Never Approach the Carriage that Travels Down the Unlit Road

Murder or Starvation, Chose Your Poison

No one was ever free from the occasional unlucky streak. After all, no one could ever have a truly perfect life. No matter how hard they tried to keep up the appearance that they did.

Killer, however, was one of the unlucky few who has dealt with an unlucky streak for just about the entirety of his life. Life seemed to really have it out from him. And just when he was sure that things just couldn't get any worse and things would soon finally start looking up for him, things did, if fact, get so much worse.

For as far back as Killer could remember, he's been so very miserable. And now, life really seemed to be laughing in his face.

He would've never thought that he'd ever become homeless. If there was one thing that Killer could pride himself on. It was his home, and his tiny shop of oddities. The income wasn't great, but it had kept him fed and sheltered. At least, it had until now.

Killer still couldn't quite wrap his head around it. It had been a complete freak accident. A sudden, rampaging fire that he could not control, nor put out in time to salvage any of his possessions. All that remained were the clothes on Killer's back, and even though were just about ready to be considered scraps and thrown into the trash.

Killer's first day at being homeless was possibly the worst day in his life. He was cold, and dirty, and hungry. It was horrible. He almost couldn't stand it.

The people within the town weren't any better. They were not sympathetic, nor offered to take Killer in until he could get back onto his feet once more.

Killer was a curse, and the townspeople made extra sure that he was well aware of that.

The next week was absolute hell.

Killer had never been so hungry in his life. The pain was crippling and nauseating.

He'd taken refuge in a small, dark alleyway, curled up upon himself in some attempt to block out the freezing chill of the night. Fall had long since settled in, and winter was not far to come. If Killer hadn't yet starved to death, he'd surely freeze long before deep winter will have settled in.

It wasn't hard to accept death when it was readying to break down your doorstep and drag you to hell, kicking and screaming the whole way down.

Killer clenched his jaw as it felt as though his stomach was clawing at the inside of itself. Begging, demanding for anything that could provide even the smallest amount of sustenance. But the painful demands of his body's needs would have to remain untreated. The only thing that Killer had seen in days that could be even remotely edible was an already rotting corpse of a poor, dead cat that seemed to have been just as unfortunate as he had.

Though, maybe lucky in a way, as, that cat no longer had to suffer as Killer did.

Killer could only hope, and even pray, that his suffer would soon end. One way, or another.

And, whether by a god-sent miracle, or yet another deathly curse, a carriage approached.

Killer could hear the clopping of the horse's hooves long before he ever saw the carriage. Blending in with the dark of the night. Only slight glimmers giving away its position as what seemed to be glowing mushrooms lit up the pitch-black road ahead.

Anxiety pooled and swirled in the pit of his empty stomach as the dark carriage came to a slow stop. Right in Killer's line of view.

As the door slowly opened, Killer knew exactly who the carriage belonged to.

Even as an outcasted child, Killer too heard the stories about a dark, almost evil looking carriage that only came out on the darkest of nights, when the moon was nowhere to be seen. Traveling down unlit roads, avoiding all forms of light, whether natural or man-made.