It's simple really. Nothing but child's play; how easily he can watch them undetected. They truly do not have the slightest idea that he was there.

He was watching them now, in fact. Staring at them while they ran and played near a small white house. The paint was chipped and faded, and one of the windows was missing the glass, but they children did not care nor do they even notice. They were content in their own little world, happy to play pretend and live with their ignorance.

He could hear them laughing, but it sounded oddly distorted. It rang in his ears distantly and he frowned. Why did everything seem so dull? As if all his senses have been taken away...

Perhaps, he mused, this is nothing more than a dream. Maybe he was the one playing pretend. What if this was nothing more than a figment of his imagination? Was he the one who lived ignorant of reality? Was nothing real? Alive?

A shrill squeal of glee captured his attention back to the frolicking things around the white house. Were those real? Or were they too, nothing but an entity created by his subconscious?

He was curious now, contemplating his new theory. If one was cut would it bleed? Would it feel pain?

He decided to find out, for he was not like those stupid things that were satisfied with their obliviousness.

Stealing one was almost as easy as watching them. All the thing was doing was inspecting a beetle at the edge of the woods and- swoosh!- He had one in his arms. It was even too startled to struggle very much. It stared up at him with wide, innocent brown eyes and it's mouth formed a small “O” of surprise.

Hastily, he carried it deeper into the woods, never once lessening his grip even as it began to protest. A minute later, it was pounding on his chest with tiny fists while screaming for it's mother.

He was not concerned by the noises it was making; they were too far away for anyone to hear them. When he reached the winding creek where he parked his rusty truck he set the thing down, but kept it's wrist in a firm hold. While fishing for the razor he always kept in his pocket he inspected the thing he had stolen.

It had long brown hair that was pulled back into a braid and wore a pink, frilly dress that was now smeared with dirt. It's once clear brown eyes were bloodshot and filled terror. It tried to free itself from his grip, but he knew it was futile. He was strong and it was weak.

Power suddenly surged through him, an addicting rush of knowing that he was in control. He could do anything he wanted and no one could stop him.

“Mommy,” It sobbed, still trying to escape. “Please! I want my mommy!”

He tsked.

The woods echoed with the things's screams.


He was feeling very good today; he had discovered more than he could have hoped for. Adrenaline still rushed in his veins with the knowledge of how to live in this new world. They would fear him. They would beg and plead and cower before his authority. This was such and amazing feeling that it often left him breathless and anticipating for more.

Gazing at that small white house, he smiled.

Power.

The thing's heart had stopped, it's skin had turned cold, and he was the cause.

Fear.

It's simple really. Nothing but child's play.