Alex

Alex stands at the edge of a dimly lit alley, the city lights flickering across the sweat on his brow. He's been running; it's become a habit. He's quick—quicker than most can manage—but he still keeps looking over his shoulder. As he catches his breath, he grips the pen in his pocket, his lifeline and his curse. In his mind, the night he killed his father replays, an echo of violence that refuses to fade.