You're walking down the street, your hands buried in your pockets, shielding them from the biting cold. The wind is blowing lightly, but it's enough to make your shiver in your clothes. Above you, stars and streetlights shine down and light your way- but as you begin to make your way towards your apartment complex- something standing in the middle of the street catches your eye- and you halt completely.

A block down from where you are, stands a man- no younger than nineteen, drenched in blood. He's breathing heavily, his chest heaving and fast, warm puffs of breath fogging in front of his face. He smiles manically, his wide, deranged eyes locked on you, as if you're the only thing in existence. In his right hand, is a large, heavy sledgehammer, also covered in blood, the metal end dripping the dark and red liquid.

The only noise you can hear is that soft tapping of the fluid hitting the concrete by his feet. it's as if everything zones in on him- and him only. Aside from his heaving chest, the only other thing that moves on his body are his trembling hands and arms, his fingers gripping the handle of the sledgehammer so tight- it's like his life depends on it, like he's ready to use it at any second.