An Interlude With a Tiger

“This is unreal,” Ron said to himself.

The four hundred-fifty pound Bengal tiger that stood a mere ten feet from him disagreed. Ron looked like a real enough snack.

The tiger’s black stripes were striking in the afternoon sun they didn’t serve as a well enough camouflage against the backdrop of the clock tower and the rest of Blue Street, but it didn’t matter that much, the tiger licked it’s lips and knew that it would all be over in a matter of seconds.

Ron was frozen. He glanced over at his nearby car. Could he make it? Should he make it? In the end it didn’t matter, the tiger lunged at him with a snarl, making Ron’s choice for him. He bolted. He tore the driver’s side door open and hopped in. As the tiger hopped onto the hood of the car and poked its head over the windshield Ron regretted buy a convertible. The tiger’s teeth were bared. Ron trembled as he stared into what he thought would be the last face he would ever see. Suddenly, the clock struck one and rang out its melody of timekeeping. The tiger turned its head. Ron started the car. The tiger snapped back. The engine growled. The tiger growled. Ron honked the horn. The startled tiger jumped up off the car. Ron backed out and sped off, probably making him the first person ever who was actually saved by the bell.