August

Night. Raindrops drummed on the windows, as if wanting to break in. In a smoke-filled office, littered with books and various sheets of paper, a man was sleeping, his head on his hands. He had been overworked lately, sleep deprived, and the only thing he wanted was extra hours in the day. A maniac had appeared in the city. His victims seemed to be completely unrelated to each other, but August tried to figure it out, to understand who would be standing at the end of the path of corpses. A sharp gust of wind opened the window, raindrops immediately wet the wooden floor and the windowsill. From this sharp sound, August sat up abruptly, blinking. He still half asleep, got up from his seat, feeling how numb it was, and leaning on the windowsill, wanted to close it until he felt the chill that enveloped the office. Sleep vanished as if by magic, he reached into his jacket pocket for cigarettes, frowning. "What do you want?" Taking a cigarette with his lips, he asked dryly, feeling the gaze of already dead eyes on him.