• The sunlight was completely gone, and the darkness started to fade into the gray skies. The new skies brought the once bustling streets to a halt and the pitch black streets were suddenly filled with dim, overhead street lights and signs. A few cars passed by every five minutes, the loud honking waking up the young man in the alleyway. He jolted against the brick wall and opened his eyes as he began to look around. There was nothing around him except a large dumpster half way down the alley, and the smell of burning rubber mixed in with the rain. He sighed as he pressed his back and head against the damp wall, trying to get some more sleep.

    “You cannot go back to sleep.” The voices played in his mind calmly, and he shifted his gaze back towards the opening of the alley. Another car passed by and it frustrated his ears . His hands moved, clinging against the damp wall behind him so he could lift himself up. He felt weak for only a moment, as if he was going to pass out or vomit. The qualm feeling passed as he began to walk out of the alley, hands trailing the brick as he left, cutting the skin on his hand. The stinging pain didn't bother him, though. He was beginning to feel as though he wasn't real anymore.

    He struggled to make it onto the sidewalk; feet dragging as the hard tar met against his bare toes. Not questioning why he was barefoot, he heard a blaring horn as he stepped in front of a passing car. The driver began to yell out of his window, but the man ignored it as he trudged across the surface and onto the other sidewalk. “Keep going.” The voices returned as he made a left and could now see the street signs that showing him where he was. He couldn't comprehend the letters on the signs but he listened to the voice telling him to keep going straight until his feet touched whatever they were supposed to.

    There was no reason for him to not remember who he was or where he was. He felt as if he had just been reborn into this life as a fully grown man with hair and eyes he couldn't recall the colors of. There was no telling if he had any family or people looking for him, or if he had amnesia because he had hit his head too hard. When he began to think more about possibilities of what had happened, his hands suddenly rose from his sides and up against his head, trembling with each step he took. His hair was filled with a myriad of small curls that, if he pulled and let go of them, would only retain their shape. There was a sudden wetness in the back of his hair through. It didn't hurt to touch, but it dampened his fingers well enough that when he brought his hands back to eye view, his pale fingers were now colored red. He wanted to ignore it, but something inside of him wanted to press his fingers inside of his mouth; he wanted to smell and taste the red substance. When he found the strength to ignore the feeling, the voices began telling him different directions to go, and before he knew it, the buildings and street signs were familiar. The letters and numbers now made sense.