HAVE YOU ever felt a brush against your leg while sitting on the campus benches, or heard a faint cry just before leaving St. Raymund’s?
If the answer is yes, you may have just encountered the beast of Quezon Drive.
Within the trees rests a creature draped in tiger stripes, hissing like a snake and humming a hypnotic purr.
This bulbous creature sleeps during the day and hides at night. The dim glow of the moon reflects in its eyes, sharp red gems obscured by the bushes. Hide once you hear the leaves rustle: it means the beast is scouting its next victim in the shadows.
In the early days, it dwelt in forests, its teeth as long and sharp as its claws have torn through barks and hills, as it eventually found its way into the urban jungle to hunt after tougher and tastier game: humans.
Aside from savagery, it induces its prey into a trance, turning foes into friends for easier captures. Its soft fur and wide eyes is adorable as it is deceiving. Its clever tactic has turned people into its servants, who bring them a despicable offering: a variety of animal flesh pulped into a cylinder, where it lashes its barbed tongue on to feed.
Nobody knows why people continue to revere the beast, even when they only receive scratches in return for their servitude.
Be careful in admiring this violent, twisted creature. In a cruel twist of fate, it could be licking off your flesh next. F
