Deep Treads in Burning Water

A young man sat upon a rock, looking out to the rippling waters in front of him. Eyes focused on the faint mirages laying underneath its crystal blue front. Taking a deep breath as the wind passed by his ears, taking in the sights and smells around him, eyes now focusing on the bluish tinted clouds above. He screwed his nose, sniffing violently before closing his eyes, shutting them as hard as he before rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. A deep-seated yawn exited his throat after rubbing his nose for a few minutes, eyes opening to see a flash of light blinding him slightly. A crack in his neck and he was standing, looking down at the water before his as it glistened against the lit-up sky above. Scratching his upper lip with his teeth, he got closer to the water, eyes focusing on its splendor before his eyes locked with the reflections, trees swaying with the wind. He felt a sting in his legs, moving around the lake.

What was I doing here? He thought to himself. Not for why he was there currently, but due to a memory long forgotten, no, pushed back to the deepest recesses of his mind. Pursing his lips and squinting to get a better look at what was in the water, he decided to push those memories back even further, leaving the small little gravel beach which surrounded the lake, water pouring in from a nearby river creating its own miniature waterfall.

He began making his way up a path, eyes focusing on the sights before him, the trees, the branches, the bark that was layered onto its light tan membrane. The thought of why he was at that lake in the past and the thoughts he had now confused him as he made his way up a stone-ridden path - why was he there to begin with? How did he get there? This was the now, not that past in which he refused to remember, running away from it like the coward he was no... he was a man who lived in the present in which he had no clue the context of. Why was he reflecting? Why won't his boredom go away? This sudden boredom after many moments of tranquility and focus. Why now was he feeling bored?

So many questions, so few answers. Maybe there was something that could be done to satiate this man's boredom?

Somewhere else, across the lake, a house stood. It was large holding about 5 people within. All of them seem relatively normal, so wouldn't this be the perfect opportunity? To sate that boredom?

A young man with short brown hair, legs crossed sitting down on a beach chair, legs rested upon it atop the porch of the house, lights beaming out. It was nighttime, he was sipping on a beer. He and someone else had a fight, arguing and yelling leading to his current trip into Introspection Ville, eyes barely able to focus on the sky as it blurred frequently. "Why'd he...?" He whispered, taking another sip from his beer. The jittering of a gun could be heard amidst a gaggle of trees blocking the view of the lake along with a collection of bushes. The sound was easily mistaken to be that of branches tapping against one another, but that misunderstanding would lead to the sound of a gun going off which turned into an eerie quiet. The young man's body was limp in his chair, blood trickling down his chest - lower jaw blown off, blood pouring out from the upper part of his neck.

The people inside paused before clamoring could be heard outside, one of the people inside running out to the porch, reeling back as they watch their friend's dead body fall to the floor, a pool of blood greeting the side of his face.

Another gunshot, killing the woman who had exited the house to survey what was going on, her body slamming into the side of the door before falling headfirst back into the living room of the house, the door coming to a jar, blood visibly spreading under a crack. Brain matter was splattered across the porch, fingers still twitching rhythmically. It was only at times like these where the man remembered the fun he had during those missing days within his brain - feet firmly planted on the ground, a smile on his face.

He wasn't bored anymore, nor was he repressing himself, he was defending himself anymore, he wasn't acting like someone else who loved staring at small glittering seas, he was a cold-blooded murderer. The thought of their terror seeped through his bones, making him... jittery with joy. Their screams of regret and horror gave him an unprecidented amount of joy with each step he took. He stopped at the steps up to the porch, reloading the shotgun he had just previously used to kill two people, one of them being a promising young woman wearing a black shirt, a blue skirt, with short blond hair, now popped open like a grape, an eye barely managing to stay within the socket.

"YOU'LL NEVER GET ME!" Someone yelled before bullets began flying, causing the murderer to retreat into the bushes, yellow streaks lighting up their surroundings before watching the shadow that just tried to shoot him down, retreat back into the building. He clicked his tongue, moving over to the window he was just shot from, quickly whipping the barrel of his gun around, firing it into a woman running down into what looked to be a basement area. Chunks of her arm were blown off, blood flying across the walls as she fell down the flight of stairs she was once running down.

A few thuds and a stop, a guttural groan giving pleasure to his ears.

The murderer proceeded to smash the window with the butt of his gun, jumping through and immediately going on alert. He was in their environment now, and if he wanted to proceed with his spree, with was the only way to do so - jump into the lion's den. "Fucking... hunter..." Down the stairs, the girl he has shot. A young woman with long black hair wearing a blue long-sleeved shirt, eyes barely kept open.

He ignored her comment, shooting her once more, her chest bursting open. The murderer attempted to reload once more before being shot multiple times by a pistol, jumping down the flight of stairs the black-haired woman fell down before. Two wounds, one in his shoulder, another in the lower, right-most part of his left leg - bleeding profusely. The murderer cursed to himself, quickly picking himself up, moving further into the basement before the shooter caught up to him.

"Fucking bastard!" The shooter shouted, his steps echoing behind the murderer as he moved further into the basement, blood pouring out from his leg, leaving a trail across the stone floor behind him. The murderer could only load one shell into his shotgun before spinning around, firing into the shooter who had just caught up to him.

An entire chunk of the shooter's neck was blown off, blood spraying out, spilling onto his clothes before firing once in the murderer's direction before dying. The shot missed, hitting a nearby pipe instead.

The murderer stopped, sitting down in a corner of the basement, cast in black, wrapping his leg tightly with a piece of torn cloth, barely able to even get the job done due to his injured shoulder.

"Ain't this exhilarating...?" The murderer asked, pointed the barrel of his gun at the door, one of the remaining survivors in the house attempting to pick up the pistol left lying on the floor, halfway there, hands shaking as sweat dripped off her chin. "This life and death shit...?"

"You-" She cut herself off, grabbing the pistol on the floor, attempting to shoot the murderer before hearing a click, the chamber of the gun shooting out backward, nothing is inside the gun now. "OH FUCK!" She pulled back, attempting to run away, but the effort was not enough, her leg being blown off quickly after the subsequent booming of the murderer's shotgun. She screamed helplessly as one more shot was placed into her skull.