• I had been there for seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Time, like age, is just a number. All that those things are is something there to organize life, so nothing will go “wrong”. Wrong is just a front. Wrong could mean almost anything, so what is the point? There is no point in dictionaries, because we all know that it is only one meaning. To one person, a closet could mean “a place to store various items”. To another, it could mean “the place where it all ends”. The “writers” and “scholars” do not have even a slight clue as to what is going on in the lives of the people who purchase their books. They do not know that people have different perspectives. Not everything is the same to a crowd of people.

    But sometimes, this organization is the key to life. And for me, it is the key to survival in my situation. I had scoffed at the government of the country in which I resided, too many rules, I had decided. They were useless, and organization was a waste of valuable time that could be spent living life to the fullest. Living life… in the moment. I had believed that maybe the pure imbalance, could make the world that we lived in the perfect oasis that we always strived to accomplish. I actually had gathered what was like an army, or more like a population. We had actually had gathered what was like an army, or more like a population. We had decided to prove our government wrong, and bought land in a temperate zone in Canada, 50 acres. We had land, water banks, and mountains. Bidding good-bye to our families who disapproved, we headed North to our new land, our new country. It is then, that the balance had tipped, creating disaster in the population.

    I was the ruler, with no family around me. I had left my only family behind in the balanced and organized country that kept us back. It was almost ironic; we left to escape organized government, yet had a leader. It was unspoken, we needed at least one to lead at the top, at the most. The rest were only common townsfolk. It seemed to have worked, for a little bit of time.

    It was then, that a young girl had been murdered. It was the daughter of a woman who I recently had become close to, and I didn’t think of much about it, until the next night. The mother was also murdered. Both had a mysterious fog surrounding the deaths. Both were murdered by a shot, at the right side of their pale heads, right above their cheeks. It was then that my interest had been caught. Each night, another person was murdered. People were in panic. And without what we had escaped, there was nothing to do about it. For the safety of my people, I made a guard of the my most trusted townsfolk. They would patrol the streets, and look over the people that the killer seemed to target.

    The guard didn’t last, it really only was around for a week. The whole guard was murdered in one single night. The homicidal individual would murder anyone in his way. It continued, until the once huge “village”, became a group of five. Two women, and three men, including me. We stayed in my home, which was almost too big for the five of us. The first night, a man was killed in the room next to mine. I couldn’t even control my shaking hands now, and had become insomniac.

    Then, the killings ceased. No one was dead, until I drifted back into sleep. A woman, dead. Everyone had to be asleep to kill, it seemed. When that was realized, the three of us sat, just staring at each other. Either one of them was the killer, or he was an outsider. I fell asleep one evening, and when I awoke, the two were dead. I let out a cry, and looked up.

    “WHY!” my words were crazed, and then I started to profusely sob, and cry. It was after this hysteria, that I noticed something in my jackets front pocket. Fumbling, I pulled out something tiny, and cold. It was never noticed by me or another one of the people who I had lived with. It was a gun. Silver, tiny, cold, and bloodstained. I checked the bullets. One left, for one person.

    And right before the trigger was pulled, I had been there for seconds. Minutes. Hours. Days. Weeks. Months. Years. Time, like age, is just a number. All that those things are is something there to organize life, so nothing will go “wrong”. And it did go wrong. And it always will. For without organization, there is crime, and crime will always survive, if life doesn’t.