The mister searched through his yard, the grass dead and short. He clutched a hand-scythe in his dirty, battered fist. His breath was heavy, having been out in the rain for a while.

Saraou was known as an outcast in the neighborhood, the mister. He had difficulties talking to people with his eerie aura and childish nervous habits.

He spotted a bug, picking it up and cheering to himself,

“P-Pretty..!”

He mumbled, suddenly hearing a noise outside his fence, going to peek outside.