It was a hot and humid day, Zaron could feel it, and he didn't like it. The task to which he was assigned was not very suitable with this type of climate, was it not enough he did not enjoy what he was about to partake in? He walked, and walked, as if no end was in sight, that typical stench of the city, people laughing and smiling, children jumping up and down, with no regards of anyone but them and their families. Zaron was a tall and skinny figure, he had very dark brown skin and almost colorless eyes, the area around his unshaven black beard was full of scars, he had cut himself more times than he could count. This could be attributed to his constant nervousness, his hands shook uncontrollably and violently, he never did get diagnosed, but he thought of it as Parkinson's syndrome.

He looked at the children with disgust, he walked and would constantly collide with a certain someone, he day dreamed of different ways of ending their life. Each time he set his eyes upon a laughing child, his hands shook more, and his desire to sate his odd and twisted gratifications grew. But much like he did stare at them with disgust, so did the parents, they looked at the man as if he was a physical shell, a futureless nothing that will achieve nothing, no significance on this Earth. No doubt what assisted their assumptions of his personal life was his frugal method of clothing, an old brown trenchcoat, as if it had seen and experienced both world wars, a torn-apart bowler hat, once black but now a more subtle shade of red from all his dog torturing, and flip-flops not designed for streetwear.

He did torture dogs, and he did it with such satisfaction, in those times, it is as if all his troubles had gone away, as if he was living in his own personal sandbox, where he could accomplish whatever he wants, where he could do whatever he wants. The neighbors often complained of violent and loud dog whining in the dark night, Zaron was the cause. Not as sick and twisted as the dog torturing but with a magnitude of its own, he would eat the dogs he had finished torturing, where else could he dispose of them, he thought?

This he day dreamed as he walked, and walked, coming to an abrupt stop when he once again, collided with a certain someone, often times he would fall, because of his weak and fragile figure, but this time he did not, to which he was happily surprised. Falling out of his fantasies, he stared into what seemed like his normal destination, clear of interruptions, he looked and finally saw a young boy, who was staring up at him with a grin, and inspiration.

Zaron undoubtedly felt disgust at this young boy, but the boy did not pay that mind, a boy of societal presumptive beauty, blonde wavy hair, and blue eyes, he wore an oversized suit, which he had most likely found in one of the dark and shady alleys of the city. He held a red toy ball in his right hand, and from his posture, it seemed that he wanted Zaron to play with him.

What the boy saw in Zaron he did not know, Zaron thought he heard something, but paid no mind to the speech as he once again drifted into his fantasies, this time involving the young boy and one of his knives, derived from his collection of other such product. He faded away from the dream once again, to the boy just finishing up with his proposition.

"... anyways, Mister, could you and I play some ball?" he asked.

Zaron laughed maniacally in his head, this was the perfect setup for one of his twisted fantasies, he thought, and so gladly he accepted the proposition and offered a nearby dripping wet alley as the location of play. The boy accepted and jogged to the alley, with Zaron following, as he rubbed his hand and grinned, his yellow rotten teeth only contributing to the already smelly stench of the alley, radiating from a garbage bin.

What ensued that day was described by the local commuters as a monstrosity, a mess, a bloody mess.