The October skies had cast a cloud unto the entire city. The street lights gave the mist an orange glow. Orange, everything was orange, a cold orange. Vague silhouettes faded in and out of the fog; lampposts, parking meters, trees that erupted from the earth as though she had hands—claws even. It was a bitter cold; wet, unsettling, claustrophobic. As he wandered through the dim abyss, a disconcerting noise had caught his attention from behind. Was the noise from within? No. Leaves. Wind. Must be leaves. He turned around to reassure himself. He focused on the brown and yellow splotches beneath the autumn air.

The leaves were wet; stuck to the ground by the miserable mucus that October had spat down all day long. A voice? Who would walk the streets at this hour? He was obsessing, he had heard nothing.

In the instant that he began to move onward the troubling sound again erupted from the void. It was a voice, not unlike his own. The beast was in his presence. He had encountered the beast before; this was his season, his weather. In previous engagements the creature had had its way with him. He would panic, run, exhaust, and surrender. However this instance was unique. This time he expected the beast, he understood its dynamics, knew its purpose.

He had awaited this moment with the same uneasy temperament that a terminally ill patient awaits death, agitatedly, but prepared. Mind games, it had a hard time with mind games. Chemical warfare, the drugs slowed it down. His fear was overtaken with a taste for vengeance.

He stepped towards the source of the sound to discover a puddle that had not existed when he first walked the path. And through the dark glassy plane he stared his oppressor in the eye with the fury that only a lonely man can understand.