All Hallow's Eve

I'm sitting down, back against the rough bark of a tree, surveying the graveyard. Burnt out candles litter the place, a testament to the gathering that night. Hours pass by lazily, the time spent in reflection and contemplation. I keep my head down. A man's thoughts can be busy at any time, which compliments my irregular sleep schedule. Lately, I've been having dreams. Lots of dreams... Sometimes I can scarce tell when my waking hours begin and the dream world's end. I needed to clear my head. An almost incoherent flutter of wings, and a hoot indicates the arrival of the owl. The owl, sigil of Athena, watcher in the night, I would follow in your ways. Silent. Alert. Deadly. The characteristics of an Alpha Predator. It makes you wonder what kind of evolutionary fluke allowed humans to dominate in the first place. Humanity, when you take away it's tools and toys, is so weak compared to the ferocity of nature. After all, not every human has it's own set of claws. Unlike the man sitting in the graveyard at 4 AM, sent by his dreams, rambling in his mind about the significance of predator and prey, deriving it from the hooting of an Owl. It's cold, for once in this town of warmth and life, as it feels like this resting place for the dead is different, and rightfully so. I release visible breath into the air, kindling a small flame in my left hand, a source of heat among the chilled stone and dark grass. So I sit by a grave, waiting for something: a revelation, enlightenment,  the rapture, anything... And as I do, the events of the previous evening replay in my head. All Hallow's Eve.

"HE'S DEAD! HE'S DEAD! THERE IS A DEAD MAN NEAR MY NOODLES!!! SOMEBODY CALL DE COPS! HE'S HE'S DEAD! HELP ME! HE'S DEAD!!" The piercing cries elicited a sense of unease in me, as I traversed down Sycamore, lit by streetlights and glowing pumpkins. The ornate silver Masquerade mask felt comforting, obscuring half of my face from the other passerby in costume. Mr. Ling-Ling was in evident hysteria, babbling about murder. The man seemed to have a knack for shitty situations. And that's when I noticed him. The man with the flashing metal object running into an alley. It took me a moment, and I realized what I'd just witness. I weighed my options. I don't ever kill people who don't need to die. Unlike this murderer. I'd heard about him on the news. He had hardly any class, killing his targets in front of several people. He's a loose end, regardless of his intentions. And what happens to loose ends? 
They are cut off.

Ditching the half-mask, I take chase.

He notices early on, making his best efforts to shake me. "Stay back!" He ran into an abandoned building, shattering the window and breaking through. I quickly followed, kicking the door in, my trench coat flapping behind me. I heard the faint sound of the knife whistling, as he leapt out of the darkness, practically snarling. I barely dodge it, the bloodied object tearing through the fabric of my shirt. Kicking him away, I scrambled backwards in an undignified manner, then tore up a few flights of stairs, and burst into the night air, the roof above me. He emerged behind me, slowly approaching. He giggles to himself. With a strange approach, as if he's being controlled by some dark puppeteer, his walk is unbalanced. Hr brandishes the bloody knife. "I wouldn't do that." I warn. And then the roof caught fire. Sparking, shimmering, beautiful fire. It warmed the night air, leaping upwards into the field of stars. Wielding a flame in each hand, I slowly walked towards him, hiding the fact of the painful tugging in my stomach, and how much the effort of making this has drained me. It's his turn to scramble backwards. "What the hell?!" Police sirens can be heard in the distance. That could be problematic. The police can have him. He dashed back into the stairwell, away from me, and I soon spotted him in the street, still running. It wasn't really my place to begin with. I stared down the 4 stories over the edge of the building, the fires slowly dying down, my hands extinguished.

There exists a psychological phenomenon in which perfectly sane people, with no desire to die, find themselves faced with a steep cliff or tall building, and experience a strong desire to leap. To jump from their safe vantage point into the unknown. The phenomenon is so common in fact, that the French have a term for it: L'appel du Vide - Call of the Void. And I felt it strongly at the moment. I imagined my lifeless body on the ground. Blood puddling from the crumpled form. A broken neck. I was leaning outwards. And then shook my head, and pulled back. Not today. My time would come, but not today. And so I walked to the graveyard to think, not looking back for a second.

Lonesome Road

Fall sauntered in with the smugness of a late but expected and honored guest, refusing to drastically alter the weather. Still, I welcome it with open arms. Briskly exiting Maplewood, I start in the direction of Another Man's Treasure, almost bumping into a downcast young man on his way in. Aware of the crate in my arms, the force of gravity tugging it downwards, I make a split second decision. "You wouldn't happen to like vinyls, would you?" He gives me a bewildered glance, and shrugs, muttering something unintelligible. "Just take them." I was about to get rid of them anyways, and it gives me one less place to go to on my way to work. The job is incredibly dull, shifting crates for 5 hours in the back of City Lights, but I hardly notice, wrapped up in my own thoughts. The man in the purple zoot suit is nowhere to be seen. At 5:00, I drift back down Milk street to the apartments, silent as a ghost. A quick glance into Freedom tattoo, just to be safe. We have a history, this street and I. Many significant things have happened here, ingrained into my memory possibly forever. I am greeted by the smell of food cooking as I approach the statue in the roundabout. Memories flicker by with the passing of the few cars.

Laughter. Burnt food. Shouting. 

My brother and I tromping through leaf piles. He turned to me, laughing. I remember tripping. Shock and pain followed. It gets less clear here... The fire was quick and unrelenting, spreading through the pile of leaves with unholy speed. We both ended up in the hospital, the cookout ended, our parents speaking with suspicion. "It just came out of nowhere." "No way it could've started just like that." But on some level, somewhere in my head, I knew. And from then on, I told myself: No more fires. No more fires.

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts and whipping back to my current reality. I've been standing at the corner for a few minutes, and it's bound to attract some attention. I press forward, passing a pumpkin truck to the left of the building, and come to a stop as I take in the scene. People of all sorts gather to create indistinct chatter in the background. The parking lot is clear of cars, and the center is taken up by several grills preparing hotdogs, burgers, and the like. I'm approached by someone, but I'm still relatively lost in my thoughts. "I'm Lucille." A hand is stretched out. I shake it. "Nice to meet you, I'm Paul." But I hardly notice them, and can't recall their face a few seconds after. I need to get out of here. As the sun begins to slip downward, I hoist a pumpkin off the truck, and enter Maplewood Crest.