Year: 2054

Time: October 18, 5:51 pm

Location: The residence of Mark Cassidy

Mark hesitated at the front door of his house, his hand lightly resting on doorknob, palms beginning to perspire. He knew what dangers were lurking on the other side of that door, of the dangers that awaited him. As the hesitation grew more and more, he kept asking himself why he had to leave his cozy and comfortable living space he called home to go out there and take so many risks. He began to turn the knob clockwise and began to chuckle to himself, taking his hand of the door handle completely. “Damn,” he whispered to himself through his laughter. “You are such an idiot Mark, you almost forgot the mace.” As an afterthought he added, “And the pocket knife.”

He turned his back to his front door, relieved that he was able to spend another minute inside the safe house with a sense of security, or at least as much security as was possible these days. He walked through the entry way into the light-filled kitchen, taking as much time as possible. As far as he was concerned, he was in no hurry; that was for damn sure. He always made sure to leave the light on in the kitchen to at least make it look like someone was home at all times. It was his only means of protection now that he didn’t own a gun. Even while he slept, that kitchen light would still be seen from the darkness that loomed outside. It was a beacon throughout all the neighborhood and it said stay the hell away from my house you sons of bitches cause this guy isn’t putting up with your shit. What that light said and the protection that it actually gave were two completely different issues. The only advantage one has with light now of days is being able to see what evil there may be before it smacks you in the face.

Taking a quick glace at the marble stone counter top, Mark instantly caught sight of his precious pocket knife and mace. He had made a habit to place them in the same spot every day, so that there would be no excuse to forget them. Unfortunately he had just recently lost his .45, not even a week ago, and was now in the process of finding a replacement, which was precisely the reason for leaving his house tonight. It had only been five days since he has lost his gun and he has almost been killed at least ten times since. It was a dark world out there, and for such reasons, one must take dark precautions in entering it, including shooting someone if it is necessary. After logging off of his office job, which he performs on the computer in his home, Mark thought about how scary the past few days had been and had made up his mind to go out tonight to find that gun replacement, no matter what.

With the security items now in hand, Mark made his way back through the entryway and once more stood facing the front door, preparing himself for departure for certain this time. Standing there motionless in the hallway, staring blankly at the large, white oak door, he began to see images flashing in and out of his mind. They were very brief and very powerful images of when he was a child living in this same neighborhood twenty-five years ago. How things have changed in such a short period of time. He remembered playing dodge ball in the street with his best friends, who live next door, and running around the welcoming street with big plastic guns in his hands shooting something at his friends. What were those called? He thought to himself. Oh yeah, squirt guns. They were fun. As he stood there reflecting on these trivial child-hood memories, a stranger thought had entered his mind. It was strange to Mark to think about, but he realized that he didn’t have to carry any weapons for protection back then. It was back in those carefree days when a child could have simple fun. Those days when one saw smiles on peoples faces rather than fear. What had happened since then? Where did we, as the United States of America go wrong?

A loud crash startled Mark from behind and brought him out of his short stream of conscious. The memories faded and the brief smile on his face was instantly replaced by a look of horror and alarm. Sweat began to instinctively bead on his forehead and his hand, holding on dearly to the knife began to shake. He whirled around, facing only darkness and unknown fear. Whatever had broken the window, Mark thought, had also hit the kitchen light, for darkness had completely swept over the entire house. After listening intently for a few seconds the only thing he could hear was his heart pounding in his chest. Mark took several deep breaths trying to slow the beating down and to get a grip over the situation. “Hello?” Mark called out to the darkness. “Is anyone there?” He took a couple of steps forward into the hallway, taking his sweaty hand off the doorknob. He made his way to the kitchen entryway, when an idea came to him. He had a flashlight in one of the kitchen drawers, next to the silverware. All he had to do was get there, but the idea of someone or something lurking about in the darkness freaked him out even more. “Hello?” he called out once more just for safe measures. Immediately Mark shut his mouth tight and took a step backwards. He heard whispering coming from the right within the kitchen. It was just one person, but two people. He continued taking several steps backwards hoping that neither of the strangers took notice of him.

“He’s getting away,” one of the men said.

“Let’s get that bastard,” the other replied.

Feeling light-headed, Mark dashed to the door, but could not find the door handle in the darkness. A pair of hands grasped his shoulders as he found the doorknob. Mark pulled the door open with all his might and elbowed the man holding on to him, knocking the stranger backwards. Within a second, Mark had stepped outside of his now corrupted home and slammed the front door shut. He was expecting to have a struggle with the two men to keep the door shut, but nothing happened. He took a step away from the door and took a sigh of relief, when after, several seconds, the door remained closed.

Taking a few more deep breaths to calm him down, Mark looked down the street taking as much of the insanity in as he could; getting a sense of his surroundings. The sky was completely dark and had been for the past hour. The only light that reflected throughout the street came from bins of fire. Dozens of them were aflame along the sidewalk and small groups of people were gathered around them, soaking in the warmth protruding from the fire. The orange glow cast shadows, making it difficult for Mark to decipher what was real or simply imagination. There was a strong breeze blowing leaves and trash all around in swirling motions. There were no other lights coming from any of the other houses because many of them were abandoned and for the ones that weren’t, the price of gas and electricity was too high for people to afford. Getting a hold of himself, Mark saw his car parked in the driveway, no more than fifteen feet away. It had been severely vandalized with spray paint and from countless bullet holes.

“Hey you!” came a drunken voice a few feet away from Mark. “What the hell are you doin’ out here!”

Before Mark could locate where the angry voice was coming from, a broken beer bottle flew by his head, cutting his earlobe before smashing into the brick wall behind him. The shouting continued but became more distant as the drunkard walked away, most likely to torment someone else. Mark cursed out loud as he touched his ear, feeling the warm blood dripping onto his fingers. He cupped his hand around his ear for a couple minutes until the stinging sensation left his ear numb.

Mark began to make his way to his trashed car, thinking how much safer he’ll be once he gets inside. He knew that he would have to wait until dawn to go back into his house, so he decided that he would sleep in his car tonight, where he would be secure. When Mark was just a few feet away from his car, he heard a deafening bang and a bullet flying inches away from his face. “Where are you going you rich son of a bitch!” Mark saw in the dim, glowing light a man standing about ten feet away, holding a gun pointing directly at him. The man had a look of insanity painted across his face and glared at Mark with piercing eyes, not blinking once. “You got five seconds to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you!”

Without hesitation, Mark quickly leaped behind one of the billowing barrels of fire as the crazed man fired after him. The bullets continued to hit the barrel, shaking it with each hit. Mark made a mental note of each bullet fired. One, two, three…he counted, four, five, click, click. He was out. Now was Mark’s chance. He pulled open the pocket knife and stood up to face the man, who stared back at him with a dumbfounded look on his face. Mark aimed the knife at the man’s face and threw it with all his might before he had any time to run away. The knife went straight into the man’s eye, as deep as it could possibly go. Not wanting to see all of the blood, Mark quickly turned around and ran the last few steps to his car. The screaming was unbearable for Mark and after seeing an image of the knife in the man’s eye and the blood dripping down his face into his mouth, he felt sick to his stomach. He kneeled over and poured his guts out onto the pavement.

Ten seconds later, Mark was sitting in his car, breathing heavily, trying to wipe the vomit and spittle off of his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. He had made it! All he had to do now was drive to the gun shop and sleep off the rest of the night here in this sanctuary of safety. All the doors were locked and the windows were rolled up; he couldn’t be touched. Mark reached into his pocket for his keys. The keys! He tried his left pocket in vain. With panic taking over, he reached deep into his right pocket again, and yet still there were no keys. Remembering what he could have done with them, he realized that he had probably left them sitting on the kitchen counter when he went back to grab the knife and mace. Another thought then flashed across his mind. What if those intruders got the keys? They were sitting there on the counter…anyone could have picked them up. He had no other choice. He had to go back into that house, no matter who was in there, and find those damn keys. He reached for the door handle and was about to open it when he heard something. He wasn’t sure whether he was hallucinating or not, but he thought he had heard a quiet cough coming from behind him. Mark looked in his rearview mirror and could not control the horror that rose within him. A black shadowy figure rose from the back seat and grabbed his neck, tilting his head up from the force. There was no one to hear Mark Cassidy’s screams of pain.