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Running. I was running. Fuelled on desperation and determination. Desperation because I did not want to be killed and eaten. Determination because I would not be killed and eaten! I rounded a bend in the avenue I was running on and grabbed onto a rusted old lamppost that was fastened to the ground. I turned the corner and rocketed down the next street, dashing between the wheeled metallic boxes, that the old ones once used as transportation.

I ducked and dived and rolled while the sound of snapping jaws and vicious growls chased me. I'm not one for trouble, but that morning I had attracted more than my fair share in the form of wild dogs. The size of small stallions, it was hard to believe these beasts were not the top of the food chain here in the Badlands. No. The wild dogs were scavengers, their flesh sat pulled across their bones and muscle like taut leather, the fur long gone due to evolution's evil mind. Their eyes were small and blind, white all over and wide, their fangs were yellowed and jagged while their marred flesh looked like someone had taken to burning them. Their tails cracked and looked almost serpentine as they bound over the metallic boxes and let out deep, dangerous growls from their agape jaws. This was what scavengers looked like in the Badlands. Hard to believe.

I rounded another bend in the avenue and found myself looking at a small narrow bit of concrete that linked one avenue with another. I had to turn to one side to scrape through knowing full well the dogs would not be able to get in. I turned and watched as their jaws snapped and their claws scraped at the walls while their noses scented the ground.

This might sound odd, but this was a normal morning for me.

I had lived in the Badlands almost all of my life. I had no childhood memories other than the ones I had of my older brother and teacher, Malik who taught me how to hunt and scavenge here. From what I remember of Malik, he had told me time and time again that we had ventured in the Badlands even though New Haven forbade it. What was New Haven? I had no idea. All I knew was the Badlands was my home and in time I'd learned to survive here.

I spilled from the gap between the buildings, and stepped onto the next avenue. I took a deep breath and looked around for some sign of familiarity. The wild dogs had thrown me off course in our little game of cat and mouse.

Tall skeletal buildings and complexes flanked me on all sides, their windows, like square black holes, had been smashed centuries ago and now had thick vines spilling out of them. The tarmac and concrete underfoot had been cracked open by roots that now snaked across the ground, thick patches of green grass blossomed here and there. Rich, colourful blossoms had bloomed and made this dangerous place look so beautiful.

I listened and could hear rushing water. Good. I needed a drink.

I followed the sound, gazing at the gap behind me, half-expecting the wild dogs to smash on through. Life here had taught me to be cautious all the time. Cautious? No. It was more like paranoia.

To be honest I'd rather have been paranoid and alive than cautious and dead.

I ducked between a broken window as the rushing sounds got louder and louder. I entered a long abandoned complex that seemed to have been hundreds of floors high, but most of these floors had caved in, a great cascade of water spilled between them, hitting one level and spilling to the next. Rich blossoms erupted here and there in small explosions of colour. I could hear birds sing overhead.

I looked up and took a deep breath. The air was cool. I padded barefoot across the concrete and grass before I found the ground underneath the waterfall had collapsed inward, a deep pool had formed and from that pool I crouched and sipped from the cool, cool liquid. I quenched the thirst I had and straightened up while I spilled a handful of water across my shoulders and face.

I gazed down at the serene waters in the pool and found my reflection staring back.

At five foot seven with a slender physique I'm not much in terms of strength. Then again monkeys aren't really known for their strength. Sure, gorillas might be able to break down a steel door or two, but I was more concerned with being agile and quick on my feet than being able to arm-wrestle most of the beasts in the Badlands.

Pale brown fur lines my back and arms and reaches up along the back of my neck to join with the fur that rides atop my head. My legs, hands and feet were hairless. I wore leather gauntlets that wrapped around my forearms and encased my fingers. I had fastened a belt at the waist of my three-quarter-length shorts, and had a quiver loaded with arrows fastened at the hip on the belt.

Arrows? Yeah. I was as skilled with the bow as I was evading wild dogs, but had lost the long bow when I was running from them. It happened more often than you would believe and sooner or later I somehow found it again. I had lost count of how many times I'd lost the damn thing. I had a knife, which was fastened in a leather sheath just above one ankle, but I used that for skinning and carving meat for dinner. Not for combat.

No. If I could avoid direct face-to-face brawling with the beasts in the Badlands, then I was good.

I took a deep breath and realised I needed that bow. As I considered this a deep grumble echoed from my stomach. I had missed breakfast running from those dogs after all. I patted my stomach. I'd need food soon.

I scanned the inside of that complex and decided that unarmed I was more than useless on level ground. I needed to be somewhere high where fewer beasts dwelled.

I tightened the belt around my waist and with a casual thrash of my tail (that was almost as long as I was tall) I set off at a jog. In no time at all I scaled a concrete pillar and cleared three floors before I found a long vine as thick as a tree trunk snaking through a shattered window frame. It slithered through midair toward a building a few blocks away.

Good. I tasted the air and knew there was no sign of rain. Even better.

I leaped onto the vine and padded along it, being fast but cautious, so I didn't fall to the avenue below. I tried hard to remember which way I had been chased and eventually found the avenue littered with those metallic wheeled boxes. I went from building to building, sometimes entering them and going from floor to floor before reentering sunlight. I could hear more rushing water and soon passed a water resevoir that had erupted from underground centuries ago and now formed a lake, its crystalline waters snaked off in different streams in different directions.

I glimpsed a herd of wild deer sipping at the waters. Mmmm, wild deer sounded good round about now. I swallowed down the hunger and snatched a lemon-apple from a branch as I continued heading west with the vines and labrynth-like metropolis. I sank my teeth into the almost-too-sweet flesh of the lemon-apple but my stomach wanted the deer. I fought the hunger, but had half a mind to turn back and consider tackling one of the deer bare-handed when my pale blue eyes locked onto a familiar clearing.

A deep, deep resevoir sat to the west of the clearing, while thick vines coiled and snaked around the buildings on all sides. It was here that the wild dog pack had discovered me and hunted me down.

I sat, perched upon one of the lowest vines I dared to sit upon and scanned the area for some sign of my long bow. Eventually . . . there! Half-hidden beneath a grape-pear bush sat my long bow, almost as tall as me and made of slender pale pine wood. The bow was the last thing I had inherited from Malik before he had died.

What had killed him? A beast that lurked in the south and devoured dogs whole. I'd steered clear of the southern Badlands since Malik's death after I recovered his corpse and had him buried near my encampment. No. I took a deep breath, pushing back the memories I had of Malik and scouted the area one last time. No wild dogs. Good.

I sprang from the branch and with a dull thump landed on one knee on grass and tarmac. Puddles had formed here and there where some of the resevoir had shattered underneath the concrete. I hurried across the clearing and snatched up the long bow. Good, good. I felt better.

I tested the bowstring and its sturdiness. Yes! It was good to use. No harm, no foul. I shouldered the bow and took off. Not wanting to be here when the wild dogs padded back through here. No, what I wanted right now was deer meat cooked and hot in my mouth.

I took off through the vines, scaling buildings, while my stomach grumbled louder and louder. I retraced my steps, running with a new speed I had no idea I possessed up until that moment. I'm a big, big, big lover of roasted deer meat. Most don't like it, but I loved that tender, moistness that comes with a well-prepared deer.

Soon I found the clearing and sure enough there were the dear, some grazed and some sipped from the resevoir. I leaped from branch to branch. I scouted them and soon decided I would take the biggest stag among the group. I landed on a semi-low hanging branch, swung the bow out with one hand, snatched up an arrow in the other, loaded it and pulled back on the bowstring, while I sighted at the stag. I exhaled and took a second to admire the pale brown hair that lined the stag's lean form.

I pulled back that last fraction of an inch and released.

The arrow cut through the air like a blade and with a dull thunk the stag toppled into a dead heap while its fellow deer scarpered. I punched the air, and in a victorious leap rolled across the grasses and raced toward the carcass. Dinner time!

Malik had always said I had no respect for the animals I killed. I had explained that animals were food. Nothing more. Since Malik's death I'd tried to change my attitude toward the food I hunted and killed.

I crouched next to the dead stag and as I yanked the arrowhead free from its skull I murmured my appreciation for the good meal I'd be having.

I hoped that Malik was watching me and was somewhat proud of me.

He had died when I was ten cycles old. I was inexperienced, brash and quick to act. I was an infant back then. In the grief and remorse that followed Malik's death I matured (believe it or not) and hoped that at nineteen I was better in comparison to what I had been way back when. It was pure luck that had kept me alive long enough to live.

I wiped the blood free from the arrowhead and slid it back inside the quiver. I lifted the carcass and swung it over one shoulder. I had taken a step toward the nearest low-hanging branch when a low, deep growl shattered the silence around me.

I peered over my shoulder and with a frustrated grumble of my stomach I watched as a wild mountain lion spilled from the shadows of the complex opposite. Deep, golden eyes watched me while yellow and white fur lined that muscular form. It must have been the size of one of those wheeled boxes, maybe larger.

I stared into those golden eyes and knew without a shadow of a doubt that this bastard wanted to devour me.

I slowly crouched and let out a breath I had been holding as the stag carcass slumped to the ground. I remained on one knee, never looking away from that collossal beasts eyes while I grabbed my bow and reached for an arrow. As if on cue the lion crouched low and let out a deep roar that echoed all around.

In a rush of golden fur and pure white fangs and claws the beast launched toward me. I loaded the arrow, sighted at the great beast and fired!