The Stranger - I - An Ongoing Journey And suddenly it was all over, the screams had ceased and the old hallway was quiet again. No one dared to open their doors to discover what had caused the screaming, nor to see what had stopped it.

A figure struts down the hallway, each light burning out overhead as the stranger passes by. Finally the sound of a door opening and closing and then nothing.

The stranger roams the city, looking for fresh blood. Always looking, always wanting the sensation of a kill. It does him no good to think about the crimes he had committed in the past, only what he is going to commit in the future. Every time he stops a heart, his desires are fulfilled for only a brief moment, and then the hunger comes back. He needs the pain, he needs the sickening sounds and the gruesome scenes to keep him going, without it he feels like he begins to decay from the inside. A sickness that overwhelms him is too much to control, like a junkie looking for a fix, he wanders the streets with wide eyes and a steady pace, waiting, watching, analyzing the life seen around him. He does not know who will be next, nor does he care for a name, marital status or job position, as long as there is a heart beating, his hunt will continue.

Maybe it was his upbringing, abusive parents that disregarded him until they needed something to hit, or maybe it was just something he saw, somewhere along the gnarled and misshapen road that is his life. The factors are unknown even to him, all he knows is he wants to continue taking lives of others. Innocent, guilty and anything in between, it does not matter, and probably never will.

It's three o'clock in the morning. The stranger does not stop to rest until he has found one more victim for the night. He wanders down an almost pitch black alleyway, a cat jumps from behind a dumpster and scampers away. Animals never satisfied his hunger. He killed a bear with a bowie knife once, but he was hungry immediately after. It was something about humans, maybe the smell of fresh blood, sweat and tears that drove him. Animals don't fear for their lives, they simply accept the circumstances. They don't cry and beg for mercy or apologize and repent before their death. They fight, no compassion, no other objective besides kill or be killed.

A man was sleeping in the alleyway, snoring loudly. A bottle of bourbon, almost empty was on it side and rolling around the man by force of the wind. The man cried out in his sleep, shouting "NO! You bastards! NO!" Followed by more mumbling and then resumed snoring. Although it was too easy for him to kill this man in his sleep, the hunger overtook him as he stood over the body. His fingers extended and he bent down, grabbing the man by his neck. He woke up yelped, grabbed his arms and tried to get free. It was a grip of death, the man knew he was going to die and realized there was nothing he could do about it. Slowly he let his arms drop to the ground and the proceeded to stare into his killers eyes. His breathing slowed from an excited gasp for air to a calm rasp as he felt fingers dig into the back of his neck, his jugular being crushed by the incredible force of murderous hands. Slowly the rasp faded, and the man was dead. The stranger stood lied down next to the man and slept for several hours, feeling relieved, fulfilled and warm inside.

He awoke three hours later, the alley still quiet, the sun starting to peek out over the horizon. Sitting up and stretching, he prepared himself for another day. He wondered how long he could go without having to take a life. But the moment he thought about murder, the hunger came back. Like a fire in the pit of his stomach, creeping up his neck and into the back of his eyes. He needed more. It was much harder to kill someone in the day, so many people watching. He couldn't get caught. If he got sent to prison he would be so limited. Only two people to a cell, he could only take a life every once in a while. It wouldn't be enough.

He wandered through the streets for the day, food and shelter were his second priorities. He was hunting again, this time he needed a challenge. Up and down the streets for hours, looking for the perfect person. He spotted a cop breaking up a small fight that had occurred in front of a café. The cop stood over the two bodies and tore the man on top off. He flung him a good five or six feet and watched him land on his face. Bleeding from the nose and mouth the man stood up and tried to run away. Putting his boot on the neck of the man still on the ground, he adopted a firm stance, drew his sidearm and shot once. The running man had gotten maybe thirty feet when he dropped. He didn't make a sound, besides that of his face smashing off the pavement again. He didn't move, neither did the cop for a moment. He may not have meant to kill him. Handcuffing the man on the ground he lifted him up and took him to the squad car parked about fifty feet away. The running man still lay there, a pool of blood quickly forming from where the bullet had pierced the back of this head and exited out of his right eye.

The stranger had found his next target. Someone like him. Someone not afraid to take the life of another . This would be a challenge, but this would give him his fix for a sufficient amount of time. The cop had to wait around for an ambulance, when it arrived the corpse was wrapped up and thrown into the back of the vehicle. The cop got into his car and sped away. The stranger remembered his face. There was no escaping for this boy in blue. He was the next target, and nothing could change that. Slowly the stranger made his way to the police station and found the cop's car parked out front of the building. He had remembered the number on the back of the car. Making sure no one was looking, he slid under the car and found a place to hold onto, elevating himself only inches off the ground. He waited for several hours, but to him it was fully worth it. He could already feel the adrenaline rushing through his body, he did not rest and remained elevated for three hours before the cop get into his car and drove for about half an hour.

He arrived at a house, parked at the curb in front and turned off the car. He remained in the car for a few minutes, inaudible mumbles could be heard faintly through the chassis. The door opened, the stranger saw the polished boots hit the pavement and walk towards the house, as he approached the door he rang the doorbell and waited. While he was waiting the stranger crawled out from underneath the car and began running at his target. The door opened, a man in a wifebeater carrying a Budweiser briefly glanced at the cop, then at the stranger barreling towards him. His openmouthed reaction got the cop on guard. Before he even attempted to turn around he lowered his arm and drew his pistol. As the cop spun around he had enough time to get off a single shot; the bullet penetrated the left shoulder but did nothing to stop his objective. With his left hand he tore the pistol out of the cops hands and grabbed him by the throat. The Budweiser could be heard smashing onto the cement stair, the guy had turned and ran into the house, undoubtedly to grab a firearm, possibly to call for more police.

The cop swung with his left and landed it on the side of the strangers face. At this point in time physical pain was impossible to acknowledge, he smiled slightly and squeezed until he could feel his fingers touch each other through his throat. Arms flailing uselessly as less and less oxygen was received by the brain, he was soon cut off from everything, his body went limp, but he did not drop onto the ground, he remained on his toes through the stranger, just holding him by the throat, studying exactly how his victim was dying. The stared at each other, the cops eyes wild with the realization of impending loss of life, the strangers were calm, filled with joy and a slightly watery, this was his Nirvana. And just like that, at his climactic moment, it was over. The stare was maintained no longer, the cops eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was dead. He was dropped to the ground, the goal had been achieved.

He had almost forgotten about the owner of the house. His voice could be heard emanating through the back of the house, "You wanna kill a cop on my property mother fucker?! I'll show you!" The faint sounds of a shotgun being loaded had made it convincing enough that he could do something, but it didn't matter. The stranger stood in the doorway, grabbed the body of the cop, picked him up by the same spot and held him towards the hallway leading to the door. "Take shit fucker!" The guy screams as he pops around the corner and unloads two cartridges into the carcass. The second blast penetrated the body completely and the stranger took a few shards into his left shoulder, but was still not at liberty to feel any pain.

It took a few seconds for the guy to realize that he just mutilated an officers body and he reloaded. By the time he had cocked the shotgun the stranger had already grabbed the barrel with his right hand and wrapped his left hand around the back of the guy's head, pushing his face into the barrel of the shotgun. The guy struggled but before he could remove his finger from the trigger guard the stranger kneed the weapon and set off a shot. It sprayed all over the hallway leading into the house. You could hear other people inside, screaming for their lives and calling out , presumably the just deceased's name. The man without a face stiffened up before he had hit the ground, and made a thud of something with no give whatsoever.

It was time to go, that was just a slight kicker compared to his prize. He has overestimated the situation, he had thought he was in for a hell of a fight, but to him, a fight should go on for an hour before either side lets themselves die. It was only enough for a day, he spent the entire day digging the metal out of his shoulder and mending his wounds. Food had become necessary for survival, he knew there were certain things he could consume that would help him heal in a matter of days, he knew that there were many different aspects of taking the energy out of humans, he needed to kill to live, it was the most basic of mentalities but it was all the stranger knew.

He found an easy kill that night, a kid, maybe in his early twenties, full of life, skating in a park after dark. He took no joy in this kill, there was nothing to it except for the aspect of survival. The kid saw him approaching, a silhouette walking objectively towards him, he stopped skating and waited for the approach, headphones still on his ears. "What do you want?" He yelled, the stranger didn't answer. He grabbed the kid by the mouth, covering it with one plam and dragged him into an alleyway where he propped the kid up against the wall, leaned in and apologized for what he was about to do, but it had to be done and broke his neck. He ate what he could raw, but it started to overturn his stomach after a while. He started a small fire in the alley and cooked small parts at a time, hiding the body in a nearby dumpster. Homeless people wandering around would stumble into the alley and scream out in drunken pleasure 'mmmm.. smells great! Can I get some of that?" and other attempts, but at they approached, every single one got a glimpse of the stranger, and changed their minds on trying to get any food. He ate until he could not possible eat anymore, both legs and arms had been devoured, the heart and a part of the brain that is said to increase strength.
He had learned this by no means of his own, he had just known certain things for as long as he could ever remember anything in his life.  ¶ 21:28