The November air is cool and crisp; orange leaves make soft crunching sounds beneath my brown leather boots as I walk quietly through the woods. A short-cut; one that I learned as a child. Back when everything was simple. I shove my closed fists deeper into my wool jacket, ignoring the thought.

'Air, don't let your mind wander.'

That's my conscience. She's always telling me what to do. As I continue along my path, the air changes slightly. I freeze. I'm not alone. I look around, left, right, up...No one. Slowly, I begin to walk again.

"Where do you think you're going?"

I pause again. The voice comes out from behind me as something is pressed up against my head. A gun, I suppose.

"Any sudden movements and I'll blow your damn head off." The voice is sharp, but I can hear the faint shaking in it. I smile.

Well, this should be fun...

My conscience is a genius.

"Turn around," the voice barks. "Slowly."

I slowly put my hands up in mock surrender and face him. He's big. Broad shoulders, dirty brown hair, beard. He reeks of the sewer. He stares deep into my eyes. I blink and he pushes the gun to my forehead.

"You're a giver." He says. I give him a light shrug. "I wouldn't consider myself a giver, considering I'm not going to give you anything except possibly a kick to the face." I spit at his feet and he backhands me so hard that I fall into a pile of leaves. He glares down at me as I lick the stinging part of my lip, wincing at the slight pain in it. He stares at me, physically sensing my pain and I give him my best smile.

"You are a giver. Give me life, make me immortal." I stand and walk slowly towards him.

"You know," I tell him, leaning in slightly as if I'm about to tell him a secret. He eyes me suspiciously and takes a small step back. "The best thing about us givers is that in order to give..." I take another step forward until we're face to face. "We must first learn how to take."

Before he can think, I wrap both hands around his head and quickly snap his neck.