It's quiet while being alive with voices.

I'm alone though I know that I'm surrounded by people. I remember Dumbledore- Truth uncompromisingly told will always have ragged edges.

Wha... where am I?

My eyes click open. I blink. I know, I don't wanna start every chapter of my life with those lame words- 'I wake up', but what can we do? My life is pretty dull and monotonous.

"Breathe."  I heard someone say in a rough voice. It looks like a vast chamber of sorts. I hear mumbles, shuffles of feet. I get up. "About time you wake up, Zero."  The same voice. I follow it to its owner, and I blink again.

Some people remind you of a verse. Some line from a beautiful (or ugly) poem or narrative you can connect with the person. This one didn't.

The first thing you look for, in a person, are the person's eyes. This guy was different. You looked at his face and then you looked at the scar. The white, white deep, torn scar from his upper right eyebrow, missing his eye, down and curving around his nose to end on his left lip. And that's all you ever saw. That terrible, haunted... "What're you staring at?" he asked softly. When people ask softly, either they are gentle and sad, or vicious and harsh. He, I guessed, was the latter. I shook my head and chose not to respond. I look around. People wearing black, people carrying knives, people frowning. Black, dark, deadly. I like the night. But not this night. I looked down at me. I was wearing black too. And I have no idea who the hell changed me. Is this a dream? Alice in pernicious-land? I feel some thing in my trouser pockets. I reach for it and feel the knife Walter gave me. This was nice, I guess. The person who had changed me probably wasn't a stealer. Not a thief, no. A stealer. probably not a stealer. I don't know where I got that.

"Breathe faster" I hear the scratchy voice of scar- man said. I see people line up. Mr. Scar looked at me so I get up and join the line. Few more trickle in. "You nervous?" someone behind me asks. "For what?" I ask. "The Killing." She replies.

Sometimes I wish the world could just be a little clear and a bit quiet.

I love breathing. I do. Often I wish some would stop doing that but that's just the surface thing. Deep down, I wouldn't want people to die. Deep down, I don't know. The killing? Sounds like some satanic, aesthetic (?) ritual. Maybe it is that- a ritual. Something lost and buried in depths no one should reach.

Maybe the killing is just a part of life here.

Holy shit! Am I going to be a murderer? Wait...they didn't say anything about killing a human... or maybe it's ambiguous.

I don't know what to hope for.