He convulses as he walks down the dreary mangled road. He is shrivelled and stutters to himself, muttering, “12 Charthouse Lane, Holly Hill” with every infinitesimal step he takes. His coat hangs on him like a bear, ready to consume him into itself. His tattered shoes lay scuffed at his feet, two sizes too big. His face is a sea of wrinkles all criss-crossing each other across eyes that look like dry grey pebbles.  On top of his head lies a mat of curly grey hair, dead from the negligence it’s suffered. A hat lies on top of the straggly hair, frayed and bitten. He’s tiny. Or he seems like it because he’s walking down the road in the frigid temperatures with a hunch back.

After hours, he reaches a long street and drags his heaviness to a beautiful white door with two beautiful golden plated numbers on it. 12. He rests his fatigued head on the door and turns.

Suddenly, with an unexpected burst of latent energy, he runs towards a pile of stones by the outside of the house, gathers up the lot into the many pockets of his tattered coat as they weigh him down further like missiles in his pocket and stands just outside the entrance to the house. He grits his broken yellowing teeth with wholesome umbrage and slowly mutters for the final time “12 Charthouse Lane, Holly Hill”. He throws the rocks at the house, shattering the window as the harrowing sound pierced through the midnight. He threw the stones at the house until the residents inside screamed, helpless like kittens. He constantly kept throwing them until someone from the house, a man, clean and smart walked out the door, begging him to stop. His sped doubled at the sight of a man who looked the complete opposite to him and ultimately, he killed the man as blood streamed down his ruined skull, pouring down the driveway into the street as the neighbours orange lights flickered on. The rest of the residents of the house, a woman and two children run to dead man, faces crippled with fear and cry in the now noisy night.

This man is a killer. He was a father. Not any more though. He had a wife. Not any more though. Not any more because his place was taken by another man. He’s a killer. He’s laden with rage. He’s seeking revenge. He’s insane.