He woke up impetuously, blood racing through his azure veins, recollections of the night prior. He looked across his luxurious bed through the shadows of his house. Empty. Briefly, he believed he had seen a figure, out of the corner of his eye, and panicked. He then dismissed it as a shadow, and without turning off the lights, he smoothly reached over to his nightstand, and grabbed his glasses, protecting his hazel eyes from the biting wind. No more silhouettes danced across his vision, but he would have to get his prescription checked. His glasses were giving him headaches from the prolonged exposure. He put on a hefty, pocket covered jacket, and stepped outside, putting a facade of a smile over his face as he placed his feet on the joyful welcome mat on his porch. He walked down the dry concrete steps and began his morning walk. He saw a jogger approach, which turned out to be his neighbor. A truly jolly man, the jogger was, and he always brought remorse through the body of the man, whose only joy was his wife, Rachel.
    The man uttered a few jumbled words to the jogger, then walked off, preferring the solitude soundlessness brought, especially when a headache came on. He took off his glasses, and shoved them into his breast pocket, while he then jammed his hands into the side pockets of his bulky coat. Instantly, a maelstrom of thoughts hit him. What would he do next? He was on his own now that college was over and his parents passed. Despite the thoughts swirling in his head like a storm, he merely walked on, showing no signs of what was going on in his head. He began to stress, and he saw it. It was a man in a black coat, on the street adjacent to his. It was the outline of a man from earlier, and he was stalking him! While the man watched, the coated figure turned and walked through a wall. Thinking he had gone insane, the man put on his thin-rimmed glasses and squinted his eyes, but saw nothing. “Must be my imagination.” he thought. Suddenly, he realized he was up all last night, and got next to no sleep, but he continued to smile anyway, not showing the stressful emotions swirling inside his head, but rather continuing on.
    The day dragged on, as he tried to pretend it was normal. It wasn’t though, and he couldn’t deny that he had seen the figure with his own eyes. Proceeding with his walk, he became paranoid, nearly jumping at shadows, and realizing no day would ever be the same. He passed complete strangers on the street, and they smiled at him. Was it truly a smile, though, or was it them baring their teeth at him? He took off his glasses, nearly dramatically, and looked closer at the next person to pass him on the street. The unknowing passerby seemed to have… fangs. Fangs, dripping with the telltale signs of blood, fresh blood. Anxious, the man walked away, but a figure-no, the figure- was following him, whispering in his ear. Menacing, horrible things, “Again, again, again!” It shouted in his ear. Throwing his glasses on, he whipped around but found nothing there. After blinking multiple times, he realized the pedestrians didn’t have fangs. They weren't monsters. They hadn’t done anything wrong. If only.
    The now ordinary looking people continued on their way to the shops, or to friends houses, or wherever their destination lay. They paid him no mind, and why would they? He was just another average person, walking like everyone else, smiling like everyone else, being just like everyone else. He wasn’t just like everyone else, though, he could only wish for that. He wished he could be more like what Rachel wanted him to be, which was a good samaritan, a model of a man. The more he tried to ignore her, the more his mind came racing back, how he longed to be with her. He adopted his morning walk from her afternoon jog, and in the short periods of time he was away, it felt like forever. He soon realized he was subconsciously making his way down her usual jogging path, which went deep into the forest. Alone, he somberly took off his glasses. Then, he hurled them deep into the woods, where they could never be found. As they shattered, he broke down crying, composure having vanished. Everything he had, now gone in one swift stroke.
    Hours later, he emerged from the forest, expression grim. People stared, fangs having returned, until they appeared more like beasts, circling their prey, lurking at the edge of his vision. Looking around nervously, the man ignored them, and forged on. He made his way to his peaceful little house, and stared at the welcome mat.  Unsurprisingly, it stared back, looking him dead in the eye. The voices were back, stronger than ever before, luring him into the house. As he slowly turned the knob, remorse filled him. Feeling around the walls, he turned on the light switch, and the brightness filled the room. There, lying betwixt, was Rachel, with dark, rich crimson liquid pooling around her, limbs unmoving. A knife lay at her side. The man remembered what had happened, and saw the man with the coat in the corner of the room, lips upturned into a devilish smile. Sprinting away, the man made his way to the police station. As he entered, two cops approached him, and he told the faceless men what had happened. Soon, they became deformed, turning into wicked beasts, and attacked him. Only putting up a weak fight before submitting, the man merely lets out a small whimper before the consciousness left his body. Now, he sits poised in a bright white room with padded walls, his new glasses over his eyes, maintaining perfect composure throughout every inch of his body. He knew that someday, the world was going to know his name.