and have learned from the bites.
Some of us also wait.
Waiting for the Snipe to look up and smile and catch our eye. Waiting for the Snipe to gulp in fear as it realizes we are blinking at it like smarter lizards through the steady lens of a telescopic rifle.
It will not hear the shot ring out.
It will not feel the impact.
It will not understand the cheers of jubilation.
But it will recognize the bullet.