The woman the man was staring at was sitting on one of the wood seats, her legs crossed. She had her elbows on the austere table that lay in front of her. And, obviously, as such stories go, she was quite beautiful. Downright stunning in her hot grey shift (which was the same one every other woman was wearing). And as such stories don't go, she wasn't sitting alone. Bored men, dazed young adults, and silent women were all around her. My eyes looked around and spotted a queue for breakfast. I joined in, took a plate, took the food, and sat in one of the tables, trying to focus all my attention on the piece of bread that lay in front of me, and zone out. "If laughter is the best medicine, your face must be curing the world." Someone said. Not to me, I hoped. So me, it was. I smiled and looked up. Time to meet people. "Your mother was fined for littering when she dropped you here." He laughed. We both knew that the phrases ran old. He offered his hand. "Grief," he said. "Hmm?" "Grief. My name." I stared at him for a moment and then took his hand. "Zero." I replied and he said, "You can call me Walter, though."  I nodded.

There is only one way to describe Walter/Grief. And that one way is with a question- 'Who?' Yep. That's what he looks like. Just like your average guy. A brief smile, a lazy speech, a smile, a laugh. The end.

I tore a piece of my bread and chewed it slowly. Bland. "Well, what got you here? And don't tell me that it was..." his eyes widened and he stood up. I looked around. A few tables further, I saw the person- my 'accomplice'-who brought me here, reach into his coat pocket. It struck me as odd that he was the only one wearing a coat. Grey, of course. Monotonous, dull, insane colour- this grey... "Oh, fuck" Walter said softly. He reached for the edges of the table and flipped it over. On me. "What the-"I screamed. But everyone was screaming now. So my voice remained unheard. I tried to shuffle to my feet and saw the woman (the beautiful one with the newspaper) and at this awkward situation, we had to make eye contact. She held her gaze and put a finger to her lips. Then she was lost among the living crowd of grey. I got up to my knees and saw my accomplice (accomplice actually means a person who joins with another in carrying out some plan (especially an unethical or illegal plan) so...) hurrying towards me. He had a gun in his hand. And it just happened to be pointed straight at my chest. He carried a crazed look. An actual one with froth on his lower lip. Someone kicked me on the calf and I fell again, hurting my elbow on the table beside me. I heard shots. Three heart stopping beats of certain death.

And I felt them too.