Why The Devil Is A Woman

"I close my eyes one more time, and I finally give in to exhaustion. As I am drawn further and further into the dark, an indiscernible figure subtly creeps into my mind. At first, the stern eyes that examine me seem to belong to my father. But then, as the number of faces begins to multiply, I realize it's not a dream about my old man. Far from it. All I see is them. The wimps and the minxes. Wimps and minxes everywhere. And in that gruesome dream of mine, I stand amongst them."

Perhaps, in some way, Henry Anderson has always had some sort of keenness for carnage.

However, that's not something people would pick up on at the first glance of Henry Anderson. Because, physically speaking, Henry is not strange looking. There is nothing about him that could hint the slightest abnormality or dysfunction, nor provoke anyone's interest. After all, nothing is fascinating about the married university teacher in the worn out suit, with the untied tie, the lanky figure, the stern expression and the hollow eyes.

If anything, everything about him appears mundane, banal even.

That is, until one night, when he witnesses an unsettling incident at a park, an incident that will disclose a hidden facet unbeknownst to himself. And as he struggles with the demons that run wild in the darkest corners of his mind, his loved ones grow into subjects of his abhorrence, innocent affection into twisted lust, his accomplished hopes and dreams into disappointments and nightmares, and trivial bitterness into seething rage.

And as long as he goes on, the lines keep being crossed and the boundaries keep being pushed. And the further he goes, the less he sees ahead.