I strolled down the street, inspecting my hands, incapable of caring who noticed. The crimson streaks ran around the meaty pudge, just above my pinky. I simulated a karate chop toward a grungy teenager who gave me the finger, in return.

I contemplated cutting her finger off.

There would be time for that and so much more. I was just an apprentice of the blood-lust, a novitiate in the circle of mayhem. I wanted my name to be upon the lips of the fearful and to hear it as the last gasp of the souls taking their leave.

I was still breathing heavily and my side began to ache as I circled three times before entering my building, pinching my cheeks like Scarlett O’hara.

Oh, Bridgette. It was you who started this.

After all, tomorrow is another day.