After I woke up after the last incident, I got to wonderin’. Was whatever that was goin’ on here, with me, my death…was it all now startin’ to spiral out of control? Was I losin’ what was left of my humanity…of my sanity? The feelins’ I got when I was surrounded by all those people. It was unhealthy. It wasn’t me. I knew it, but I so badly wanted to act on it. Kill. I can’t forget that feelin’. I can’t shake it off. It’s hauntin’ me and I know…I know somethin’ is goin’ on here, but I just don’t know what.
I got out of bed and wandered around the house. The wife and kids weren’t anywhere to be found, save for the note my wife left me about goin’ to the store. I figured I’d go for a drive somewhere. Maybe go into town and take a walk down by the pond. I use to go there when I’d get batshit crazy. I figured it’d do me some good, ya know?
Well, it didn’t quite go as planned…
Bob wandered around the pond. He’d change benches here and there ever so often. Nothing was giving him the supposed “right spot” to chill out. He sighed and got up, beginning to wander to the next bench in hopes of being able to calm his troubled mind.
As he walked along the sidewalk, he noticed a glimmer caught his eye on the grass. He walked over and inspected the knife that laid out prominently. It was a basic hunting knife. No different than any other he saw at the stores he would frequent. This one, however, was so… Warm. Inviting. A tool for hunting. Cooking. And murder.
The last thoughts of the prior event came back, full on surging; flowing throughout his entire being. He needed to quench his bloodthirst. Somehow, some way. Maybe, just maybe if I can’t die, there are no repercussions for me? Bob thought on this for a moment. He looked at the knife and held it, wielding it as if he were to drive it deep into someone’s neck; the intent of taking a life. He could see his reflection, a slight grin, turn into a full on sadistic, gleeful smile.
Without hesitation, he acted fast. He plunged the blade deep into the side of his neck. Blood spurted across the sidewalk and onto the grass. People screamed and fled. Others rushed to try and save the hapless bastard. Bob laid there dying, frightened, scared, for the first time in a long, long time. Slowly the warm orange day’s glow faded to black. All the sounds of car engines roaring, and the stamping of feet on concrete went to nothing.
He went back to what he knew best, nothing.
As the moment passed, Bob awoke in the park on a bench. A scar on his neck retold the story of what had just transpired. No one noticed him, at first anyways, until he sat up and stared down at his hands. The knife had remained.
“What the hell is goin’ on?” said Bob.