Chapter One: The Entree.

Breaking news! The London Museum of Art has just been robbed late last night, and the robbers took three Picasso’s and five Van Gough's! The tv blared the next morning, waking the entirety of London. The city was in an uproar all except two very cunning and happy lovers as they lay in bed with smiles on their faces.

It’s a quiet Sunday evening in Japan and a family are gathered around a table, singing “Happy Birthday” to their daughter. The cake in front of her is delicately layered with fudge and sat together in the very centre are two candles, a number “1” and “0”. On the edge there is a rich cream swirled all around, with fresh sliced strawberries sitting perfectly on top. Everyone is cheering except the only eldest son “Katsumi” who staggers upstairs, unimpressed by it all.

One can find a lot of big dudes on a construction site. Back when I was 15 and first started working in wood flooring, I briefly worked with a guy who could have easily been a full six foot eight. The first question that popped into my head when I met him was how a man of such proportions could have any real experience in our profession: flooring is best for short people. I am about an average man’s height and I wished I wasn’t. We needed an extra hand to complete the second crew and most guys we would run into seemed like potheads. I guess the Boss thought this one seemed levelheaded enough.

Today is the first day of Autumn, Jessica. You told me Autumn was your favourite season which I always thought was rather pretentious. You said the colours were so beautiful they made you want to cry or dance or both. All I ever saw were shades of brown. Brown and yellows; the colours of excrement. Then the Autumn rain would plaster the leaves to the pavement in a washed-out wallpaper by a decorator no one hired. You called me a pessimist. I called you foolish.

He was running the vacuum cleaner when the phone rang. A large grumpy looking man made his way across the derelict office. Endless piles of paper work lay on or below nearly every surface all but framing the room. A rug ran down the centre of it from door to window, and despite a few recent stains remained all but pristine. This had been thanks Sheila (well the clean parts anyway) the man's assistant; who he hadn't seen for at least a week.

Its Christmas 2013, I’m sitting in the back on my mother’s old oversized chair, watching everyone gather around the tree on the snow-covered morning. None have yet to notice me. Though, they never do. I watch diligently as I pass out gifts and they are opened one by one. A huge smile lights up my face as I watch my mother open the gift, I bought her. She has a small smirk on her lips, already having an idea of what was in the long slim box. What she did know was how I wrapped it, but for how often I visit this memory, you’d think she would know by now. If only they knew I was sitting right here, watching my favorite memory. I listen to my mother laugh as she opens the box and finds another wrapped package.

Jay comes through a week later. It’s seven days later than I wanted personally but unsurprisingly he’s a very hard man to pin point. I spend two days tailing him from a distance, watching his every move and noting any patterns in daily activities. For a wanted man, he’s incredibly blasé about being in the public eye. He looks no different to before it happened. Maybe he’s trying to get caught. Maybe the guilt is eating him alive and he wants to pay for his crimes. I snort at the thought. He has no conscience, there’s no way he’d feel guilty. It’s 5pm when I see him enter the block of flats. I get out of my car and wait on the sidewalk, pretending to use my phone. Fifteen minutes later, my opportunity arrives. As a woman leaves, I run up the path calling for her to hold the door. I smile and thank her as I duck into building. I take the stairs two at a time heading for the sixth floor. I could have taken the elevator but the adrenalin is surging through me. By the time I reach his door, I am buzzed for a fight. I take a deep breath, knock on his door and step out of the way of the peephole. I stand with my back against the wall and listen. He opens the door partially and peers out. Without a second thought, I spin around the doorframe and barge into the door with such force that it allows me access and as an added bonus, knocks him back causing him to stumble. I slam the door shut behind me and before he has time to regain his equilibrium, I grab the collar of his shirt and swing him against the wall. I pin his neck with my arm and interlock my legs with his so he can’t move. I push all my weight against him as he gasps in shock from my assault. He’s getting off lightly, the bastard.

The dying light of the warm September sun glinted off the metal head of the scythe as James swung it across his body, clearing the last line of wheat in the field. He set the tool down and wiped his brow with a smile. Seeing the fruitful gains of the past months’ work, arduous though it was, always rejuvenated his spirits and brought him—he hoped—one step closer to inner peace. He piled the stalks onto the blanket and made his way back to the farmstead. It had been a long day and he felt it with every step of his dirt-covered boots and dust-caked overalls. Reaching the barn, he dropped the blanket with a thud and took a moment to catch his breath and enjoy the sounds ushering in nightfall—chirping crickets, owls hooting off in the distance. It brought him back to watching the girls stumble around the yard trying to catch lightning bugs while Elizabeth would curse at them for getting their dresses dirty. The remembrance was bittersweet. Suddenly, he was snatched from the memory by the sound of a footstep on the freshly cut stems behind him. Without hesitation, he turned to confront whatever made the sound. He held his breath as his eyes darted back and forth across the field. A minute passed...two...he stood deathly still and listenened...waited. Nothing stirred. Damned rabbits, he thought and relaxed. Even after all this time and all those miles trekked, he never could shake the feeling that the horrors he tried to escape followed him here.

“You brought me all the way out here to kill me? For what; so that I could enjoy the sunset one last time?”

"What Happen" Thought A.J as he awoke in his front yard. The last thing he remembered was leaving school and then nothing until now. A.J stood up and turned towards his house, But something wasnt right. He headed to the front door and noticed dark red almost brownish splotches all over the ground and door, which was slightly left open. He slowly pushed the door opened and saw he was also covered in red it stained everything and smelled like pennies.

When Robert’s sideburns had begun to creep down his face and his chin began to coarsen, his father, whom I had served for many years, entrusted me to him. Although cherished by his father, Robert cast me aside and expected me to welcome him back upon his return. Tarnish quickly swept over our point of contact like a sunset, illuminating my edge. Nonetheless, as sparse, soft bristle turned to stubble, we began to meet more frequently. The tarnish left me no choice but to nick him. Personally, I thought the blood was the worst part. I hated leaving scars on those whom I love. Scars do not heal.