His footsteps echoed through the vocational block. A tune buzzed from his lips, crawling out from his rasped throat.

In Eddie's hand clutched a rusted knife, blood - new and old - crusted on the dulled metal, staining it a brown hue crawling with bacteria, laced with infection.

"When I was a young boy, my mother often said to me! Get married son, you'll see how happy you can be!"

He sang, he sang as if there wasn't a soul who could possibly hear his raspy, harsh voice.