By Mel A. Rowe

Eyes unblinking. Wouldn’t dare. Couldn’t.

Lips trembled. Tongue bled in my mouth. Muscles rigid. Sweat rained in rivulets drenching my skin.

Shoes submerged in mud, oozing between my toes. My Fishing rod trembled in hand. Sounds of the river sloshed against the boat and the breeze snaked through trees, shadowed by a post-dawn sky.

I wasn’t alone.

Didn’t know, until it was too late.

Its foul stench. The elongated, armoured mass, camouflaged in mud. Cow-crushing jaws ajar. Cold merciless predatory eyes – staring.

It didn’t blink.

I didn’t blink.

I was playing chicken with a crocodile…

… and didn’t wanna play.