Oh Joyous Bug
It sat there, still and silent, watching them as they walked by. So many of them passed it, not a one pausing to look around. Never noticing it. So it sat there, undisturbed.
Watching. It liked to watch, sitting–sometimes clinging–to a tree. When it did move, it did so with careful, calculated moves. Movements were what usually gave it away to them, when they noticed . . . Once or twice this had happened so far, as far as it remembered. And it possessed a large memory for things.
There was a crunching noise coming from up ahead; it tensed at the sound, a familiar shuffling. One of them. The red one, to be exact; it always limped along, carrying a stick with it. It drew near, but then fell, its foot caught on a rock.
Quivering with excitement, it crawled down from its perch, all but racing to get to the red one. Oh, the months of watching had finally paid off. As it crawled over the screaming red one, it hastily stuck a long proboscis into its neck.
Oh, it was so happy to have a meal at last.