Chapter 2 (Opening his eyes)

Raindrops could be heard echoing through the streets of London; a rhythm was forming as the raindrops were hitting the floor.

In the rain, a man, that looked rather average, was holding a bloody knife, standing Infront of a corpse.

The corpse was drowning in blood. There was so much that the stone tiles covering the floor couldn't be discerned anymore.

The blood was moving constantly on the curved tiles. With time a beautiful picture formed, the picture of a bloody flower.

It was beautiful beyond one's believes, as if not from this world. The beauty of killing was showing itself in full form without any flaws, only perfection.

The man was showing a happy and sad face at the same time. I

t was a mix between those two and the person could easily be mistaken as a maniac. But that was only the opinion of some stupid hypocrites. A maniac? No, he was rather someone realizing the truth, his own right path.

He was being freed from the shackles that were holding him back.

He could finally walk out of the prison that was called society.

He was now a bird that could flap its wings.

Now that he finally tasted freedom, he couldn't possibly close his eyes again, could he? The feeling of being free, the feeling of being on the right path was too intoxicating. The feeling was too great too amazing too addicting.

The man with the bloody knife knew he wouldn't be able to close his eyes again and return to society. The only way now was the right one, the way of killing, unleashing his deepest desires, and following the way of the true world.

The laws of the jungle were now the only laws that could hold him back. Kill or be killed was now his one and only motive.