Run, run.

The corridors were silent apart from the perfectly timed clicking and thud of Josh’s boots as he marched slowly towards the hall. His face was blank, broken by an occasional fluttering smile. His eyes were black, ghosts floating in the tarlike substance. There was a heavy, dull aura around him, a mischievous spirit taking over his body, mocking his thoughts and piercing his innocence. His mouth was dry, an acidic taste making his tongue crack and his spit bubble. He stopped in front of the old wooden doors, shut his eyes and kicked out. Thousands of people turned simultaneously to face him, curious then shocked. Terror rippled through the room like a tidal wave, Josh momentarily knocked back by the force like an electric shock. People started to run around the room, smashing at windows, kicking open fire doors, hiding under seats, they were screaming, but Josh couldn’t hear them. All he heard was the piano, playing beautifully, the notes powerful and controlling. He smiled at the scene that was unfolding in front of him. He lifted the rifle and started to shoot.