Daemeon’s footsteps satisfied him. It was not that he walked but what he walked upon. Every step produced a satisfying crunch that said much about where he was and what time of the year it was. The season assaulted his senses as he tread down the disheveled sidewalk. He could feel the chill, the breeze biting to the bone through his thin jacket. He could smell it in the air as his cold nose dripped from the lack of humidity, and could see it clearly in the oranges, yellows, and reds that shifted and shuffled all around in the trees. Mostly though, he knew the season for its sounds. They were almost pleasant, almost. There was no other time of the year when every one of his steps could be accompanied by the reverberations of leaves being crunched in symphony. Daemeon believed the sound of crunching leaves spoke the most about the nature of the seasons. The sound was that of death.

Leaves always start a year in brilliant green. They give the world a seeming vibrancy that lasts through Spring and Summer, giving depth and importance to the trees they adorned. When their death becomes imminent, they flash so many different colors as their chlorophyll breaks down. Men, being so ocular in nature, linked leaves to the season when reality sets in. They please so many to change color, but they are not truly cheery. They are rather a harbinger of what is to come.

Daemeon might have found humor in the fact that men would take cheer in what is a foretelling of the bleakness to come if it were not nature’s active way of deluding men. Daemeon did not fret over their ignorance though. Nature’s lie could not be kept up. Eventually all of the leaves would turn brown and fall. After falling, they would leave behind the shells of the trees with branches extending to nothingness. After falling, they would land in chaos wherever they happened to be. Such was the case of the leaves under Daemeon’s feet. If he had found any pleasure in leaves, it would have been the sound of them being crunched. The sound echoed their death, the death of the season, and the bitter winter ahead. In life they had been great deceivers, but in death they showed, as it were, their true colors.

It was in that fading autumn season that Daemeon walked. His destination was not very clear to anybody, even to himself. Maybe he would go to the library. He thought also that he might go out to eat. He might also go out and find some money. He was running low again. He sighed as that thought struck him. He was always low on money. Even when he had a lot of money, it was never enough to do what he felt needed to be done. He was steadfast though, and did not despair. He had learned a long time ago to work with whatever he happened to have.

As he went on his way, he happened to walk past a graveyard. It was not really a random happening as he often walked past that graveyard to get to the city at large, but something was different today that made him take notice of the large field with hundreds of headstones, many of varying shapes and sizes. He noticed that there was a lone figure bent over one of the stones further into the graveyard.

It was the case for Daemeon that he was frequently given to pursuing even mild curiosities that came his way. This was the way he learned things after all, and learning anything he could about anything was very useful in his endeavors. He stopped his walking and contemplation of the leaves and considered the figure as best he could. It was a few hundred feet off, but Daemeon gathered that it must be some child by its size. A lone child in a graveyard on a chilly autumn day was curiosity enough to move him to action.

He left the sidewalk and very casually stepped over the squat fence that surrounded the graveyard. It was morning and the grass soaked his loafers in dew as he walked, but he did not consider it as he approached the figure. It became first apparent that the figure was a small girl. With the dewy grass silencing his footsteps, Daemeon approached close enough to see her shoulders bobbing and to hear the soft sobs that accompanied the jerking motions. He stood in silence not ten feet away from her and considered what to do. He could not just leave her. She was far too easy, too vulnerable. He knew he could not pass up such an opportune chance to spread his education.

Daemeon opened his mouth and broke the little girl from her reverie asking, “Little girl, what is your name?”

The small girl turned her head suddenly to look at him. She was shrouded in a thick winter jacket with the hood pulled up. In her arms she clung tightly to a small stuffed owl with fuzzy orange talons and black, beady eyes. Turning around revealed a soft and pale face with a little nose and cheeks that still sported ample baby pudge. Creeping around the corners of her hood, Daemeon could see shoulder length brown hair that was stained with streaks of natural blonde. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red and swollen with the cold and the mucous that had escaped from crying. She regarded him with a surprised expression and quickly stuttered, “Who-who are you?”

Daemeon smiled a very kind looking smile and knelt down in the wet grass and said, “Don’t worry. I’m a friend. What’s your name little girl?”

The girl sniffled and brought a mittened hand up to wipe her nose and responded shakily, “Ma-Maria. My name’s Maria.”

Daemeon’s gentle smile grew wider as he said, “Hello Maria. My name is Allen. May I ask why you’re crying out here in the cold?”

Maria’s face contorted in sadness, but she was able to answer, “Because Mommy died.” She tried to straighten her face and posture and went on, “Daddy told me that it would be good if I visited Mommy. He said that she’s up in heaven and that, and that when,” she coughed and new moisture beaded in her eyes, “when I come here and visit that she’s here too and that, and that she lo-loves me and will al-always be be here for me.” On saying her final words, she lost control and fell to her own knees crying. As she cried, she pulled the small stuffed owl to her face and used it to soak up her tears.

Daemeon sat back on his haunches and considered how to make the best of the situation. She was very vulnerable and there were many different things he could do to hurt her. It was not so often that he was offered a chance such as this, and he was determined to get the best of it. At length he told her, “Your daddy is right. She is up in heaven.”

Maria looked up when he spoke. She was used to her tears being met with dramatically soft words of consolation. Daemeon had stated that her mother was in heaven very matter of factly. She sniffled a couple times and asked, “How do you know?”

Daemeon told her, “I am a priest, Fr. Allen, and I know your mother is in heaven because God told me so.”

Maria hiccuped and asked morosely, “Really?”

Daemeon’s voice was exuberant as he explained, “Yes really. In fact, God loves her so much that he is considering letting her come back to life, so she can be with you again.”

Maria’s eyes went huge as she exclaimed with her reddened countenance, “Really?”

He nodded and said, “Yes, but before God will do that, he wants something from you.”

Maria jumped up from her knees and exclaimed, “Yes, anything. God can have anything he wants. I just want Mommy back.”

Daemeon promptly explained, “If you give me all of the money you have and your stuffed owl, I will go to my church and offer them to God, and I promise you he will give back your mommy because you were so generous to him.”

Maria suddenly looked very hesitant and asked, “Why would God want my money and Owlowiscious?”

Daemeon explained in a very kind voice, “The money will be used to help the poor. God doesn’t really need it, but he likes it when people give what they have to help out other people who are having difficult times.”

Maria nodded slowly but seemed unconvinced of something. She held her stuffed owl in front of her and asked again, “Okay, but why does God want Owlowiscious? Mommy gave him to me. Daddy told me I should always keep him because he will make me feel better when I think about Mommy.”

She was answered by a more serious look and tone, “Exactly. You love Owlowiscious, and to get something you love you have to give up something you love. That’s how the universe works. You have to trust me and give me your money and your owl if you want to see your mother again.”

The little girl nodded and closed the distance between her and the stranger that said he could right the present wrongs. She reached into her pocket and pulled out seventeen dollars and gave them to Daemeon. With one last hug, she also passed on the small stuffed owl. He took it reverently from her and flashed the kind smile he knew to give and said, “Good. Now go on home Maria. Come back tomorrow at this time, and you will find your mother waiting for you. You must be sure to not tell anyone else that your mother is coming back though. If God is going to trust you then you are going to have to trust him too. Do you understand?”

Maria nodded her head sternly and said, “Okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good. Now run on home. I’m sure your father is waiting for you.”

She nodded again and suddenly jumped at him and locked him in a tight hug. She whispered into his ear, “Thank you, Fr. Allen.” Daemeon did not return the hug. He just sat there bearing it until she disengaged and, giving him a timid smile, started skipping off happily away from the grave like the weight of the world had just been lifted from her shoulders.

When Daemeon judged that she was a sufficient distance away, he wiped the stupid smile off his face. He looked at the seventeen dollars in his hand. That was a pretty big haul for a seven or eight year old. He pulled out his wallet and slipped the cash in, deciding that he would be going to have a large breakfast after this. He looked down at the gravestone and read the epithet.

Daemeon’s face was set like the stone the words were etched upon as he read. She had been very young. That was the nature of things though. If God were real, that little girl wouldn’t have been robbed of a mother. If there was any real order in the universe, any grand design, that would not have happened, and he wouldn’t have been there right then. Such was the nature of the world though that Daemeon was there to teach the girl the one true reality of the world, the reality of the cruel chaos of it all.

Daemeon brought the stuffed owl up in front of him and grabbed one of the wings. With a great tug he tore the wing off and then the next one. He grabbed the head of the wingless beast and ripped at it until it came clean off. He then pulled a long rip right down the torso so that the snow white fluff spewed out and fell all over the ground. Daemeon helped the mess further by ripping the stuffing out with his hand and shredding the rest of Owlowiscious until the resulting mess could not have been discerned into what it had been. He spread this mess across the grave and trampled it to make sure it would not easily be blown away. He wanted her to see it the next morning.

When Daemeon felt the deed was properly done, he turned away from the grave and made his way back to the sidewalk. He felt mildly contented. She would never again be so ignorant of the world after that. He stepped over the squat fence and resumed his walking. The walking was again accompanied by the season’s symphony. The sound was almost pleasant as he walked, the crackle of the dead leaves. Almost.

He walked alongside the graveyard until he came to a corner where the green of the graveyard as well as the suburban homes gave away very suddenly to a bustling city street. Such was the nature of much of East Coast America that pleasant, quiet residence was rarely more than a few hundred yards from busy roads crawling with angry motorists. The city of New York was no different.

Daemeon scanned up and down the busy road. The heavy morning rush was about over, but there was plenty of traffic to cause some congestion. Daemeon’s eyebrows raised as he spotted his target. Sticking out his hand high into the air, he flagged down a bright yellow taxi. The taxi was quick to respond. Of course it was. What taxi wouldn’t immediately stop at the sight of a tall, handsome man in a dapper suit from Armani?

The taxi rolled to a stop at the curb and Daemeon did not hesitate to climb in. When he shut the door, he was instantly aware of his surroundings in the vehicle. The windows were of a darker tint than usual, even for New York taxis. The vehicle smelled vaguely of smoke and skunk as though it had permeated someones clothes and was seeping throughout the car. Daemeon also intensely studied his driver before he could even ask directions. The man was dark skinned and exotic to look at. His long hair was curly and black, hanging in ringlets around his shoulders. His eyes, nose, and lips all seemed uncharacteristically large and expressed. That was all Daemeon needed to know before laying out a plan of attack.

Before the driver could ask where to, Daemeon broke into a very brisk and heavily accented speech, “Ey mon, ey mon! I haf da business meeting wit da business employah and is very imporan, yez mon is very importan! I oughta get ta mister Lombadee’s for da meeting!”

The perplexed driver threw up a hand and said, “Whoa mon, whoa! We can hurray mon, but I need to know where mister Lombadee’s be.”

Daemeon put on a very frazzled face and threw his hands around gesturing as he cried, “Ey mon! Ow can ya not know where mister Lombadee’s pizzah be? We be meeting over da pizzah mon!”

The driver’s eyes lit up in recognition, and he nodded enthusiastically saying, “Ah mon, yez, I know where mister Lombadee’s be. Hold ya hat mon, we could be gettin a bit bumpy!”

Daemeon laid back and watched as the taxi driver sped his car with unusual avidity. He had a big, goofy smile on his face as he asked hopefully, “Ey mon, where ja be from?”

Daemeon gave a big, toothy smile in the direction of the rearview mirror and said, “My homeland is Jamaica, mon. I hail from Portmore on mah sunny coast. Wat bou you mon?”

The driver looked ecstatic as he said quickly and in his husky voice, “Oh my gawd mon, I’m from Jamaica too! Mah home be Spanish Town mon. How did you come to be in with these yankees mon? Wat are ja up to mon?”

Daemeon’s plan had worked perfectly. In no fewer than two minutes, they were practically brothers. The joy in the driver’s face was clear, that moment probably being the absolute highlight of his day. It never ceased to amaze Daemeon how people trust so quickly. He put on a horrified face and cried, “Oh no mon! You come from Spanish Town? Do ya have family dere mon?”

At hearing the evident concern, the driver lurched around and said, “Ja mon. Is somethin wrong?”

Daemeon expelled a drop of salt water from his left eye and said in a creaking voice, “Did ja hear about the accident there dis mornin mon?”

The driver was shouting, “No mon! Wat happen?”

Daemeon covered his mouth with his hand and whispered, “Dere was a plane crash in Spanish Town. Dey hit da city transformer an caused da huge explosion. De entire city be up in flames mon.”

The Jamaican man’s large lips parted in a wide mouthed horror as his eyes went wide with them. He slammed his foot down on the gas and dramatically picked up speed. He passed cars dangerously as he wove expertly down the roads which were flooded with traffic. Daemeon could almost applaud the man for his skill. Daemeon knew how to drive well himself but didn’t think he could have ever mastered the road the way a New York cab driver could.

They spent the rest of the trip in silence. Daemeon sat back in ease as the car swung him in jerking motions that might have propelled him from his seat were it not for his seat belt. The added speed brought them to their destination much faster than initially hoped. Daemeon opened the door and stepped onto the crowded street. As soon as he shut the door behind him, the yellow cab took off at an alarming speed. Daemeon paused a minute to watch it sail down the busy road far above the speed limit only to be promptly broadsided by a large red Dodge at the next intersection. Another car crashed into the Dodge, and chaos ensued down the street.

Daemeon took in the horrid scene thinking, “It’s going to be tough getting a ride with the traffic there.” He mentally considered where he was in the city and shrugged his shoulders. “A walk won’t be so bad. Besides,” he thought as he brought up a hand to smooth back his handsome brown hair from the wind, “I got out of the cab fare.” That was after all what his goal had been the entire time. He considered absently where Spanish Town was as he walked into Lombardi’s Pizza. He made a mental note to look it up next time he was in the library.

The door swung shut behind him, and he was greeted with the epitome of cliche pizzeria decor. The gaudy red and white checker patterned table mats were as ugly as the were aesthetically original. It was nowhere near any regular meal time, but the place was, as always, packed pretty full. Daemeon was quickly greeted by a large, white haired man with an equally large voice saying in a robust New York accent, “Take a seat wherever you like, son. We’ll be right with you.”

Daemeon’s eyes shifted about, searching for a seat. There were a grand total of twelve open seats and two open tables in the restaurant. Daemeon quickly shimmied over to the smaller of the two near the storefront window. He climbed into one of the two tall seats and picked up a menu that had already been placed there. The menu was only a ploy though, as most of what people saw him do was. He knew exactly what he wanted and had no idle curiosity about the menu. He brought it close to his face and peeked over the top so he could get a better assessment of the patrons.

What was he looking for? Nobody really knew the answer to that. He would have had a hard time putting it into words. What his eyes looked for in the patrons of that pizzeria was the same thing that he always searched for. Daemeon always looked for the means, the means to his end. People were ultimately the means. Some were of more use than others, but they could all serve their purpose in the end. It was all just a matter of how easily he could use them.

Daemeon watched as a rather cute girl with freckles and red hair tied back into a ponytail skip up to him like she didn’t have a care in the world. “She has some skill too,” Daemeon thought to himself. “She uses people to her ends as well.”

The girl stopped in front of Daemeon and asked, “What can I getcha for, darlin?”

Daemeon smiled, he never forgot to, and said, “A slice of the pepperoni pie and a coke, dearie.”

The petite redhead made a quick scratch on her pad and asked, “Anything else for ya today, darlin?”

Daemeon shook his head gently saying, “That’ll be all.”

She smiled big in response and said, “Alright, I’ll have that right out to you, hun.”

Daemeon smiled until the upbeat girl was gone. When he felt that no one was watching him, he leaned back in his chair and listened to the sounds of the restaurant. To most, the cacophony would have been an unregistrable din of noise from which no coherence could be conjured. This was not the case for Daemeon though as his ears could pick out no less than six distinct conversations around him that were clear enough for him to follow despite their being centralized at tables away from his. To him, it was all a matter or paying attention and being observant.

What was he listening for? Again, no one could really say. He couldn’t really say. He was looking for the means, the means to the end. To put it more specifically would be to corrupt the accuracy of the statement. Let it be said instead that he would know what he was looking for when he heard it.

After several minutes of moving his concentration from one conversation to another, he finally stumbled upon what he was looking for. Daemeon opened his eyes to follow the conversation to two large, muscular men at a square table to his left. One was taller than the other and had sleek, black hair that was combed back. The other had a squatter, heavier build with short cut brown hair. They wore work clothes that were dusty, probably from construction.

What cued Daemeon into knowing this conversation was the one he was looking for was a sudden hush that created a new mood followed by the squatter man asking in a lowered voice, “So, how’re things going with Isabella?”

Daemeon gauged in his periphery how the taller, black haired gentleman sighed and ran his hand through the sleek black sheen saying in an equally lowered voice, “Same as before. I can’t figure a yes or no yet.”

The squat man leaned back in his chair and threw his hands in the air with a dramatic sigh of exasperation. He asked quietly, “How long have you been married man? Three years? Do you really think she’s cheating on you?”

The man ran his fingers through his sleek black hair and clenched his fist into a ball before his face. His breathing grew heavy, and Daemeon could just make out his face puffing up with a heated red hue. The man seemed to be unsuccessfully trying to calm himself down as he said in a voice not so quiet as before, “I don’t know man, but if she is I swear to God I’ll kill her.” He punched a fist in the air, gritting his teeth, “No bimbo crosses Jack Vinetti! Not even my ‘Dear Isabella.’” His voice as he said her name dripped with the bitter venom of betrayal.

Jack’s counterpart spoke up, “Hey Jack, buddie, you gotta calm yourself down before you go making a scene.” Jack brought his arms down on the table and resorted instead to grumbling something unintelligible under his breath. The squat man continued, “You still think it’s some guy at Etsy? A workplace fling?”

Jack stared down at the checker patterned table and said, “I’m sure of it.” He sighed loudly and exasperated, “She won’t admit to anything though, and I got no proof that she’s even up to any funny business. That is, other than the being out late with her ‘book club.’”

Just then, Jack received a tap on his shoulder from the same perky girl who had taken Daemeon’s order. The pair sat back in their chairs as she gently laid a steaming pie between them. The squat man, slapping his hands together and rubbing them vigorously, said, “Hey Jack my man, forget about that broad. For now, let’s feast!”

Daemeon relaxed back in his chair and ceased to pay such close attention to his surroundings. He had found what he was looking for. That being done, he exhaled in boredom and strummed his fingers on the table in no particular beat. The pizza was good and cheap, but the place was always so busy that the wait could be painful. His head turned suddenly as a fire truck rolled by the window, alarms blaring.

Daemeon glanced down at his watch thinking, “That took them awhile. They must have been busy with another accident.” His eyes gazed up as the truck disappeared down the road and considered the sky. The clouds were thick and no real sunshine was showing. The bleak overcast crowned the bustling city in a depressing gloom that would only be ended when the residents were graced with the pestering inconvenience of a rain that served almost no purpose in watering the streets and roads other than making the people who went out without umbrellas even more miserable. Daemeon bit his lip, hoping it would not rain. He didn’t want to have to launder his suit again that week.

His silent contemplation of the sky was interrupted much the same way Jack’s contemplation of his wife had ended. Daemeon turned to see the perky redhead holding out his slice of pepperoni, sloppy and cheesy as any good New Yorker likes it. Daemeon crafted his smile and said, “Thank you.”

The girl set the plate down and considered him for a moment before saying, “You come here a lot, and you’re always so well dressed.” Daemeon almost rolled his eyes from the pain of her not just going away. He didn’t let his facade drop though as she asked, “May I ask what you do, sir?”

Daemeon made his smile brighten ecstatically as he responded, “Oh! My husband and I own a charity called the Warmth of Children Foundation. We work to house the unwanted children that end up in the streets of New York and New Jersey. We also save unborn babies by offering immediate solutions outside of the city’s abortion clinics.”

The girl brought a hand up over her mouth and asked, “Oh my God, really?” She stood speechless for a few seconds, tears welling up in her eyes, until she walked away without saying another word. As soon as her back was turned Daemeon dropped the smile and picked up a knife and fork. He cut into his pizza, eating it slowly. He was not so much savoring the flavor as others might be expected to do. He was drawing out the time as the two men at the table to his left ate their meal and chatted. He didn’t want to finish too long before they did.

Daemeon ate and passively observed his surroundings. The guests came in and left rapidly as the venue was one of business and the customers were not prone to long sit down meals. When he noticed that Jack and his friend were near finishing their pizza, he gestured to the red headed girl to give him his bill. The girl was quick to respond with a brilliant smile. She launched to the counter and grabbed a sheet of paper Daemeon assumed was the bill. When the young woman came to his table however, she placed the paper upside down in front of Daemeon saying, “Have a great day, sir.”

Daemeon watched her turn and leave, noting the faint red hue that touched her cheeks. He picked up the sheet of paper and turned it over. It was nothing but a post it note on which was written, “The bill’s on me gentle sir! =) Please come back.” Daemeon caught her eye from across the restaurant and gave her a smile. He folded up the note, making sure she saw him, and placed it in his pocket before standing from his chair. He adjusted his suit and, as quietly and inconspicuously as he had come in, left.

He was again greeted by the busy streets and throng of foot traffic that always seemed to congest the city that was without sleep. He walked down the street a little and rounded the side of Lombardi’s. He reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a carton of cigarettes. He gave a grunt of disgust as he lit one up and began smoking in small, indistinguishable puffs. He hated cigarettes, but they were an excellent excuse to be standing still in places where it might otherwise make him conspicuous.

Several minutes passed by as he smoked first one cigarette and then another. His eyes jerked skyward as he felt a stray drop of rain spatter against his nose. The sky had grown even darker and a storm seemed imminent. Daemeon felt himself being tempted into just giving up the endeavor until he saw the door to Lombardi’s swing open and the two men step out. He lurched behind the side of the building and observed them veer off in different directions. Daemeon noted that lady luck was on his side as Jack started walking in his direction. He was having a rather advantageous day.

As Jack stepped near him, Daemeon leaned back against the side of the building and called his name, “Jack Vinetti?”

He turned his head, his sleek black hair waving in the wind, and scowled saying, “Who’s asking?”

Daemeon made a show of dropping his cigarette on the ground and crushing it before saying, “I have some information you would be very interested in knowing.”

Jack waved his hand and started walking away disgusted until Daemeon enticingly stated, “I know the truth about your wife.”

Jack craned his neck around and shouted, “What!?”

Daemeon raked his fingers through his handsome brown hair and explained, “I work in the same branch of Etsy as your wife, Isabella. I can tell you something that you might be very eager to know.”

Jack pounced on Daemeon and grabbed his suit jacket in two large, muscular fists demanding, “What do you know about my wife?”

Daemeon waved a finger in front of his face smiling and said, “Ah, ah, ah! None of that now. We’re in a crowded street, and it would be a tragic shame if you were put in prison for beating up a gentle pedestrian in a nice suit.”

Jack grit his teeth, not letting go, and asked again, “What do you know?”

Daemeon decided to let slip a little saying, “I know the name of the guy your wife's been boinking.”

Jack’s face was red with fury as he demanded, “Who!?”

Daemeon shook his head and said, “Mr. Vinetti, that’s not how gentlemen do business. If you want to know what man has made you a cuckold then you will have to ante up a generous donation to my charity.”

Jack stared Daemeon down mercilessly but received only a vacant and self satisfied look in return. He gritted his teeth again and finally asked, “How much?”

Daemeon smiled a toothy smile showing his rows of perfectly straight white teeth and said, “I think a paltry sum of $500 will do well in my pocket charity.”

Jack swore and flung Daemeon against the wall. He reached into his pocket and grabbed out his wallet. Daemeon was impressed to see quite the assortment of greenbacks crowding the folds of the wallet. Clearly the man was a bit more than just some construction worker or common, blue collar man. Jack held out five one hundred dollar bills. Daemeon placed his fingers over the money and gave it a tug, but they did not move from Jack’s grip. Daemeon gave him an addled look of curiosity and Jack demanded, “Name first.”

Daemeon smiled large and said, “His name is Tony Vincent. He’s a tall drink a water with longer, black hair. He works on the same floor as your dear Isabella. I work on the same floor that they do and caught them going at it in a closet during lunch break a few weeks back. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you ever since.”

Jack shut his eyes and mouthed the name to himself, “Tony Vincent.” He gave Daemeon one last look of hate and let go of the money. He turned and fell into a brisk walk down the busy street. Daemeon’s eyes followed him as he brushed his hands down his fitted suit, working to remove the wrinkles Jack’s fists had worked into it.

Daemeon’s hand went into his chest pocket, and he removed his own wallet. He stared down absently at the seventeen dollars that already resided there, the physical testament to his productivity for that day. He slipped the five hundred dollars in next to them thinking to himself, “That ought to carry me through the day.” He now owned a total of $517. It was a small sum compared to what most New Yorkers kept in their bank accounts. Then again, Daemeon didn’t frequent any banks.

His attention was drawn from the money in his hands when he felt another drop of rain strike his ear. His eyes rose to the sky, and he guessed he had no more than a few minutes left before it started to downpour. He turned to the street to flag down a taxi but discovered the traffic to be at a complete stand still due to the accident. Thinking quickly, Daemeon turned and shuffled into an alley that stood between the buildings. The alleyway was thin and fairly dark in the shadowed cast of the cloudy day. It was in no way foreboding though as Daemeon could see it open into the street parallel to the one he had left. He strolled through, not really giving the path any thought.

As he neared the center of the alleyway, his eye was suddenly caught by a flash of light to his left. He turned to see an even narrower and darker alley filled with garbage cans that separated two buildings facing the opposite streets. Daemeon took a step back to regard the light. It was blue and seemed to have no apparent source as it emanated from a point in the air suspended a couple of feet from the ground. It was small, almost like a christmas bulb, and enticingly out of the ordinary. Daemeon turned his head to view both ends of the alleyway he was in. Nobody was around and the rain hadn’t come yet. His unwavering curiosity stole his determination to get out of the rain, and he found himself walking towards the unexplained light

When he came close, he kneeled down and gazed intently at the bead of blue light. He saw no wires or string, nothing to indicate why it was there. Daemeon only felt his curiosity grow as he nudged closer and closer. When he finally came to within arm’s reach, he lifted his finger and slowly brought it to the bright blue bead. He touched it. The resulting explosion of light caused him fear he rarely experienced.