The Killing of Loz

Shards of light streamed through gaps in the clearing like a glitter ball at a disco, he leaned against the forgotten fencing contemplating the moss growing on the rotting wood. He kicked his feet digging them into the dirt beneath him, his hand gripping the barrel of his rifle, the cool metal calmly awaiting the promise of action. His stomach jumped around, the excitement of the event to come almost too much to bear, but at the same time it filled him with joy like a child awaiting Christmas morning.
Bird song, the rustling of branches and the distant sound of civilisation dimmed as he picked up the voice of footsteps, the grip on his rifle tightened. He concentrated on the approaching sound, squinting through the half light he saw a silhouette, movement on the track just beyond the twisted branches that concealed him.
His attention was drawn to movement near to him, a rabbit scuttling about the dead matter on the floor, it stopped, it's head reared in his direction recognising danger it fled and he returned to his original object of interest to find him looking right back at him. Avoiding the desire to raise his weapon he stayed motionless as his prey seemed to be unable to make out exactly what he was observing, seconds passed like a Tuesday afternoon, his urge to act tightening his muscles, focusing him. The target moved on, pressing forward with obvious caution. He could resist desire no more, he stepped out of the comfort of hiding and prepared to quench his thirst.
He took his rifle in both hands, as he raised it to his eyes everything but the target blurred, a moment to take in the oblivious nature of his prey then a gentle squeeze and his heart froze with delight. The recipient of the bullet collapsed like a puppet freed from it's strings. Putting the rifle to his nose he inhaled the bouquet of discharged gunpowder, walking across to his fallen trophy. Released from anticipation he now revelled in the act itself, he took a canister of lighter fluid from his chord jacket pocket, fixing his eyes on the dull eyes of the dying.
A brief smile of control crossed his lips as he dowsed flesh with the odorous liquid, his action barely registering a response from the rapidly vacating soul in the husk of man on the floor. A moment of panic in the ensuing search for a match, then all that was left to do was to strike away from face and soon the trail was awash in crackling colour. He grinned as the heat struck his face, he visibly shook as he watched cloth and skin become a corrupted indivisible mass bathed in a intoxicating piquant stench.
As the fire dulled and the sunlight faded the excitement of fulfillment was overcome by the agony of longing. Next time he would not wait so long.