• Byron frowned as the moon began its daily watch upon the darkened earth. Just as the darkness absorbed all light from its target, Byron felt something was absorbing the life from him. The small room seemed even more cramped now as Byron sat on the floor in a corner completely drowned in the silence. He had his arms propped on top of his knees and his head tucked between his arms and chest. "Just....just go away!"

    His scream reverberated through the room and fell on deaf ears. The sight. The taste. The feel. The stench. Yes. The stench was definitely the hardest thing to deal with. He was paralyzed by the guilt of his actions, unable to do anything more than attempt to hide from the world just as a small child would when met with a sense of danger. The sound of soft footsteps suddenly came to his attention. Byron's cold, grey hues lifted with his head. Once more, his mind ripped him from the safe haven it had momentarily fabricated and placed him back at the scene of his crime. There was blood on his hands. There was blood on his cheeks. The floor was even stained by the crimson liquid.

    The footsteps were accompanied by nearly inaudible voices. Someone was coming for him. Someone was coming for Byron. Languidly, Byron hoisted himself from the floor, mainly due to the help of the wall behind him. He had to move and move quickly. With subtle grace, he began moving toward the door of the room--the only exit from his current location. His shoes began to drag themselves in the pool of blood that was now rushing from the body of the man lying stiff in the center of the room. Byron calmly stepped over him. Five feet to go. Step by step, seconds by seconds, he inched his way toward the doorway, periodically stopping to listen for the footsteps and voices. Two feet to go. The large space of the building was now engulfed in the darkness of the night, shadows fleeting into every corner and lurking about with ill intent. Byron could hardly make out the world around him.

    Taking one last cautious step, he stood just inside the door frame, eyes and ears as alert as could be. The footsteps had ceased. The voices were silenced. For what seemed a painstaking hour, Byron waited at the door frame attempting to reassure himself that he was alone and that no one was there to get him. His hands had painted themselves in enough blood already. There could be no more.

    Byron inhaled deeply while closing his eyes, his right foot sliding an inch forward. Before long, his left foot followed suit. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. Thump-Thump. His heart beat out a rigid tune of fear and hope. Alas, Byron thrust himself from the doorway, finding himself suddenly overwhelmed with the vague features of the narrow hallway that stretched at least fifteen feet to either side of him. He exhaled. No one was there--or so he thought! He heard something dense fall upon the floor at his feet. Someone was there! Someone was after him! Before he even had the chance to react, the object that landed at his feet released an immense onslaught of light and sound, completely blinding Byron and making him deaf. The enemy knew where he was and he was completely defenseless!