Author's Note: This is my first short story, so I apologize if it's clipped and badly written. I had to put "To Chase the Falling Sun" on hold, because this would not stop gnawing at me to be written, but it is my hope that I will still have the next chapter in that story completed very soon.

This story contains adult language and adult themes. Please heed the T rating.

There is beauty to be seen every day in your life that you miss if you choose not to see it. There is also evil in the world that will prey upon you if you're too blind to see it for what it is.

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Pleasant View Park consisted of a half-mile long fitness track winding around a three acre lake with a fountain in the center. Wooden bridges connected an island off the northern bank to the mainland, and a Gazebo was constructed on this island, where walkers or joggers or lovers could go to look out across the water at the fountain. Ducks and Canada geese swam in the water, eating bread that little children would throw to them, thereby captivating their young benefactors. Willow trees, though not indigenous to the area, had been planted in no set pattern around the shoreline to give the site an appeal that differed from any other in the city or countryside for miles around. It was for this reason that so many people of all different walks and stations of life would come to the park to escape the monotony of their daily lives, if only for a few minutes.

Shannon Duster lived barely a mile away, and came there often to read books. She did not have any friends, and often wondered why. It wasn't looks- she wasn't ugly. With dirty-blonde hair and a healthy if not especially trim body, she didn't think people dismissed her on account of her appearance. Her face wasn't pretty, but there wasn't anything wrong with it that she could detect. People were a puzzle to her; an unpleasant puzzle that she nonetheless delighted in solving. Shannon was the kind of person who observed even the slightest intricacies in human behavior, or thought she did. She certainly watched other people closely, and thought she had quite a knack for figuring people out. Often, as she sat reading on the manicured lawn beside the lake shore, she would look up from her novel to examine the other people at Pleasant View Park.

On one sunny Wednesday afternoon, while reading a rather gothic horror novel, and loving every word, Shannon did just that; raising her head from the dark pages to shamelessly scrutinize those among her fellow human beings who had come to pass a moment at the park. Annoyance rose up within her at what she beheld. Over the last couple of weeks, what was to her an unpleasant number of "regulars" had begun appearing throughout each week.

Sitting cross-legged on a mound of grass not fifty feet away from her was a boy of about nineteen years old with textbooks scattered around him as he wrote feverishly on lined notebook paper, presumable doing homework. He was cute, but Shannon had seen his type before. Smart, sure, but full of himself. She was sure he used his good looks to get any girl he wanted. He wouldn't look twice at Shannon; even then as she stared. He must get perfect grades and all that shit, she thought. He doesn't know what problems are. Spoiled Egghead. She turned away.

To her right, another new "regular" passed by, utilizing an athletic figure to jog agilely and tirelessly. Shannon could not tell her age very well (It was always harder for her to tell with girls), but the gray shirt on her back displayed, in large black letters, "SBC"; Steve Burton College. The girl was obviously on a track team or something, because she came so often and simply ran. She had jet black hair that hung short against her neck, which she kept tied securely while running. Her tanned skin stood out, shining, to any who looked, defining sharply the subtle muscles within her attractive form. Shannon envied sorely the young woman's physique. Some people were just lucky, in Shannon's opinion; it was in the genes. People were overweight because they were just bound to be that way. Their bodies wouldn't let them be fit like that. It was unfair. And of course life isn't fair. Undoubtedly the young woman had a great boyfriend to kiss her and keep her company whenever she was lonely; all the hot girls did, and none of them appreciated what they had.

Shannon scowled and looked back toward Egghead and his books, forgetting College Girl immediately as she began to circle another lap around the track. The summer sun was high and warm, and twenty feet closer to Egghead was a willow tree and, underneath it, shade. Shannon told herself, as she stood up and carried her book over there to sit in the shade, that she was moving to keep from being too hot under the sun. Egghead didn't look up. Shannon's foul mood clouded further for no reason she could understand, and she looked across the water at one of the picnic tables scattered amidst the shade of the trees. There sat thethird and final new "regular".

This man she actually didn't mind so much. He came to read, just like she did. He must be smart. He seemed to feel her gaze and looked up, catching her eye, and smiled. She blushed and twitched the corners of her mouth before dipping her head back into the pages of her book. She hadn't paid much attention to him before, but she now noted that he had thick blonde hair and cute dimples around his small mouth. His nose was straight, and his shoulders, broad. With those thick, muscular arms, Shannon thought that he wasn't really so bad to look at. And he read similar books to those she herself read; he wasn't afraid to read about the more undesirable traits of human nature. If they did get together, Shannon fantasized, they'd have more in common than just good looks, and that would make a better relationship than College Girl could ever hope for.

For a time Shannon just sat there reading; she didn't check her cheap wristwatch to know the time. Her mind kept drifting as she read, since Broad Shoulders had smiled at her. She found herself reading entire chapters in a daze, only to find, when her mind revisited reality, that she could not remember a single word. Irritated, she marked her place with the scrap of paper she used as a bookmark, and peered at Egghead out of the corner of her eyes.

His back was half to her, so she couldn't see him well, but judging from the animation of his right arm, she knew he was still writing at that feverish pace. She could see the top of his paper. He drew his hand roughly over that paper, and then seemed to deflate; his shoulders sagged slightly from their rigidly perfect posture and his movements slowed. He pulled his sleeve over his wrist to dab lightly at the paper for a moment, then gave up, thrusting the it to the ground, where Shannon finally got a clear view. The fresh gel ink was streaked and splotchy. It must have gotten wet somehow. Egghead's shoulders began to heave in quiet sobs. He's crying! Shannon thought. What an idiot. He must have shed tears all over his paper.

An inexplicable compulsion sparked within her to go to him and see what was the matter. He'd just snub me away- cocky asshole. He'd get all proud and mighty, surely. He'd sober and look at her like she was a freak for even approaching him. He's weak now, he might not be so stuck up, Shannon conflicted.

Across the lake, the blonde-haired young man at the picnic table had lost interest in his book, and was watching subtly over the top of its pages.

Nobody just walks up to someone out of concern. But this could be my chance! Why wouldn't her legs work, she wondered. He's probably bipolar or something. I don't want to mess with shit like that. Nothing's going to help him; he should have taken his little yellow pill. Her heart beat fiercely at the possibility of going to him.

To the side, she heard the measured beat of jogging footfalls approaching, and sneaked a peek to see College Girl coming down the track. Annoyed at the distraction, she fell back into her inward struggle.

College Girl's real name was Karen Fennel. She always watched the park around her closely as she ran; it kept her mind from focusing on running, and allowed her to ignore her weariness and endure to run longer. She noticed immediately the young man on the bank, surrounded by books, shaking with quiet sobs. Touched by his plight, she slowed and left the track. She came up behind him.

"Hi," she said gently, crouching down. "Are you alright?" Unseen, Shannon Duster glared daggers into her back.

The young man jolted in a way that reminded Karen of someone being passed static electricity as a joke.

"I'm fine," he replied in a shaky voice. His solitude shattered, he began to gather his books and papers hurriedly. His face was streaked with tears, and this more than anything stirred sympathy, curiosity and determination all at once within Karen. She herself didn't know why, merely accepting the emotions as spontaneous. She didn't know that it was simply because, every time she'd cried in her life, her own eyes, for some unknown reason, never made tears.

"My name's Karen. What's yours?" Trying not to embarrass him- she could tell he was very self-conscious- she picked up a couple of his books to hand to him as he stuffed his bag. He looked about her age. It was impressed upon her that for someone of his years to be crying, he would either have to be emotionally unstable, or inwardly tormented. For whatever reason, she knew that when someone is crying, the best thing for it is to have someone- anyone- there with them.

"Ben," he said briskly. He would try to get rid of her as soon as possible. He pulled his book bag over his shoulder, muttered an insufficient, "thanks," then bolted for the track.

"Wait!" Karen's call stopped him in his tracks before he'd gone more than a few paces. He turned to look at her, his manner suddenly threatened. He was trying to swallow past a lump in his throat.

Karen caught up with him and opened her mouth to say something, but words failed her. She had no idea what the right thing would be to say. Before she closed her mouth, however, words unbidden escaped from it, "Want to walk for a while?"

Ben examined her closely with his eyes. Neither he nor she moved. He wanted to, Karen could tell. He wanted to talk. It was natural for him to wish to unburden his heart to another person. She knew what he feared, though; knew what he was searching for when he examined her that way. The danger he faced was to compound his burdens by sharing them with someone who wouldn't understand; with someone who wouldn't really care. That's what he was looking for: understanding and genuine caring. Karen knew this, because she'd seen eyes like his once before; years before, and just before her best friend had taken his own life. She'd never understood that friend; not really.

Relief fit to burst Karen's heart flooded her when Ben nodded; she knew he'd found what he'd been looking for. He fell into step beside her, and they walked for a while, talking quietly.

Behind them, unnoticed, Shannon stood up and, shoving her book into a pocket, followed them, just out of hearing distance. She'd been absolutely right about both of them, she decided. Egghead was a stuck up bastard- he'd have to be! He was obviously only walking with College Girl because he thought she looked hot- he'd been so obvious, checking her out before he nodded! Shannon thought to herself how lucky she was not to have approached him. Dodged a bullet, there. She didn't smile.

College Girl was obviously a slut, Shannon confirmed to herself. She probably had three or four boyfriends dangling on her whim, and Egghead was merely her latest victim. Anger seethed within her as Shannon followed the two. She wished they'd leave the park; leave her in peace in her favorite place. She watched as they began talking; watched how well they got along- A pair like that deserves each other! Broodingly, she turned aside when she reached the south end of the track and walked toward the sidewalk that would take her home. Behind her, a tall, well-muscled blonde figure rose up to follow her.

Broad Shoulders' real name was James Lorin. James frowned to himself as he followed Bookworm onto the sidewalk. He'd been watching the black haired Runner Chick for a couple weeks now, and had hoped to confront her later this evening. After all this time he was impatient, however. And when Runner Chick had gone to help Crybaby, it had been a severe turnoff for James. He settled, then, for Bookworm.

James had a fair reading on all three of them. Crybaby was the simplest. The young man could find no meaning in his life, so he followed the tide wherever it took him, hoping to find something to settle into along the way. Because his schooling was what he was "supposed" to be doing at this point in his life; because that was the present current of his life, he poured himself into his studies, ignoring the swelling emptiness inside until he could not bear it anymore. Such things were easy to see; James couldn't understand why people were always so blind to it.

Runner Chick had been a bit harder. At first he'd thought she was just staying in shape for a track team at her college, but had soon noticed that she lacked the drive in her exertions that a professional athlete needed; that drive to become better. After athletics, however, there was only one truly plausible explanation. She was dealing with heavy cares, and used running as an escape. She wasn't running to make herself stronger, but to make herself weaker; to exhaust her excess energy; energy brought on by emotions too numerous for her to keep track of; emotions that lacked a proper vent.

Bookworm was the most difficult to figure out. It was therefore surprising, James thought, that she was easily the most crude and simplistic once you got past the silent, brooding surface. She was an obnoxious person who was often found alone because she was not so stupid as to be oblivious to other people's loathing of her. She lied to herself, saying she preferred to be alone. She refused to try to better herself, because she rationalized away other people's judgment. To her, if someone didn't like her, it was because they were too foolish or jealous or blind. Surely there could not be something wrong with her. She stereotyped everyone she saw. James considered such desire to observe to be a valuable trait in a person. The poor fool would not be so dead wrong in everything she observed, James thought, if only she would allow herself to observe and make sense of her own condition first. It was possible to understand others without first understanding oneself, but if one understands perfectly everything that happens within themselves, it's a simple trick to understand others. James had figured himself out, long ago, and from there he'd realized that people are not so different, fundamentally. What one person thinks and feels rarely differs from the thoughts and feelings of any other person, and if they do, the difference is utterly minimal. Therefore, he found he could understand how others thought by simply knowing how he himself thought.

James knew he was evil, and embraced his own dark soul. James delighted in the sheer power of killing. Few people in the world dared kill another human being; he was, therefore, greater than them. Fearless, powerful, and free. He was the epitome of what it meant to be human. He loved himself.

He increased his pace to catch up with Bookworm.

"Hello," he smiled at her.

"Oh, hi," she returned shyly. She was flattered by the rare, positive attention. He looked all right to her.