There's got to be more than this, I don't want to just exist.
As a hollow house for bones, more alone every minute.
Wake up, you're sleeping.
Wake up, you're sleeping behind the wheel.

Senses Fail - Yellow Angels

The rest of my shift dragged by, the clock seemed to be ticking through molasses and failing miserably. I had never felt so alive, so energized as when I saw the lion, with his electricity coursing through me. So in contrast, I felt dead and dull, even more bored with my mundane life now that I knew how I could feel, all because of him.

Him. It's sad that's all I could call him. That or Lion. I wished I knew his name, but what could I have said, 'Hey there stranger, you remind me of the king of the jungle, is your name by chance Simba?'.

I'd probably never see him again anyway, and I'd probably never feel his electricity in my veins again. People like him don't live in my town. They must have just been passing through, like I wished I was.

What I couldn't understand was how someone's presence could affect me in such a way. I had never felt that electricity before and considering that such a strong physiological response could be due to the proximity of a complete stranger sounded insane, even to me.

And the fear? That dark pit that had tried to beckon me down, so complete, spiraling, drowning. I couldn't even remember the last time I had felt fear like that, except in my nightmares. I hadn't even been afraid of the dark as a child, more like comforted by it, like it was covering me, protecting me, hiding me from the white-hot judgments and spotlights of the world. Even so, something in me felt like running and hiding when he looked at me with his too-blue eyes, so dark they seemed black from afar.

I felt trapped by his strange eyes when they had locked mine from across the store like I could only look away once he released me. He gave me a mixture of curiosity, desire, and fear that I had never known before. The curiosity greatly outweighed the fear, though. I felt drawn to him and the danger he seemed to radiate.

But it didn't matter. I came to the same depressing conclusion I always did when I would daydream and get too deeply caught in some fantasy just to realize my world would never live up to it; I would just have to suffer through fifty or so more years of excruciating boredom and disappointment before I could drop dead and either make it to heaven, hell, or cease to exist completely. Anything as long as I didn't have to deal with feeling pulled towards a life that didn't actually exist.

My mind knew that magic, werewolves, and old Nessie weren't real, but it was as if my body, my being, was still trying to pull my mind into believing silly ideas and fantasies. Even so, sometimes I felt like my body knew something I didn't, but then I'd just scold myself for thinking myself into such a dismal rut again. Best to not even dream of more, less disappointment that way.

Each time I thought about things like that it ended the same way anyway - with me depressed at the world for not being more, angry at myself for expecting it to be something it could never be, and once again feeling crazy, like there was something wrong with me because I felt so drawn to the impossible, the imaginary.

I spent the remainder of my shift consciously trying to keep my mind as far from Lion, his followers, and the disenchantment of my sorry world as I could. I threw on autopilot. I worked, rang up customers, and politely said hello and goodbye, but I wasn't really there, everything just happened mechanically. Just like my entire life.

Finally, the clock neared the end of my shift and my replacement got there early. I clocked out and walked to my car, feeling even worse than usual, even less than my normal half-alive state of being. Every blonde I saw out of the corner of my eye as I drove home looked like Lion and I had to double-take to be sure he wasn't sitting on a street bench, or walking along the sidewalk. I felt obsessed.

I tossed and turned all night. My dreams often made sleeping a strenuous task and my damp and twisted sheets each morning attested to the fact, but this was different. My dreams were darker than usual, with strange creatures, not quite human, but not any animal I recognized either, shining black eyes and sharp teeth.

» ✦ «

I was running, hiding from something. It felt like I had been my whole life. I was in a city at night, my city, but I didn't know the streets I ran through. Lamplights and strange shadows swirled by me as I ran. Finally, I turned into an alley, too tired to run anymore, and cowered against the cold brick of the building, feeling its moisture soak into my shirt and stick it to my shoulder blades, sending a chill down my spine as I gasped in ragged breaths.

And then there he was, Lion, but he looked different - magnificent. His skin glowed bronze, perfectly tanned as if he lived nearer the sun than the rest of us, his eyes were a deep, dark, bottomless navy, and his face was absolute perfection, all sharp lines, and strong features. His eyes shone brighter than the streetlights I had run under, with regal high cheekbones and a straight mouth - perfection in its purest form. Everything that had seemed dull earlier that day was now heavenly, devastatingly, beautiful. Heightened to be on par with how I imagined a god to look. He was simply more, in every way.

He was smiling, not the smirk from the store, but a genuine smile that showed his straight, white teeth and complimented the cut of his jaw, the dim light glancing off it in an almost reverent way, like even the alley we stood in needed to highlight his beauty. His smile reached his eyes and their hard edge was gone, nothing hidden in their depths, just the breathtaking fire and sharp mind I had glimpsed earlier in my store. A bright energy that burned with a passion I had never seen the match to.

He had a look of near awe on his face, of joy and relief, as if he was seeing something he had been searching for. I felt happy too, a rare feeling bubbling up in me and making me feel light. I was high on it and it quivered through my chest. I had never felt it before, not like this, but it was intoxicating.

Joy.

He said something, but our world was muted, the space between us swallowing up his words. I stepped closer to hear him, to go to him, join him, and suddenly his eyes darkened, the warning of danger resurfacing in them, a deep, violent anger that was confident it would be sated.

The whites of his eyes seemed to retreat and soon they shrank and disappeared completely, leaving black soulless orbs gazing back at me. His face turned to something depraved and ferocious, he was still overwhelmingly beautiful, but with a brutal edge that was frightening. He looked like Lucifer himself. I had always heard he was beautiful. His smile was still there but it had morphed into a predator's carnal grin, showing elongated, pointed teeth. Too many, too sharp, too close.

He lunged at me, his arms outstretched, and I could feel them encircle me instantly. He was too quick and strong for me to run or fight and my light feeling was swept away as dark rage took its place, for being trapped, for being tricked, for being weak. But even with my anger rising, burning through me, I couldn't get away. I felt suffocated, crushed as he squeezed, my bones groaning as panic welled up and I realized it was too late...

» ✦ «

I woke with a start on the floor of my studio apartment. I stared up at the plain off-white ceiling for a moment to gather myself, to push down the anger that had clenched my jaw and ground my teeth, the panic hidden beneath still swimming in my veins. I had a headache already. A great start to my day.

Eventually, I checked the clock as I pawed my way back under the ball of sheets in the center of my mattress and saw it was almost six. Instead of trying to fall back into fitful sleep just to be woken up by my screeching alarm. I turned on the news.

There had been a smattering of murders in the nearest city for the past few weeks and every local news station was salivating at being able to cover such a significant story. Small-time stations finally had something to talk about other than cats in trees and the overpricing of commuters' morning coffees. The anchor on channel five was gravely urging young people, who seemed to be the killer's main target, indoors at night.

I flipped it off and instead turned on the radio. I didn't want to see any more crying families on the news. It just reminded me that I was heartless. I didn't feel sad for the families, I didn't feel sorry for their loss. Only curious.

I wondered what the scene looked like, why the killer had done it, what was he or she gaining? How many others had they killed? What did the victims look like when they were looking up into the eyes of their murderer, knowing they were about to die? What did they see in the killer's eyes? What did the killer see when they stared back? What did it feel like?

The only thing I was truly upset about was how the city was getting such a bad reputation. I loved the city, especially at night when it was still and mysterious. I hated seeing it on TV like it was something evil and should be avoided. I felt protective of it, as if I should defend its honor and remind its citizens that it wasn't the darkened city's fault it had some psychopath running along its streets hacking bar-hoppers to bits.

I often walked through the empty streets on warm nights. But my last few walks had been strange and made me feel more and more paranoid, always thinking I saw some impossible movement in the shadows or a distorted face in a passerby. I had stayed away for more than a week just to try to reassure myself that I wasn't crazy. It hadn't been working very well, I was still seeing unexplainable things, or thought I was, at least slivers of them.

When the killing spree first began, I used to find myself walking by the crime scenes, I didn't know why or even notice when I turned in their directions. I would just find myself there, gazing at where the empty body had been hours before. Where the burden of murder had shook the earth hours earlier, violating the city's sewers with its aftermath, wondering what it had been like.

I knew there must be something wrong with me, to draw me to death so calmly. Maybe I was a psychopath too deep down, just like the news was saying the city's gruesome butcher was. Maybe I simply hadn't done the things they had because I hadn't had the opportunity yet. Maybe I was a monster too, a killer, or something worse.

I had always felt different, drawn to suffering and pain, danger and risks, like my midnight walks through a city hunted by a murderer. I figured it was just because I was sick of being bored in my dull, dry life. Maybe I had a death wish. I had never been afraid of dying, probably because I had never been a huge fan of living, and even if I had been, I rarely felt threatened. The hooded strangers out at night largely left me alone, it seemed that their instincts told them to stay to the shadows they lurked from. The few who didn't cower away typically changed their minds once they got close. But then again, most of them were probably tweaked out of their minds, who knows what they thought they saw when they looked at me.

Sometimes I wished they would try something, just once, but I guess even the addicts and muggers knew the glint in my eye wasn't a bluff. Everyone must feel that way sometimes though, begging for danger, pleading with the world to give them a reason to act out their bloodiest fantasies. I was sure I wasn't the only person who felt empty inside, dark in a way that wasn't some angsty phase. I couldn't possibly be the only person fascinated by pain and death and torture. I imagined most people had to work as hard as I did to be good.

We're all evil creatures, after all, humans certainly aren't naturally good. History has proven that. So I must be normal, I must be the same as how everyone else feels, deep down, they just didn't admit it to themselves like I did. I assumed it was an uphill battle every day to be a decent human being for most people, it couldn't just be me.

I had always felt different in many ways, but I was sure that others could turn off their conscience too and not think of the terrible things they knew they were capable of without remorse. I convinced myself of it. I had to. Who wants to admit they have to force themselves to be a normal human and not a monster every damn day?

Some days I felt almost normal, some days I didn't. Today I didn't, I felt dark. Maybe I'd walk through the city tonight, dare danger to find me. Maybe I'd taunt some lowlife into attacking me, so I could put my delusional belief that I was somehow stronger and more vicious than a true criminal to the test. Maybe I really did want to die, to be killed, to be the next person found in some alley, torn up and strewn over a city block by the killer. Maybe deep down I knew I was bad, evil, or broken, and I wanted to put myself down, protect the world from what I would one day do when I inevitably snapped.

Hopefully, I wouldn't feel this way all day, maybe work would beat me back into a numb existence and I would be able to leave my self-loathing thoughts behind.

I parked behind my ugly, grey building and tried to gather my willpower. I stared into my visor's mirror as I attempted to convince myself that this was all there was to life, so I might as well accept it. Existence; that's all. But I didn't want to merely exist.

I stepped out of my car and slowly began to walk toward the store like I was walking to my gallows.

My shift was just as uneventful as expected. No sign of Lion or his pride. I was oddly disappointed, even though I hadn't expected to see them again. I went along with my work rituals of counting the ceiling tiles, playing tic-tac-toe with myself, and doing anything else I could to stay entertained, but my mind was elsewhere.

At some point my shift ended. I drove to the city. There was a particular area where the first victim was found, most of her at least, that I was used to regularly trekking. It wasn't late in the afternoon yet, so I figured it couldn't be too foolish to go for a walk since it wasn't technically evening.

The shadows were long, but the sun was still visible between the buildings, casting a golden glow in some places and allowing for black shadows to gather in others. It made the glass buildings look on fire, so bright they hurt my eyes, leaving the rest of the shorter ones in deep grays and blues. The contrast was beautiful. Almost as much as the city was at night, with its lampposts blinking their yellowed light on dark streets, futilely trying to chase away the night but only illuminating small circles of pavement like pools of hazy moonlight in my woods back home.

It was just before that in-between hour where drivers aren't quite sure if they need their headlights on or not. I put on my headphones to prevent unwanted conversations and started roaming the familiar streets, the pounding of bass resounding in my ears.

Eventually, I found myself in a more shaded neighborhood, near where the most recent dissection had taken place. The news stations had been close to hysterical as this was the first killing in a residential section of the city, with stacked urban apartments on either side of the alley the man was discovered in.

I told myself I was just going to walk by and ignore the side street. I even crossed the narrow avenue so I would be further from the alley's entrance. But just like a car crash, I glanced over and slowed as I passed.

It was darker in the alley and I had to squint to see. I could just barely make out some vague shapes and movements. I narrowed my eyes further, curious of who would still be at the scene at this hour. Unlucky rookie officers tasked with the chore of securing the perimeter from gore whores for the night?

It was then that I noticed it. A slight tingle all over my body had been steadily growing stronger, like when your hand prickles after falling asleep. But something was familiar in it, new but known. I stopped dead in my tracks. It was them, him. It must be, I couldn't see enough to be positive, but the feeling running over my body was proof enough for me.

As I tried to make out which one was Lion, one of the shadowed figures looked up and over to where I was across the street. The image seemed to shimmer, almost like I was looking at them through immense heat rising off asphalt or a mirage in the desert. Except it wasn't a hot day, the temperatures hadn't climbed past mild in weeks.

I felt the same push and pull I had when he had been in my store. A part of my mind was screaming at me to turn and run, that this wasn't safe, that he wasn't safe. It was like I felt anger coming from the alleyway, the heat of it trying to singe my mind. I could almost sense that he was the push, and I was the pull. I remembered how it had felt like he was trying to make me back down, to frighten me in the store. I felt the same intimidation now, but stronger like he was trying to force me away and I was clawing at the pavement to hold my ground.

The voice that was begging me to leave, the logical part of my mind that was shrieking a warning was starting to fade, stifled by something else. I felt irrevocably drawn to him, almost physically pulled to him. The push was losing the battle. All I could think of was that I couldn't believe I was seeing him again or at least feeling him again. There was something about him, and I wasn't going to lose my chance a second time.

I made to step off the curb towards them, my mind in a trance from its need, when the figure lifted his arm, palm facing me.

A gust of hot, dry air knocked me off my feet. A moment later an inner-city bus flew past. I hadn't even looked at the street to see if any cars were coming. I had felt like no one else existed in the world, as if it was only Lion and me, like the rest of life had melted away, and somehow I was alone with him.

I looked around and saw the strange looks I was getting from passersby as I sat on the curb where I had fallen. I looked back to the alley but it was empty. I wasn't surprised.

I sat on that curb for a long time, trying to find an explanation that satisfied me. Had I just been saved by a lucky breeze? The air had been so hot, it wasn't like the occasional stubborn warm winds that blew between the buildings, funneling themselves along the sidewalks, refusing to give up summer's hold. It had felt like opening an oven, but more solid, a shove, stronger than any wind I had felt before.

It looked like the one who had seen me, Lion I assumed, had thrown it at me when he raised his arm. But that wasn't possible. What had they been doing in that alley? And if they were on a crime scene, why hadn't someone made them leave? Where did they disappear to so quickly?

So many things didn't add up. I finally gave up, found my car, and drove home in a daze. When I got back to my little apartment complex it was dark out.

Mysteries are multiplying, but answers are coming, don't you worry, dear readers! Action and maybe even (gasp) a conversation in chapter 3.

I am painfully aware of the lack of speaking in these first two chapters, but hey, it goes with the character and her utter lack of social interaction/care/normalcy. Besides, who needs friends when you can just talk to yourself as much as our dear main does? And now you've gotten a peek into her mind.

It all has a point, I swear this to you.
Enjoy babes and dears!