Nightmares happen when you're not dreaming.
The figure, slowly stepping across the ashen dirt of the streets, proves that fact. Old buildings being reduced to rubble from its charred flamethrower crumble in fire in its wake, the blood stained hatchet in its hand glinting in the cold red moonlight. But worst of all, its mask-- that old, lifeless gas mask that makes a rasping hiss whenever the killer breathes. And tonight, mercy has no meaning.
The people in the streets run to wherever they can hide; there's no fighting back. And we all know that someone will be left behind, trapped by happenstance under the shadows of the sky. It will be no time before it finds that one unfortunate person, and we will never see them again.
Sometimes I think it's a ghost.
Or an alien.
Or a prankster.
But none of those things can match what walks in the streets tonight.
c. Taylor Ward 2012. All rights reserved.
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