He was one of those people. The unknown, blank faces easily forgotten. He didn't know when he realized it, but it came as a slow dawning like the sun over the hills in the spring.
He wasn't special. Dark hair and eyes, a moderate "average intelligence" to quote what his teachers have said in his year end report.
Well screw them, he thought. His thoughts like a lake, something bubbling just under the surface, hidden well, but noticeble if you look hard enough.
His lanking, slouched, shadow followed him on the brick surface of a building, the silouette looking as discruntled as he was.
It was late dusk, the sun low and deep like a cello, the sky spread blue and pink tinted clouds like a water colored painting, the atmosphere letting out a sigh of satisfaction of completing another day, before falling asleep.
All of this was unnoticed by him of course. Trapped in his own swirling, dark mind full of disturbing images, some of them involving him and Sandie Whorle, and her fake blonde hair.
He rounded a deserted courner by the butcher shop, a streetlight casting long shadows on the sidewalk.
What black thoughts you have little Stevie...
He stopped still in his tracks, and looked around.
A shadow streached like taffy, black as ink, pulling itself from the lamp post, which flickered briefly, dulling a little.
Steve's heart was acting strange, like there was a deep bass running through it, too low for human ears to hear.
The shadow toke the shape of a man in a long black trenchcoat and wide brimmed hat. It was still just a dark 2D shadow. Its voice was disturbing, almost morbid, with a dash of curiousity.
I'm going to help make those dark dreams come true little Stevie...
Are you readdy?
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