I heard the sirens first. The loud wailing sirens with an eerie rhythm broke through the soft tapping of the rain. Joth shivered. Terror clutching him with it’s ice cold fingers. The last time he could remember hearing the sirens was when his father had left, saying he would be back in a couple hours. He had never returned. Joth never found out how his father died. His mother, riddled with grief, had long died from guilt and grief. That had been nearly a decade ago. And now as the cold rain seeped through Joth’s hair. Matting it against his forehead. He could still remember that horrible day. Flashes of crying, rain, and sirens filled his mind. The sirens continued screeching. And the screaming crowd rushed through, pushing and shoving. Joth unsheathed the metallic dagger. The silver blade glinting in the moonlight. And he then ran. Feet pounding on cobblestone, ears hearing the dying cries of people around him. And still, he knew, that if he stopped. If he looked behind. Death would follow.