It's night.
A tall, young man, about 27 years old, lies on a bed, curled up in the fetal position, with the tense muscles of his slender body, his dark curly hair, is soaked.
Large dark circles are under your eyes.
He has a somewhat sloppy beard as if he hadn't cleaned up in a few days.
Talk to yourself in a low voice, as if whispering to stay sane.
His name is Jhon.
Covered under a thin sheet, which he has used to wrap himself, refusing to see out of it.
He is alone, in that house of just one room, dining room and kitchen, with a small bathroom, in which lies lifeless, in the bathtub, the naked body of a man who has been destroyed from the neck and part of the chest, leaving exposed, the bone lined with pieces of meat, as if a wild beast had attacked him.
Painting the water, which still runs, from the open key, without forgetting, the walls, from a crimson red.
He whispers himself in an agitated voice, for the moment, he notices that, fear, has caused that, his stuttering, which he had when he was a child, somehow has returned, perhaps, by the terror of saying his name ...
END CHAPTER 1