He stands on the edge of oblivion-eyes trained on amber remnants that haunt him in his dreams and certainly while he is awake. They are starving—craving—searching for an end to a thirst that traps them in a repetitive cycle of overindulgence and death. He sees fear that hides behind bountiful confidence and surety. Fear of change—fear of something more than they are able to handle as seven. Rumbling, angry black clouds roll in overhead and shroud the amber eyes in darkness. Only sharpened teeth stained crimson from the lifeforce of many can be seen and his heart does skip a beat—maybe two.

He struggles to take adequate breaths as he turns on his heels and runs. He knows not where his feet will take him, but it has to be away from here—away from inevitable endings. Asphalt cracks beneath each step taken and he knows that he is running out of time. Afraid to be swallowed up-eaten by the very things he swears he knew weren’t real. It’s so far from an impossibility—it cannot be real. Yet, as his feet carry him to the end of a cliff, the faintest flapping of wings mark his demise. There is no time—there is no reason—just his leap into darkness before the clutches of hell snatch him away.