"I'm falling, slipping through your hands, and I don't want to disappear from this life. I can't feel anything anymore, and I just want you to let me back, want to be breathing again. I'm being torn apart each second, further and further more and what do I have to say about that? Obviously too much.

I'm looking in your eyes but I can't find anything to see; I'm looking through your perspective, but all I see is darkness, all I see is the vision of a blind man, a man who knows naught but what was laid before him, a man not ready to accept the world around him.

I can't blame you for feeling like that though. I mean, who would want to touch this world? Who would want to even acknowledge this world in the slightest.? Wouldn't it, sometimes, just be easier to die? Surely it would. Of course, no one is meant to die, at least, not any more. Death used to be so natural, then you took it and destroyed it. Are you ready to accept that it will all end some day for you?"

He grimaced just a bit after musing for too long upon these devices. After all, he wasn't a pessimist. Well, he didn't WANT to be a pessimist, but deep on the inside, he knew he was one. What really got him was… who was he talking to in his head? Why did he keep saying "you," to himself?

It was about 4 P.M., and he was walking down the street. A red car, a blue car, a blur of the spectrum passed him by in what seemed like an instant, in what seemed like an eternity. Looking to the sky, he saw the clouds masking the sun.

"I wonder why the sun lets the clouds do that to it… It's obviously a dominant creature, right? It makes no sense. Why would it let it's life-giving light be blocked by something as simple as clouds?"

His left hand fumbled throughout the contents of his left pocket, a mixture of mostly lint, keys, and a few bits of candy here and there. Why the candy was still in there, he had no clue. But he knew what he had to do. He removed his left hand from his pocket with a piece of candy, and popped it right into his mouth.

His right hand slid out of his other pocket, grasping a switchblade. It had some stains of blood on it, from last night. He had accidentally cut himself while playing with it…

Well, to say playing with it would be a lie. In reality, last night, he had been at the house of a specific person. Her boyfriend. WHo she is is indeed to be revealed in due time. Let's call her Lauren, and her boyfriend Glenn, just to associate them to something. Glenn thought he could escape the grasp of a psychotic killer. But Glenn was anything but right.

As Glenn kicked back to relax that night, a bottle of Jim Beam in hand, he wasn't aware that there was a killer outside his house. Then again, it isn't really fair to call him a killer. It's not like he ever killed anyone before then But he knew what he had to do. He slipped his switchblade into the lock of the house and broke it, a loud sound issuing from this. Glenn remained ignorant, drowning himself in his dear alcohol.

Our killer, who we will come to know as Joseph, navigated quietly through the house, though, in reality, he could have just knocked down every last item in the house, let the pots and pans clang against the ground, and Glenn still would just be back there deep-throating his Jim Beam. He may have been alarmed, but he wouldn't have done anything about it anyways. Joseph almost crawled through the house, down on all fours, so as to eliminate the possibility of being seen, as he made his way to Glenn's room.

Standing up so as to let Glenn see the twisted face of his killer, instead of scaring him by having essentially nothing open the door, Joseph kicked the door in with all of his force. Now, when I say all of his force… Joseph is about 200 pounds. And he understands how to put more force into his kicks. He doesn't know much in life, but he knows how to fight, and how to kill. It's a shame he never utilized it before this night came.

The door flew off of its hinges, and Glenn jumped up with a shriek, the bottle of Jim Beam falling down on the ground and shattering into a mind-numbingly large amount of pieces. He looked down at his Jim Beam, or rather, what used to be his Jim Beam, then back up at Joseph.

"… 'ey, who -hic- 'r ya? What're ya' doin' in my hous'? An'… why ya break m' door, man? I'm-a hafta' repair that wi… wi… "

He paused for a moment as though he were about to vomit. As it turned out, he just had a horrible cough. The alcohol surely was not helping him with this. It's not like it's that hard to figure out, though.

"Er. With m' own money. Thass' not nice, man!"

Joseph grinned an evil grin, and walked towards Glenn, raising his switchblade up.

"I'm Joseph, and I'm going to send you to a better place. I'm here to help you, Glenn. Lauren told me to come and tell you a few things. To come and help you to understand a few things."

"Yea? Well… whassat in y' hand?"

"What do you speak of? Oh, this… this is what's known as a switchblade with a serrated edge. I intend to use it to help me."

Glenn giggled drunkenly, and looked at the knife. "Yea, I betcha wil… now, lemme go get 'nother Jim, will ya?" Glenn stood up, and it became evident how drunk he was. He was stumbling around the room, trying to make it to the door. And this was much to the benefit of Joseph, for Glenn just happened to trip over…

.. And run right into the switchblade. On top of Joseph's arm, Glenn sat, barely alive, but not even noticing it, what with being so drunk, a switchblade through his heart. Glenn looked up, and looked content, happy, accepting.

"Ha, this's a dream, righ'? I'll wake up in a minute, righ?"

"No. I'm sorry that you have to feel that way, but it shows just how much of a fool you are. I'd go on some rant, soem long speech, about how poetic, or whatever you may call it, this is, but, it would be wasted upon deaf ears. And so, Glenn… To you, I say goodbye. Perhaps the afterlife will treat you better than I have."

And with that, Joseph ripped the knife out of Glenn's chest, chunks of his heart on the serrated edges. Glenn proceeded to continue falling down, as though he never stopped. Joseph turned around, and walked out of the room, cleaning off his knife. Glenn was yet to die, laughing and drowning in his blood on his hardwood floor, his heart giving out further each second. And with that event over with, Joseph walked out the front door, laughing.