• A skinny man, not too tall, not too short.. not just right either. He would walk past the coffee shop, past the walmart... he would keep walking down that windy road, through that dusty dark alley way...
    Grasped ever so tightly in his hands a breifcase that held his life. Yes his whole entire life was in that suitcase, his love, his money, his house.. His children even his pleasures. So he would hold his litle world with great care, I mean if he ever lost this... he would lose his life, bound to it, he was it's guardian, it's keeper.

    He was a quiet, ordinary man; boring most would say. Always kept himself to himself, never knew if he had any children or anything. Sunken face, and pale skin... always wore a cheap looking suit, the only thing of worth he had was that watch... but it didn't even work, he was a joke. His wind swept mop on top of his head showed signs of aging, he was around 30, late thirties perhaps. He would continue to make his way down the empty streets, he didn't drive, and he had missed his bus, forced to walk the lonely streets.

    A little bit nervous wasn't he, he wasn't hardly a fighter, if a spot of trouble came his way, he would surely take a beating. Grasping his life with cold hands, he hurried, head down, feet first.. brisk strides. Soon the sun was almost asleep, the sky burned a deep piny orange, he never stopped to enjoy the view he just scurried back to pit he called home. Turning left he was finally only two blocks away, but a barrier was set in stone a gang of 'children' built like men were gathered, drunk, drugged, hungry for trouble. Poor man, he had done no wrong, of course he wa sthe quiet one, of curse he was the dull one but no one never deserved to be beaten on their way home.

    The lads were indeed blood lusting, and this man, this man who had done no wrong was their victum to be, their subject to beat. His emotionless face looked away, they were standing right in his way, a shiver etched it's way down his back, his stomach swelled with nerves. He would have loved to just turn away and run... run somewhere safe, but that was only a dream right now. A boy would call out, cursing such devil words, the others clapped along, causing such a stir.

    Intimidated man would back up slightly, his cheap leather shoes causing a clickity clack beneath him. Hopping of their metal steeds the boys would soon start to circle their pray, eyes dead and empty their evil smiles scaring the brain of the poor skinny man. He would try and push past, but would get knocked back, these boys had certainly been eatng their spinich they were built like weight-lifters, their strength seemed to appear from nowhere! With the wind knocked out of him, the gent would take a huge gasp or air whilst sitting on his a**, the cold concrete soon would greet him as yet another blow to the face.

    What was their reasoning, he had nothing to take, a broken watch, a breif-case filled with papers, and pens, and a pictureframe. Tatty old second hand clothes, no wealth, he was already at a dis-advantaged, outnumbered.. our sized he was compleatly screwed right now; his life could get no worse!

    -Next day-

    Newstand would stand so still, it's job was to inform, and informing it was doing. A picure was placed onto it today, of a young gentleman, his face not sunken, his eyes filled with life. His hair was ever so neatly tucked back, his smile actually rather gorgeous. This man was killed last night, brutally beaten as he walked home. The picture was an old one you could tell, of happier times, of times people wish to remember; it was his birthday in that picture, he was sat opening a small white box, and in it his most dearest possession; that very watch. Since the time that picture was took, on his early 30th birthday, his life.... became a downfall, a watterfall of regret and terrible luck. The man got smacked in the face with addiction, he lost his family, he lost his friends, he lost those boyish good looks, his face got devoured by greed, his pockets emptied with remorse. His life taken even before his brutal uncalled for attack. They found the body with it's briefcase of useless notes from where he worked, he had no Identification, no watch, no money, no nothing. His ex wife was there to confirm his identity... she was wreck, she saw his wounds and weeped deeply for him.

    What the officers didn't know, and what the wife did not know that the man who was killed was in a far better place, he was at a place that represented his most treasured day, he had his looks, his smile his eyed filled with life... now watch, no birthday, but an image of his family surrounding him, the smile truely grateful he was no longer being consumed by torture and voices of the watch.

    "Hahaha, look what I scored of that scrawny man last night" a hand was held out, a sleeve pulled up to reveal that old watch, it was working, it no longer looked tatty, it had a new life to suckle upon. What the boy did not know is that his life would soon get worst. The watch was his till death do us part, he was the new pulse for the watch to survive, the parasite masked in gold would live on until the next....